The weather makes today perfect for cups of fragrant tea and naps.
Shaggy is napping, and I have a big cup of coffee in my hand, but our location leaves something to be desired. The boy is in his hospital crib, deep in slumber. In fact, he sleeps better here than he has ever, anywhere. Last night he gave me the gift of four hours of sleep, after he’d taken a five-hour nap earlier in the evening.
Normally I’d be thrilled - and believe me, I am happy to see him resting so peacefully - but this new love of sleep leaves me to my own devices in a hospital room on the pediatric floor.
I make my way to the coffee pot in the family lounge gingerly, trying not to look at the signs on the doors I pass.
No latex! No droplets! Masks and gloves required!
I picture the small bodies inside those rooms, rooms that need such adamant warnings. It makes my mother-heart ache.
There but for the grace of God.
I am their compatriot in location only, the parents of those children. Shaggy is doing well, suffering in all likelihood from a simple childhood disease that resolves itself and requires no further medical intervention.
The other babies here, those on the isolation ward …
My trusty words fail me.
But this day, this gloomy, gloomy day, gives my mind permission to wander to the darker places. The rain from the hurricane is pounding Chambana, flooding streets and our backyard. The alley behind our home is under water, blocking Mr. C’s path to the hospital.
Several of the five boulders in our back flower bed are submerged.
“I can only see the tops of three of them,” Mr. C reported.
He and The Poo are safe in our house. I picture them in the family room, the lights on against the darkness outside. I hear the wind in our eaves and the rain on the roof.
I want so badly to be with them.
Or I want them with me.
I want The Poo to sweep into her brother’s room, trailing sunshine behind her. I want to hug her healthy, sturdy body and count my blessings. I want my husband to make fun of me for my bad hair day.
I want their energy to ward off the demons of this floor.
Shaggy’s breathing is labored but his oxygen is excellent. He is eating, sleeping and pooping like a healthy baby. This morning when the doctors came in for rounds, he treated them to a series of heart-stopping, charming smiles and coos.
I’m weathering this storm, thanks to the love I feel through my computer screen, and the support of my family. I feel certain that my baby will escape this weekend unscathed, and that we’ll go home tomorrow with this time just a memory in our back pockets.
I can’t be so certain for the others here, and I wish with all my heart I could offer them shelter.
September 14th, 2008 at 11:51 am
Beautiful writing. I could feel all of it as if I were there with you.
I’m glad Shaggy is doing well. Hopefully the others on your floor will be spared as well, and for all of you these days will be just pictures and notes in the baby book. Sending you hope, hope, and more hope.
September 14th, 2008 at 12:03 pm
Glad to hear he’s doing well, even if you’re still feeling frazzled.
Hope the water goes down enough so Mr. C and the Poo can come visit. Funny, here in Ohio it looks like we won’t get any of that rain, despite everyone around us being drenched with flooding rain.
If there’s anything at all I can do, let me know. Virtual hugs to your family.
September 14th, 2008 at 12:58 pm
Godspeed to Shaggy for a quick recovery. Poor little guy.
Please, please let me know what I can do, if anything.
Frank and I spent the morning shop-vacing water out of the basement as it was pouring in the window. Thank God it happened during the daylight hours and not at, say, 3 a.m.
September 14th, 2008 at 1:22 pm
I am sorry to hear that you guys are getting so much rain and that Mr. C and the Poo can’t be with your right now. Glad to hear that Shaggy is continuing to do so well. I will keep him and all those children in my thoughts and prayers. Hugs!
September 14th, 2008 at 2:01 pm
I just got caught up on my RSS feeds and my heart breaks for your uncertainty. Know that you are in all of our thoughts and the prayers of many, many people are for Shaggy’s health, for wisdom for his doctors, and for you, Poo, and Mr. C to find strength, and some sort of peace during this trying time. All of our love too all of you!
September 14th, 2008 at 2:51 pm
Aw man… you have been dealt far more than your share of crappy luck. Major kudos to you for managing your way through this crisis. Hang in there, Mrs. C.
September 14th, 2008 at 3:38 pm
I’m glad Shaggy is on the mend. I hope you can be at home with your family very very soon. Thank-you for writing this. Tears.
September 14th, 2008 at 4:23 pm
Time and time again you rock the opening line.
September 14th, 2008 at 4:27 pm
It’s always a jolt to my system when I return to L’s room and see those signs. No droplets, wear gowns, isolation. You are in an incredible place that has saved L’s life more then a few times…and my sanity. I’ve walked those halls a million times, wept with grief and laughed with joy. You will need a massage for your neck from sleeping on the sofa/bed. Enjoy the crushed ice and LBOTP loves the coffee shop - make her buy you lunch!
Kiss and hug all of the nurses up there for us! Amy & Jody too. Both Hospitalists are amazing docs and we love them dearly.
If you want the “secret code” for what I call Graham Cracker Fort Knox just let me know. It’s closer to the rooms
Hope to see you home soon!!
September 14th, 2008 at 4:28 pm
So sorry you’re there . . . and so glad to hear that Shaggy is doing well.
We were there, in that same hospital, when O was 10-months, only we were in an isolation room. One with a door between the hallway and the room that contained a decontamination sink and masks and gloves for the doctors, nurses, and specialists that continually cycled in.
Our visit was defined by bone scans, lumbar punctures, spinal taps, and hourly blood draws. There were more references to childhood cancers than I ever care to recall. Thankfully it wasn’t. Thankfully it got better. But even in leaving with my bundled baby in tow, my heart broke for those children who didn’t. For the ones who repeatedly visited those isolation rooms.
It really helps to put a difficult time in perspective, huh?
Hope tomorrow finds you snug as bugs in your own home with the whole family, and a healthy Shaggy.
September 14th, 2008 at 6:23 pm
So glad that things are alright. Waiting patiently for an update! *hugs*
September 14th, 2008 at 6:33 pm
Thinking of you. I’m glad to hear that Shaggy is breathing well today. It’s a crazy jolt to the system to be in the hospital. I will keep you in my prayers and hope that all goes well tomorrow.
September 14th, 2008 at 7:58 pm
Prayers are being sent your way.
September 14th, 2008 at 8:34 pm
Just read your last two posts. So sorry you have to be there, but relieved Shaggy’s doing well. I know what you’re going through having slept in a hard backed wrought iron rocking chair for 4 nights while Stinker lay in his crib. Breathing problems. Bronchiolitis at 3 months old. Hang in there. Sending you hope that the doctor will lay his hand on your arm and say everything is all right.
September 14th, 2008 at 8:54 pm
glad this is only temporary, but you’re right. hospitals suck.
September 14th, 2008 at 9:01 pm
I know that there really are no words. But, I do remember Jace as a week old baby in the hospital as a failure to thrive baby and then again when he was about 8 weeks old, a raging fever and a medical student doing the spinal tap, I wanted to clobber someone. I sat in the room there and managed to think alot, think about people who aren’t as lucky as I am but wondering all the same, “why me”. I was only 7 days past a c/s when he was in for failure to thrive and I didn’t sleep for 48 hours. I laid on the bed and watched his chest rise and fall. I refused to leave, I knew other people would sleep and wouldn’t see it like I did. Finally, when we thought we were going to be there for more than a couple of nights, I issued an ultimatum that the only way I was going home was if my cousin who worked in a huge neonatal unit miles and miles away would come stay with my baby..that was it no other way.
I remember the feelings for my new baby and the feeling of longing for my toddler at home who was a baby at 22 months.
It is hard but you are strong, you’ve weathered way too much so far to fall behind now. Keep your head up and keep us posted.
September 14th, 2008 at 10:23 pm
Yes, pediatric floors of hospitals are one of the saddest places. I hope all of those babies are going to be okay. I KNOW yours will. Hang in there. Hasn’t the rain been unbelievable??
September 14th, 2008 at 10:59 pm
You are an amazing writer.