Archive for November 2009
The portal.
The air is warm on my skin and my eyes open slowly to the familiar sounds of the house,
the sun streaming through my open window.
I can hear birds and the slow whir of the ceiling fan.
It’s glorious.
Beside me there is a small boy.
He snuggles in closely and I watch as his chest rises slowly and drops again in relaxed sleep.
My head doesn’t hurt and my neck feels better than it has in days
and I can see properly out of my right eye again.
‘High alert’ stress has never sat well with me.
I am thankful for a night at home and a husband who is happy to do hospital duty.
I know I have just a few hours to soak in the other children,
do the washing, cook dinner and organise things to run smoothly before I have to go back.
A small portion of time where I am nothing but a mother.
The hospital is everything that home is not.
A portal,
a vortex,
that is so unlike real life.
There is no colour or comfort
there are no wide open spaces,
just long hallways that feed people into stomach – like wards
where you are eaten up by the system.
It sucks you in through the entry doors and once inside everything closes in on you.
The sounds of the hospital are so different.
They never rest
even at 2am.
Intense.
Alarming.
Hollow.
Noise to sharpen your worry.
It’s lovely on the outside
but there is a small girl who is missing and a husband to relieve.
In six hours I will step in through the portal.
The vibrance of the outside,
the sunshine,
a memory
and I will walk the corridors like a ghost.
8pm
At least we have the big room this time.
It’s got murals of a magic kingdom
so when Ivy cares enough to open her eyes, she will be in a land of fairies and wizards.
After a quick conversation with the paed it was decided that Ivy would need to come to the hospital,
through A&E.
There are no other options.
The only way to get on top of this nasty bug is IV antibiotics
and not the usual suspects.
The paed has pulled out the big guns.
Gentamycin
and one other that I can’t say but it starts with a C and the nurses tell me they have had to have it brought in especially for Ivy.
Apparently it will be here late tonight.
We spent the whole day in Emergency and Ivy was oblivious to all of it.
So now, we’re here
as most of you knew we would be.
At the moment, it looks like it’s going to be a five day stint with the possibility of going home on Monday afternoon.
I hope it’s Monday.
The preschool Christmas party is on that night and Ivy wanted to wear her new sparkly shoes.
If not,
we’ll have to dance in our hospital gowns.
3am
I’m sitting here.
Dave is asleep to my left
and to my right
is the one I’m keeping vigil with.
On Tuesday, after almost three months
of Ciproxin
with varying results;
resistant growth,
belly aches,
diarrhoea
and blister outbreaks
the paediatritian declared the Cipro to have failed.
He conceded that it was more trouble than it was worth and to cease the medication
and so I did.
There was no back up plan, other than watch and wait,
no IV antibiotic to prevent the inevitable -
we were told we would have to wait for the next crisis.
We knew it would come, I guess, I was not expecting it to be this soon
and so now I am watching;
as the pseudomonas takes over once more -
a goopy, disgusting ear and conjunctivitis for good measure (probably also pseudomonal – it happens like that)
her temperature through the roof, her heart pounding at an alarming rate
and I’m waiting for business hours so that we can call the doctor.
I’m tempted to pick her up now and make the hour long drive into the hospital.
She is sleeping though (albeit fitfully) and sleep is healing .
There is no sleep for me though,
not tonight.