Botox Sucks (and I hate that term but it's appropriate)

Most of you know that Corey, who has cerebal palsy, receives 4 botox injections into his legs every 4-6 months. The botox (yes, that nasty stuff people put into their foreheads, and yes, that stuff that is more appropriately referred to as botulism,) paralyzes his affected leg muscles, which forces him to use his 'good' muscles resulting in a more acceptable gait, or walk.

The last time Corey had his injections (where I have to physically use my entire body to restrain him while listening to his cries of, "Mommy, you're so mean, why do you have to be mean to me?") he had a bad reaction. His legs started collapsing from beneath him three weeks after the injections and he had no leg strength. Why? The doctor got him good. That, and he needed more physical therapy than he was getting to strengthen up his rarely-used muscles that suddenly had to do all the work.

It's been a year since Corey had his last botox injections, and I really struggled with the decision to do it again. Aside from the fact that I can't stand watching Corey suffer, the FDA had put out a warning about deaths occurring with high doses of botox similar to the amounts Corey had been receiving. I had talked to his therapists, I had talked to his doctors, and finally made the decision to go ahead with another series of injections at a lower dosage. Oh, yeah, and one other thing, I refused to go to the appointment. Ken had never had the pleasure of being the bad guy, and I was done with being privy to the torture (literally) that Corey went through on injection day.

So Ken took the day off and about 30 minutes ago, held Corey down for the shots. I've had an upset stomach ever since they left and I've been waiting for Ken to call me and tell me that everything went great and that Corey barely cried. Well, the phone just rang, and I didn't hear what I wanted to hear...

I answered the phone, and there was Corey on the other end going, "Mom? Mom?" I said, "Corey, baby, it's mommy, how are you doing?" After a big deep breath, (here goes...) "WAAAAAHHHHH!!!! Mommy, you made me get shots and that was rude and it's NOT NICE!!! WWWAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!!"

I guiltily tried to comfort Corey, and soon had lost all kinds of patience. I kept saying, "Honey, put your daddy on the phone. Put dad on the phone. Put daddy on the phone NOW!" Finally Corey quieted and Ken must have heard me hollering for him, and he takes the phone from Corey. "What the hell were you thinking, making him call me?" I yelled. The whole point of Ken taking Corey to the appointment was so that I didn't have to be the bad guy or have the massive guilt trip (which I most certainly deserve, but can't stand) while inflicting this trauma on my own child.

"I didn't know he was going to start crying, he was totally fine when I asked him if he wanted to call you..." explained Ken. Well, duh!!! (Can I say that again? DUH!!!!) THEN Ken went on to explain that Corey did pretty good, only screaming for me the whole time, while the doctor gave Corey TWELVE injections. At this point, I really freaked out! How do you decrease a dosage of medication, yet increase the amount of injections from four to twelve?

Ken explained the doctors rationale (okay, I guess it kinda made sense,) and eventually I mellowed out a little. By the time Ken explained the chain of events, Corey was in the background, tear free and happy, asking if they could get a pop. I was still fuming about the phone call, but glad that Ken (and Corey) handled the whole thing fairly well without me. I would have had a breakdown had I been at that appointment, I swear. And I just have nothing more to say about it other than the thought of Corey suffering through twelve (did I mention TWELVE) injections, only makes me feel slightly nauseous at this point.