We’ve been in the hospital.
Day 13 today.
I won’t go into all of the nitty gritty but it involved a reluctant temporary line, an arrogant anaesthetist and several changes in antibiotic.
Also – dysfunctional imune and renal systems.
Home tomorrow to wait for a week before we are sent to the Children’s Hospital because nobody knows what to do any more.
Better yet, is that the two primary players in Ivy’s team are now away
and nobody knows what is happening – they all just keep asking me
and I’ve run out of crazy pills.
It’s deja vu in every sense of the word.
It feels like a strange kind of abandonment.
I don’t expect anyone to understand that feeling exactly but gee, it would be nice if somebody did.
Someone referred to all of this business as being some kind of groundhog day
and that it’s tiresome (to live it or to read it, I’m not really sure. Maybe both.)
It’s true, of course.
It is tiresome.
It does get boring.
Unfortunately, it’s life for us.
That’s not to say that there hasn’t been plenty of happy – there has,
it’s just hard to take the little bits of good and spin them into a post
and really, aside from medically based stuff, I’m not that opinionated.
I said that when my big girls turned 18 that I would stop blogging but here I am a week later, typing away.
I am my own worst enemy.
I think I’m done and then I remember something I want to write about or photos I want to share.
Which reminds me, I should write about their becoming adults and the almost unfathomable knowledge that Lily will be sixteen on Thursday.
When I started to blog they were eleven and nine.
Another friend said that I should make the blog private or switch off comments – until I have something better to offer the internet than just this.
It’s tempting, just so I don’t have to listen to everyone tell me that my blog is the same stuff just a different day.
It’s hard to come up with good writing material when all you do is sit in a hospital room.
I could regale you all with tales of the hospital food, I guess
or how single cut hospital sheets don’t fit well on a double bed and that even if you use two they still ride up
and how after a few days you can’t feel your back and hips anymore, so it really doesn’t matter
or how the horrible anaesthetist denied Ivy pain relief
and how I honestly thought I would hunt him down, bore a long central venous line into his body
and tell him it was a “nothing procedure” and insist that Panadol would be enough for him.
I could tell you the simple joys of having Noah for a sleep over and how the pair slept in each others arms
or how they sat for hours yesterday morning playing with $2.50 puppets from K-Mart while nurses and cleaners moved in and out of the room intermittently
and they were so focused on each other they barely noticed.
Or perhaps I could whine about lack of continuity of care and how that affects all of us
but in the end, it’s all hospital fodder – just written from a different perspective each time
and apparently that’s boring.
Don’t worry, it bores me too – I bore myself.
What I will say is this: on Tuesday we’re going home and I am going to relish every minute of it
and try not to think too much about anything at all.