Category Archives: Conflict

Call from school, and an unexpected urgent trip to the doctor’s office

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It was mid-afternoon today. I was in the middle of writing a long Slack message to someone to prep them for a customer meeting. And suddenly, I saw my phone ringing, and it was Kaia’s school’s number. So I answered it, and school administrator let me know that Kaia’s right eye was red and swollen, and she could barely open it and said it was hurting. I asked if she had gotten bitten by a bug at the playground, and the teacher said it was a possibility, but she strongly suggested I come pick her up as soon as possible and take her to Urgent Care because she was concerned. I told her I’d try to shift some things in my schedule to do an earlier pickup and would call her back. During that time, I did a quick inquiry with ChatGPT about the symptoms the admin shared, and this is the response it gave me:

“Given that she can barely open one eye and it’s red and swollen, she should be seen today, urgently—call her pediatrician’s urgent line now or go to urgent care/ER, especially if you cannot be seen quickly.

Possible causes include a bug bite/allergic reaction, a stye, irritation, or conjunctivitis, but the concerning possibility is periorbital cellulitis—a bacterial infection of the eyelid/skin around the eye. A rarer but more serious form, orbital cellulitis, involves deeper tissues and is an emergency. Children can have unilateral eyelid swelling/redness from these infections, and it can sometimes follow a small scratch, bug bite, or recent sinus/cold symptoms—even if those symptoms are not obvious. 

Go to the ER now if she has any of these: fever, eye pain, pain with eye movement, trouble moving the eye, vision changes, double vision, the eye bulging forward, severe headache, vomiting, unusual sleepiness, or she looks very unwell. These are red flags for orbital cellulitis, which needs urgent evaluation.”

So, as you can imagine, my eyes stay on “periorbital celluitis.” And I’m thinking, it can be that serious – are you for real? At that point, the admin sent me a photo of Kaia’s right eye, which was closed, very red, and puffy. This did not look good that she couldn’t even open the eye. So I dialed her pediatrician’s office and spoke with the receptionist, explained the symptoms, and she asked if I could come at 4. It was about 3:40 at the time, so I said I’d have to go from the Upper West Side down to Chinatown to pick her up and bring her to the office, so I could probably make it just after 4:30 if I pushed it. They squeezed me in and said Kaia would be the last patient of the day.

Well, when I went for early pickup, Kaia was already able to open her right eye. The swelling and redness had died down considerably, and her mood seemed to be more chipper. I told her we were going to the doctor’s office, so she got excited that we’d be taking the (new) B train to a stop we normally don’t get off at – West 72nd Street! She eagerly counted all the stops and then yelled when it was time to get off. Just based on her mood, I had a strong feeling this was a false alarm.

The doctor finally saw her and after examining and checking a few things, she said she’s concluded that Kaia may be having seasonal allergies. It didn’t seem like anything serious, so she gave me some children’s Zyrtec, gave me instructions in case the puffiness/redness came back, or if she wakes up with a red eye ball tomorrow morning. The doctor proactively wrote and filled a prescription for the eye drops in case her eye was red tomorrow, and she sent us on our merry way.

By the time we left, it was as though Kaia had nothing. That was lucky, as it easily could have been a lot worse. But I still felt better we had her checked with the doctor to be in the clear.

Chats with AI are great, but man, can they stir up the worst of the worst possibilities.

An identity crisis at the grocery store

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While in the dairy section at Trader Joe’s yesterday, I stood in front of a refrigerated wall of yogurt options, debating what to get. Given my focus on high protein, lean muscle building, and fat loss as of late, I knew I had to (at least temporarily) ignore the European style full-fat yogurt I would normally get in favor of the drained, thicker lower-fat Greek yogurt. But when I looked at the Greek yogurt options, I felt confused: why were all the 1% and 2% fat options so much smaller quantity wise, yet more expensive than the 0% large container (one quart)? And also, where did all those 1-2% fat Greek yogurt options even go? This section of the shelf had been completely wiped out before I even arrived at the store late morning, so even if I had wanted to choose those, they were no longer there for me. So I was left with the 0% fat Greek yogurt option, which was my least desired option (zero percent – what is that – like eating a bunch of nothing favor-wise?!). And since I had made the trek all the way up to 92nd Street, there was no way I wasn’t coming back with Greek yogurt, as it was on top of my ‘to-buy’ list. I felt like I was having an identity crisis: since when did I ever buy nonfat anything — ever? Even before living with Chris, when I lived with my then-roommate and friend, we always bought 1-2% fat milk or yogurt. This felt like a funny thing — me walking around Trader Joe’s with two quarts of zero percent fat Greek yogurt (which also happened to be the very last two quarts of Greek yogurt in the entire store at that time!). Maybe the Yvonne I thought I was will no longer be?

I told my friend about my identity crisis over text when I came back from TJs, and she laughed at me and said that zero percent dairy is basically like eating a thick blob of nothing. Even with her fat loss / lean muscle building goals (and she has always been way more into this than I ever was), she said even she refuses touch that stuff and has to do at least 1 percent fat. Welp, there we have it: even she won’t touch it.

Coral reef scrapes, the painful burn, and the 4-year-old who wants to ice mama’s butt

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Given that I am a city person through and through, I guess it’s no wonder that I’ve always had a fear of deep water, especially the ocean water. I’m a human being living on the land; by definition, the ocean is a foreign place to me because I cannot live in the ocean. And for all you people out there who love swimming in the ocean and think you are really a mermaid, reality check: you are not! So on the three previous times I’d been snorkeling and saw very, very deep water and can tell the ocean floor is extremely far below me, I occasionally have this tiny wave of panic come over me and just hope to some higher power that my leg doesn’t cramp up or my life vest does not suddenly fail. So then I take a deep breath and keep swimming.

This morning was our last morning in Roatan and our last chance to be at the beach before taking a plane to San Pedro Sula, where we’ll be until midday Monday. No one is going to complain about a last beach outing, and I wanted to seize the moment and go snorkeling one last time. So we went to the beach for a couple hours before packing up and heading to the airport. Chris did not share the desire to go snorkeling again, so when I went out, it was just me while he stayed ashore with Kaia.

This didn’t really bother me that he didn’t want to go out again. The water is pretty calm and virtually waveless. It’s really the perfect place to go snorkeling without supervision or help. So I went out on my own. For a long time, it felt really nice. I saw a lot of the same fish as yesterday, and this time, I saw even more schools of different fish varieties. But then suddenly out of nowhere, I got hit by a wave that I didn’t anticipate, and I got pushed into a really shallow (and seemingly dead) stretch of coral. Then, I got pushed into a sitting position — on top of the dead coral. This was a really shallow area — the water was barely even two feet deep here. I kept looking around to see where I could swim to escape the coral — it almost looked endless no matter which way I looked. How the hell was I supposed to get off this thing?! I eventually got out of the area and into open water, but I could tell that I had more than just a few nicks and scrapes. Something on my right butt cheek was burning, and it was definitely from stupidly sitting on the coral. I mean, it wasn’t like I meant to do that, but it just kind of happened…

This is why the ocean can be dangerous: you have no idea what is lurking out there that does not want you in its space. And they will do things to you to harm you if you are in the wrong place at the wrong time. I swam quickly back to shore, where Kaia immediately noticed scrapes bleeding on my right leg and asked me about my “boo boo.” I went to the restroom to properly clean my scrapes and examine my wounds. The scrapes were fine — they looked like any other scrape. But the wounds that were on my right butt cheek were another story: they were bright red, puffing, pulsing, and burning. And this feeling was not reducing in the least bit even after I washed the area and tried to pour clean, cold water on it. After a shower, the pulsing pain and burning persisted. So en route to the airport, I told Chris we needed to stop by a pharmacy to see if I could get an ointment for this. I explained to a pharmacist what happened, and she gave me a hydrocortisone cream to apply on my scrapes. When we eventually got to our hotel in San Pedro Sula, the hotel manager was really kind and made me an ice bag, and I applied that to my butt for a bit in our room before we went out for dinner.

Kaia insisted on helping me ice my butt: “Mama, I wanna ice your butt!” She shrieked multiple times. So I let her push the ice bag against my butt while I lay on the bed. She’s always looking for ways to be helpful, and I know she has a very strong, caring, nurturing side to her (I’ve lost count of the number of times she checks in with me on random “boo boos” she finds on my body, when she asks if something hurts, and when she cares for all the dolls at school when it’s activity center time). I find it really sweet and endearing, and hope she continues to be caring and attuned to others’ feelings.

After dinner out at Power Chicken (a local fast food chain favorite with huge portions!), we showered and slept. But I still couldn’t sleep. The pulsing pain and burning was not improving. And now when I scratched it, there was a very deep pain that would result from that. The ice bag was not a proper ice pack, so I couldn’t sleep with it without wetting the bed eventually. So after 1.5 hours of burning and pulsating, I finally came up with the idea of taking the cold plastic water bottles in our fridge and using them as a pseudo ice pack setup. The fridge was cold enough, so I was finally able to fall asleep.

And… I tried falling asleep hoping this wasn’t some insane outlier coral reef scrape infection that would end in sepsis and potentially kill me.

When parenting is not fun

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Kaia has been in a mood today. She was pouty at drop-off when Chris brought her to school. Then when I picked her up this late afternoon, she insisted that we had to wait for a little friend in the 3s program since she saw his mom outside waiting. I annoyingly complied and waited. When the mom and kid wanted to wait for the elevator and Kaia did, too, I insisted this was ridiculous. She yelled, so I waited for about two minutes, then finally had to nearly drag her down the stairs because the elevator was too slow, and I refused to put up with it. Whenever she is around her “peers,” she wants to be with them and do whatever they are doing (e.g. waiting for the stupid and slow elevator) for as long as possible. Most times, I humor her. Today, it was just frustrating me.

We got on the train uptown, and I gave her a pack of seaweed to snack on. Kaia refused to give it back to me when we got to our stop, so I (dumbly) let her hold it as we walked up the stairs. She then proceeded to predictably drop the seaweed box, wasting about five strips of seaweed. I hate food waste. She knew she did something wrong and yelled, “It was an accident!” And I brought her to the trash bin to throw the wasted strips away. The irritation was just growing.

But then the cherry on top really happened: instead of holding my hand to walk up the stairs out of the train station, Kaia haphazardly started running in front of hoards and hoards of people trying to enter the subway entrance because she wanted me to take a different stairway than she did. When she ran into one person and they stopped, she would back up and try to run into yet another person. It was as though she had suddenly stopped comprehending that she was in other people’s way and had to walk up where there was no one in front of her. After calling for her multiple times when she refused to listen, I eventually had to grab her and carry her up the stairs and across the street. She was kicking, screaming, and crying the whole time. I rarely care when people stare at me carrying or disciplining her when she’s fussy. But I really, really hate it when she inconveniences other people or gets in other people’s way because it’s so inconsiderate. If she wants to throw a tantrum, fine, but do not do it in the middle of a chaotic subway station with people trying to get by us. No one in New York City wants to be slowed down by anyone else.

She screamed and cried for the entire two blocks home. Part of that time I had to carry her. Part of that time, I was nearly dragging her. And all of that time, she was crying and yelling. I stayed as even keeled as I could. I rarely even raised my voice. But the entire time, I just thought: Really? This kid is almost 4.5 years old. When do the tantrums over things that make zero sense ever end? Do they ever end…? My goal is that Kaia will not grow up to be some self-centered, “me me me” person and think the world should revolve around her. But in these moments where she is physically running into other people and expecting them to make way for her, I am so tempted to just slap some sense into her.

Yes, 36 years ago, my mom would have done just that: she would have slapped, hit, or beaten me into submission, even for the tiniest infractions. In fact, I still remember once when I was the same age as Kaia today, 4-year-old Yvonne did something my mom did not like, and she immediately pulled me into a public restroom stall, beat me, then yelled at me to stop crying and wipe my face, “Otherwise people will think I am abusing you!” I am not doing that with my kid. …Though I’d be lying if I said I never thought about it in these moments of total chaos.

Well, it’s a good thing there aren’t thought police out there.

“Why is it just three of us?”

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Kaia woke up this morning to see that her paternal grandparents were not in the house anymore. As they usually do, Chris’s parents left on one of several side trips on this trip: for the next week and a half, they are off to Utah, Nevada, Toronto, and Maine. She came out of her bedroom and peered at our bed where Chris’s parents would sleep and did not see them. Instead, she saw a fully made up bed. She also saw me lying on the sofa bed, still under the covers.

“Where did Suma and Topa go?” Kaia asked, as she got into sofa bed with me.

“Remember we told you they’d leave this morning for about a week and a half?” I said to her lightly. “They’ll be back next Wednesday! They’ll be back before you know it.”

She gave me her contemplative look. She was clearly sad and did not like that they weren’t at home with us anymore.

As she ate her breakfast, she said to me, “Why is it just the three of us?” And when I told her that Suma and Topa couldn’t stay with us forever, she kept asking me, “Why? Why?”

Kaia wants everyone she loves with her all the time – forever. Like most kids her age, she never wants the fun to end, and she always wants to be loved and cuddled and given attention to constantly. It’s hard to explain to her in a way she will understand why some people she loves live so far away, and why these same relations (like grandparents) can be closer in proximity like her classmates’ grandparents may be. But I guess that’s all the things you start learning and understanding the older and more mature you become.

When part of your family thinks that doctors are the “persecuted class”

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I think it can be universally stated no matter what country you are in that doctors, as a group of people, can be considered a “prestigious” profession or class of people. They are known to earn good money regardless of where in the world they live. There’s pretty much no one you would meet, regardless of nationality, ethnicity, race, or gender, who would say that to be a doctor is not a ‘high class’ profession. And there is no one who would say that nurses are equal to doctors in prestige and/or pay.

But then, I met my in-laws and listened to a very big and loud debate they had with Chris tonight, and I realized that they are actually the only two people I have met on planet earth who actually do believe that doctors have the same level of “prestige” or “status” as nurses, and would even argue that nurses get paid the same — at least, in Australia. And I also heard my mother-in-law say that she thinks that doctors are a “persecuted class” of people in Australia.

I asked my good friend Claude (AI) what the average salaries are in Australia for nurses versus doctors. Claude informed us that on average for the last available year of data, doctors as a group make about double what nurses make there. Both in-laws refuted the data and insisted the stats were inaccurate. My mother-in-law kept insisting her own personal experiences were representative of all doctors in the country, and that her own anecdotes held more weight than national statistics.

I love my in-laws and think they are generally good people. But this doubting of real statistics feels like the spread of fake news. Now I understand why Chris and his brother always say they’d never take real career advice from their parents.

Suicide ideation in a 9-year-old

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Over the last decade, suicide rates among people under 18, and youth in general, have increased overall. There has been an upward trend pre 2020, a spike around the COVID period, and some recent improvement, but still elevated levels. Suicide has remained one of the leading causes of death for adolescents, and overall youth suicide rates are much higher today than they were just 10 to 15 years ago. Mental health struggles have increased in surveys of teens, especially among certain age sub groups. I’m aware of this not just because of my involvement with AFSP, but also because I generally follow mental health and overall health news and developments.

Today at an afternoon catch up with a friend, I was saddened to learn that her 9-year-old niece had attempted suicide by slashing her wrists. In the last few months, she’d already started withdrawing from friends and activities that usually interest her. She’s not even officially a pre-teen yet, yet she’s already feeling depressed. She has intense pressure from her mother to “make it” as a child model, and she’s constantly told she has to smile 24/7. It sounds like a pretty miserable life for such a young kid.

My friend is naturally a caring (and sometimes over-caring) and concerned person. She always wants to help and “fix” problems as best as she can. But this is one of those issues where I told her flat out that it would not be something to “fix”, but rather would need to be seen as a “work in progress.” At this age, kids need to know that they are good and enough as they are; they need a strong emotional foundation, and it’s up to the adults in their lives to help provide them that. Given she barely sees her niece once a month, she’s going to need someone more often present in her life like a counselor or closer family member to help reinforce this. She needs low-pressure, consistent communication. She also needs to know she has a safe space to openly speak her mind about anything and everything.

I think back to my old childhood and to Ed’s. And I know without a doubt that Ed had no adult he could rely on to be his safe person, his safe space. I eventually found two teachers in middle and high school who became mine, and ultimately my de factor mentors. If every little child growing up had real safe spaces with reliable, well-intentioned, kind-hearted adults, I think we’d have less mental health challenges amongst young people. But I guess we can all only try to do our own little parts to contribute to this.

A sore left hip flexor, and when cortisol spikes in middle age due to slowing metabolism

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I only did one run this week on Wednesday, which isn’t normal for my weekly workout routine. I did my usual warm up, then as soon as the run was done, I could tell my left hip flexor was tight. Then annoyingly, it remained tight all day… through today. I’ve never had a tightness in my left hip flexor before. After weaning from breastfeeding and doing more high intensity runs back in 2023, I discovered tightness on the right side for the first time in my life. The amazing trainer at my gym gave me suggestions for strengthening exercises for my glutes, hamstrings, and hip flexor to prevent the tightness. In addition, I did more hip flexor stretches and incorporated a yoga session per week to increase mobility. That seemed to do the trick: I cannot remember the last time my right hip flexor was sore. But now, it seems my left hip flexor is crying out for help, asking, “Hey! Remember me! You need to help me, too!” Those exercises I did for my right side were also done on my left side, too. So this may just be a new weakness I’ve identified that may need to be addressed in a slightly different way.

Aging is a gift. Not everyone is lucky enough to see their next birthday, to live up to the age you or I am at. And I’ve embraced it with more confidence every year. But I will be honest: identifying these new changes in my body and trying to figure out how to troubleshoot them have not been very fun. I am extremely active, exercise far more than the average person does, and try to take care of myself the best I can to ensure optimal health and fitness. But finding out about all these new physiological shifts of midlife, such as declining estrogen that slow metabolism, is challenging. Just a few years ago, if I knew I needed to burn some extra fat, I would just do a harder, more intense run and for longer. I’d do barre or pilates fusion until it burned. And it always worked then. This isn’t the case anymore, and it isn’t that simple where I am now. I’ve already been going hard for the last few months since coming back from Australia and the Philippines, and I’ve only lost about 3-4 pounds out of the eight I wanted to lose. The extra belly fat is just stuck there and doesn’t want to leave. No one else would notice it other than me, though. Running more intensely is NOT producing fat loss because it doesn’t address this age-related shifts that slow metabolism. Plus at this age, steady-state running can even spike cortisol levels, signaling that the body needs to protect itself and guard the fat more, especially in the abdominal area. I guess that’s why I have a little more pudge around my lower waist than I did pre-weaning.

I guess I will need to embrace brisk incline walks a couple times a week now, in place of 2-3x week runs. I will see if it results in any change because I have a feeling my cortisol must be spiking. I suppose this is the right attitude: test and learn, test and shift when things don’t work! These are the new things I am learning to live with — the fact that I cannot control all the changes happening to my body as easily as I did before.

Finding good things everywhere I go

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I get told I am full of shit for this belief a lot: I truly believe that no matter where you go in the world, whether it’s a different neighborhood, town, city, or country, that there is always good food somewhere there. I think of it like I think of people and beauty: there is beauty when you give a place a chance. There are also good, well-meaning people if you give them a chance and take a little time to get to know them. I know every single place I’ve been to has something good or great that I’ve enjoyed.

So, even for places that I have been to that I have very little strong opinion about, I can still feel myself getting protective over them when people I know make sweeping, negative generalizations about them. I was telling my friends this last weekend that I was going to be in Raleigh this week for work. A friend (who has never been to Raleigh) shared that her husband has had to go to Raleigh a few times for work, and she said he was not a fan; he said there was no good food in Raleigh. As someone who has been to Raleigh once and had three very solid meals there last year, I could feel myself getting annoyed.

“Where did he go, and who chose the places?” I asked.

She said some colleagues chose the restaurants and that he didn’t. To be honest, I don’t think I would have had much more faith if he had chosen them.

I told her that I found a really great bakery cafe there that I loved and was planning to go back this week. And today, I made good on my word: I stopped in for an iced latte, a kouign amann, and two caneles to go. Every bite of that kouign amann was perfection: each bite shattered, had this addictive crunchy sugar coating on the outside, and definitely had seemingly millions of flaky, buttery layers. I got one canele for me and one to bring home for Chris. I ate my canele in flight, over 7 hours after I purchased it. It still had a super crunchy outside and a gooey, soft, tender inside, with a strong vanilla bean flavor. Last August, I had a delicious tapas meal with a work friend. That same trip, my colleagues and I hosted a great happy hour event for a prospective customer that had amazing appetizers. And last night, I had a very noteworthy, crunchy banh xeo generously stuffed with lots of shrimp and pork, along with a pork bao and a calamansi spritz. If you do your due diligence and spend the five minutes or less it takes to look up Google Reviews or some AI tool like Claude or ChatGPT, I highly doubt you would fail to find a good restaurant or six in Raleigh.

Sometimes, I wonder why I feel so frustrated when people make negative over-generalizations about places, especially smaller U.S. cities. It’s clear that I do not live in a small U.S. city — quite the opposite! And I think I do know why: it’s almost indicative of how quickly and based on very few interactions people can draw sweeping judgments and harbor negative stereotypes about other people or groups of people. If you want to get to know anyone or any place, you have to come in with an open mind and an open heart. If you already are coming in from a big city and choose to think that everything in said smaller city must be crap, that will inevitably color whatever experiences you have there — and ultimately taint it. And well, that’s your loss, not that place’s, because it means you are not able to enjoy your time spent there. And since none of us is living forever, we should try to do what we can to at least attempt to enjoy every moment we’re so lucky and privileged to live.

When your kid ends up in urgent care while you’re on a flight home

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I came home today, ready to give my sweet Kaia Pookie a big hug when I got through the door. But coming home this afternoon wasn’t quite what I envisioned. It was weirdly quiet when I entered the apartment. Chris turned over to look at me, barely greeting me. Instead, the first words out of his mouth were, “She had an accident.”

I looked over his shoulder at my Kaia Pookie, sitting quietly on the living room rug amidst a bunch of her toys. Her arms were sprawled out as though she was just leaning back on the couch, but the entire center of her face was bloody and mucusy. I slowly walked up to talk to her. While she looked straight up at me, she didn’t respond or smile; she basically had no reaction. She was lethargic and seemingly in pain and/or shock. I took her in my arms to hold her, while also occasionally pressing an ice compress to her nose and wiping away more blood and snot. She was eager to come into my embrace and clearly needed the cuddles.

Chris explained that while they were at the Transit Museum earlier today, Kaia was running around on an old bus when suddenly, she tripped on something and fell down very hard, face first. He actually didn’t see this happen, but some bystanders in the museum told him that his child had fallen. As soon as he got to her and lifted her face up, all he could see was blood everywhere. He immediately took her to the bathroom to get cleaned up, but the blood just kept coming out. A museum worker waited outside to see if she was okay, and kindly offered an ice pack. Chris wasn’t sure if she was okay or if something more serious could be wrong, so he took her to the closest Urgent Care, where they checked her out, did a few tests to ensure she didn’t have any major head injury, and then said that we just needed to monitor her to ensure she was “still herself” and that she didn’t lose consciousness.

We spent the rest of the early evening intermittently icing her nose and wiping away her runny nose snot and blood. I knew she was quite herself, though, because I kept talking to her in Chinese, and she responded logically and with expected answers. When I asked her if she wanted a surprise gift I brought back for her, she immediately nodded. Then minutes later, she kept asking for her surprise gift. I took it out for her: a deluxe princess coloring book. She looked at it and was clearly in love. I asked her if she wanted to color with it now, and she nodded and ran to get her markers. Chris teased her and said it was actually his gift; I had already presented him with dark chocolate covered sour cherries from a popular local Asheville chocolate shop when she was sitting down. My Kaia Pookie was clearly lucid and understanding every single thing that was happening. Her face turned down, and she yelled, “No, that’s mine! You already got a present!”

Phew. So fingers crossed, it doesn’t look like she suffered any major head injury. But what crappy luck that this happened when I wasn’t home. I asked Chris if he missed me while I was gone. He responded in his usual in-character Chris way: “Well, you would have been really useful here today.”

And that is what a “romantic” response sounds like when you’ve been together for 14-plus years, and married (at least, celebration-wise) for ten years — just in case you weren’t already familiar with it.