|Dominic with his main squeeze, Bridget (a few months ago)|
It's official! July 1st we will be admitted to the hospital to try to get Dominic off of the vent for good! This process, from what I understand, takes about 2 weeks. But if it successful that will be 2 weeks well spent. We will wean 1 hour a day (we're only on 12 hours a day now) and go down until he is off completely. Once he is completely off (if he makes it that far) we will be kept in for a few more days to monitor how he is doing with no vent at all. We're keeping our fingers crossed.
A little while ago, after my mom and I finished making Dominic's blended food for the month, I said to her "I'm already mad about being admitted in the hospital." She reminded me not to start that way, to be positive and remember this admission is a good thing. "Don't be that mom," she said. To which I snarled my lip at her and reluctantly agreed. This is one of those times a person can either grow in virtue or fall into angry despair. It seems to be my style to do the latter, but I'm going to try for the former this time.
It's easy to get your panties in a wad in the hospital. That's right, I just said panties because this expression seems to get at the gist of the feeling. At first it's not that bad, then it gets annoying, then it's unbearable, then it just pisses you off. It is irritating dealing with all the various professionals who come in the room at any time they please. It's irritating gaining 10 pounds from eating hospital food for 2 weeks. It's exhausting sitting in that little room, doing nothing. BUT... it is much better than what some of the families on the floor are going through.
During our last admission I met a mom whose son was in the hospital going on 9 months for a traumatic brain injury. I used to treat these kids, with little sympathy for the plight of the family I might add. Sure I felt bad it happened, but I needed to get on with my day. I never ministered to these people, asking how I could help, or just sitting with them for a few minutes. I had a full case load and lots of kidd-o's to treat. It never occurred to me that my presence, un-scheduled, may be a big stressor to them. I didn't get what a beating being admitted really was. It was normal, everyday life to see these things. I would even comment on how the mom might be a little on edge and flustered. I wish I could slap my then-self and tell her all the secrets I know now.
So, here's to perspective. To remembering how good we have it. To allow myself to be stretched- after all it's not I that will do the work of growing in virtue... I just have to consent. And if you happen to get a worn-out, flustered, fed-up blog from me during these two weeks, feel free to slap me and remind me of that kid down the hall.