I haven’t blogged about our current situation for many reasons. The main one being that I treat my writing here as a journal which tends to read a bit like whining, even when I don’t want it to. Years later I’ve looked back on stories I’ve written and laughed at myself. For that reason I’m writing today. For us to look back on this part of our life and laugh at how mommy’s writing was so over dramatic.
Jake was admitted to the hospital two weeks ago after walking into a doctors appointment and being sent directly to the emergency room. Over the course of five days the doctors worked on a problem he’d been living with for months, one that was apparently an emergency. Two days spent in an emergency room bed followed by three more in a shared hospital room next to an older man with a toe curling cough.
For five days doctors walked in and diagnosed him with terrifying ideas. Failures of all the important organs were mentioned and immediately tested. He lay there, uncomfortable and in pain in a miserable hospital bed being poked, prodded and woken up only to be released five days later with not only no answer but a slip of paper telling him to call his doctor.
Meanwhile the girls were at home with raging colds and ear infections. Anybody with children knows what this means. Cranky children during the day who are unable to sleep a wink at night. While the grandparents had them during the day, I had the privilege of tending to them during the night. When Gwen would curl up in her father’s place in bed and squirm all night because her stomach bothered her only to throw up down my chest. Norah who slept right in the crook of my arm and would fuss every 45 minutes because she was in pain.
One night my mother in law stayed and slept on the floor of Gwen’s room.
All the others were long days at a hospital followed by sleepless nights at home.
Things all came to a head on Friday evening, after Jake had been in the hospital for 4 days. Norah had been laid down for bed when my in-laws, who had stayed at our house since the day Jake was admitted, left to go back home. My mom’s plane was due to land in an hour and I decided we’d be just fine, the girls and I.
30 minutes later I stood in the middle of my living room holding Gwyneth who was puking everywhere while Norah, who had woken up just in time, was crying on the floor.
Tears rolled down my cheeks as the girls and I joined in a chorus of exhaustion, fear and frustration. We all felt the strain of what the week had brought us and we all had had enough.
The next day Jake was discharged from the hospital. And so he came home, unsure of what in his body wasn’t working, yet now positive that something somewhere is wrong.
While Jake is home from the hospital and out of immediate danger we are still without answers and he is still in pain. Doctors appointments fill our schedule as we try to figure out how to make our family work with one partner down.
And so we trudge on, grateful that Jake’s problem isn’t an emergent life threatening situation. We deal with the girls who have ultimately been the most affected. We deal with three hour long bed time routines, with an unruly three year old who acts out for attention and has completely regressed with potty training. We deal with the fact that in order to feed ourselves it requires making a mess of our kitchen and can’t be a pizza delivered to our door step.
So maybe this week will be better. Maybe I’ll shed fewer tears and feel like I’m capable of carrying this family. Maybe the doctors will find the reason for Jake’s suffering and provide relief. Maybe his pain will continue to lessen and we’ll continue to see Jake return to himself. Just maybe, this will all turn out okay.