I walked to the hospital in the snow this morning feeling very much like I was on my way to work with the rest of the crowd. I’m on pain control today, which will probably involve charting new or diminished medication and singing songs and getting all protective when people want to move my boy around. I considered the times I walked from the Hospital House to the Hospital that March twelve years ago. It didn’t snow that month in Maine, or perhaps it did and I was completely absorbed in Medical World. It’s hard to say. Yesterday I stood in a really long line at Starbucks. My impulse to yell, “My kid is in the hospital so get me to the front of the line STAT!” was driven more by my strong distaste for lines than from any sort of anxiety. Twelve years ago I would have been in a fog wondering how anyone had the audacity to order coffee when my baby was in the NICU.
I walked to the hospital in the snow this morning wondering what Liam would be doing on this snow day, having to trust that the home team had everything under control. I called Garreth when I got to the hospital and had one of those awful phone conversations that the Medical Moms will recognize. I was distracted by Aidan’s pain but also needed to communicate some details about the day. Garreth was being so supportive of my role here and was trying to be helpful. Being strictly in function mode, I was not particularly gracious. This is the weirdness of Medical World colliding with the Real World. As soon as we said an awkward goodbye, we both followed up with texts of “Pinky Swear, I love you, In it to Win it.”
When I walked in the snow knowing that I would be Chief Executive of Comforting Songs, I knew I would have to crowd source that one. So I jumped on FaceBook and threw the question out to my chorus group of 200 strong women who have live life wholly; what is the first line to your favorite Voices song? Words of courage and love and peace came rushing to me in this cyber world and Aidan is being calmed by my singing sisters.
I walked in the snow well aware that I was walking closer to Aidan’s pain. It seems ridiculous that I feel the urge to put a cold washcloth on his head to calm his temperature, knowing that it’s perfectly normal to be high and it’s actually being treated and is the smallest of issues. He managed to eat a little oatmeal this morning and drink a chocolate milkshake, just a bit. On the agenda today is an x-ray and another move into a chair and pain management. Our rhythm of the day so far has been – Aidan sees my face and gives the saddest ever most desperate whimper of a half cry, his heart rate jumps, I get in his face and sing to him, he falls asleep, some medical person comes in to talk to us or our neighbor or Aidan has a seizure and wakes, cries, repeat.
I have one hour now before we get set to move Aidan into a chair and take him to x-ray. Enough time to go outside and feel the snow again and fuel up with a latte, heavy hearted but on the job, not minding that other people are going about their day.