Abbey and the migraine

We promised each other, after Izzy died, that we would not let Maddy and Abbey lose their childhood. Our first instinct was to stay home with the girls and not let them out of our sight. We didn't want them to go to Virginia, we don't like to let them go to friends' homes. Pretty much any time they are away from us, we sit around waiting for them to come home.
Then we received the Factor X deficiency diagnosis for Abbey. My first thoughts were to pull her out of school, tumbling, Girl Scouts, and to find a full body padded suit for her to wear at all times. Again, we agreed that we would not let this affect her childhood. She has a moderate deficiency, and it would be unlikely that she would suffer any spontaneous bleeds like Izzy.
Most people with a deficiency will suffer "bleeds." They will bleed into their joints, or stomach cavity, or brain spontaneously, or without a causative injury. This is what happened to Izzy. Depending on the severity of the deficiency, or which factor they are missing, some people are able to inject treatment at home. I have met mothers whose children have permanent access ports in their chest, and they give them treatment via the port. For some, who have the deficiencies for which there is not an artificially manufactured treatment, treating means blood transfusions at a treatment center, or hospital.
Fortunately, for Abbey and I, we will need treatment only as a precaution before surgery or dental procedures. Provided we never suffer from spontatneous bleeds, which our hematologist feels is unlikely. I can't stress enough, how lucky we are. I have met some women who aren't so lucky. What they go through, and what they have had to learn and do and fight for themselves and their children is remarkable. I am in awe of their strength and determination.
Now, all this said, I am always thinking worst case scenario. I find myself scanning Abbey from head to toe daily. I'm looking for new bruises or lumps or knots or scrapes, or anything that wasn't there when I left her. A few days ago, a bruise like area appeared on her shoulder. It looked like a very deep bruise, that was reddish purple. Now, usually with a bruise like this, you tend to remember what happened. She had no idea. The day care hadn't called me, or sent me an incident report, so I'm stumped, and Abbey is looking at me like I'm nuts. I ask Dan, and he agrees with me that it looks like no bruise she's ever had before. I look online for pictures of bleeds, and I come across an instructional manual for nursing students on diagnosing joint bleeds. I read all the way through, print it off and study the pictures and statistics on which joints are the most common, and what the patient should be saying/feeling. I look her over carefully, and test her range of motion, feel for the temperature difference along the limb, and ask her what it feels like. It doesn't fall into any of the criteria. I resolve to call the Dr the next day.
By morning, it looks like a regular bruise, and now she remembers an accident in the gym. Really?!?!?!
Tuesday, we go car shopping and she comes with us. She goes with my sister-in-law and niece and nephew to Bonkers to play while we get our van. Bonkers is a gigantic gymnasium sized indoor jungle gym. She loves it there and will play for hours. We get there after a few hours and she says she's tired and her head hurts. She lays on my lap and falls asleep, in Bonkers, surrounded by screaming kids, surrounded by arcade games. She is fast asleep. We go back to the dealership to pick up the car, and she says her head REALLY hurts and she feels like she's going to throw up. She feels like she is on fire. She doesn't throw up. We get the car and drive home. She sleeps the whole way home. I am telling myself and Dan that it's a migraine, it's over-exhaustion, it's dehydration, it's overheating. In my head I'm screaming, brain bleed, brain bleed, brain bleed. I ignored her shoulder like I ignored Izzy's belly button. I want to drive to the emergency room and demand a head CT.
I engage the insanity emergency brake.
We get home. I take Abbey upstairs and take off her clothes. I place a cool wet towel on her forehead. I give her a dose of ibuprofen, which is what our pediatrician recommended the last time as tylenol does not work for her. I take her temperature. 102.3. I ask Dan if he gets fevers when he has his migraines. He says yes. He's right, I've helped him through them before. I can't remember this now, because instead of screaming brain bleed, my mind is now chanting it, slow and steady.
I say to Dan. In 30 minutes if the ibuprofen doesn't work a miracle we are going to the emergency room. He looks at me in the eye, and I know he's screaming on the inside too.
I put dinner in the oven. I go upstairs and Abbey is face down on the bed sound asleep. Again. No fever, by my mommy thermometer.
I finish cooking dinner and wake Abbey up. She smiles at me and says, "Can I have some chocolate milk." And we're okay. It was just a migraine after all. She eats dinner. She fights with Maddy. She says she's too tired to help with the dishes. She says she just wants to lay down. I say, "Whatever you want sweetheart. I will do all the dishes for you."
I tuck her into bed that night. I tell her that she is my most favorite Abbey Duffy ever. She says, "I'm the only Abbey Duffy." I say that she is my favorite Abbey ever. She says, "What if you had a million Abbey's?" I say that even if I had a million Abbey's I would trade them all for just my one Abbey Duffy because she is the best. She says, "I know, because you love me because you are my most favorite mom ever."
Wow.