Saturday, February 9, 2013

Say "Hello" to the Other Shoe

I'm not a fan of surprises.

I should really qualify that by saying that I like good surprises, like birthday cakes and handmade cards and discovering that there are some chips left. I also like all the new things that my kids come up with to amaze me with. What I don't like are completely huge, mind-blowing, turn-your-whole-world-on-its-arse surprises.

After less than stellar week with appointments and whatnot, I was left feeling a little drained and a whole lot blue.  I was tired, sure, as I've been since I conceived my eldest, however this was different.  I started to wonder if I was depressed, actually.  I'm also never really sure what the universe is trying to tell me either, as I went in for two very long, very intense twelve hour day shifts--those days that completely tug at your heartstrings whilst simultaneously sucking what is left of your brain out your left ear.  There were quite a few things that hit a little too close to home and I found myself in a bit of a spiritual dilemma in spots, including my advocacy and this membership card I have to the special needs mom club.  Any or all of these things are fertile ground in which the seeds of despair will sprout.

Thursday morning found me looking after the babies as Sean picked up a few groceries.  It was my "turn around day", namely the third day of my tour where my days become nights and I have a morning "off" [read: to get a few things done].   Wyatt and Zoe were puttering around me in the living room and I was considering making us an early lunch when the phone rang.

It was Sick Kids.  If you remember our recent trip down there to see the cardiologist, we were told that if the surgeon opted to repair Wyatt's AVSD (now ASD) this year, we would get a call in three to six months to book our pre-op tour.  You can imagine my surprise when I picked up the phone to find out that Wyatt had been officially presented already and the surgeon was now looking to book him.  I was kinda half listening and half trying to find a pen (and trying to get away from the noise of the kids) when she started giving me potential dates.  I was also absentmindedly trying to remember if I had anything major happening near the end of summer or fall where I expected the surgery dates to be.  She tossed me the first date:

"Valentines Day, February 14th."

(What the hell did she just say?...)
"This year?"  I squeaked at her.  "As in next week?"

"Yeeeaaaaah...." [Very Lumberg-esque]

Whatever melancholy was plaguing me was completely gone and I was now in full fledged panic mode (all the while looking around to see if I was being Punk'd).  I am (surprisingly!) off for Valentine's Day this year and had made plans to bake cupcakes and get completely gooey with the kids.  Realistically, there was no way in hell I was going to be able to organize the time off and the necessary arrangements to be able to pick up and live downtown at his bedside for almost 10 days.  Not to mention the day itself is more than slightly ghoulish and two days before their birthday.  He was not spending their birthday in the hospital.  It was just not going to happen and I told her so. 

The next few dates she offered up were in March and not much better.  I explained to her that I only had a limited amount of vacation time in the bank at present (I do get 5 weeks a year now, but I had cleared it out in anticipation of saving up for a late summer or fall surgery date).  After a back and forth between her and my husband on his cell, we finally settled on April 3, with a pre-op of April 2nd.

April 3rd. 
Just over seven weeks.
Holy f☠cking sh☠tballs!

I know this day has been coming since his diagnosis a month before he was born and I'm all for the "sooner rather than later" philosophy.  I've also seen the leaps and bounds my son has made since the VSD has closed; imagine how awesome things will be once he has the ASD and the valves repaired as well.  I also have read, seen and heard hundreds of parents like myself who have been through this with their child and everyone has come out the other side for the better.

But, that doesn't change the fact that in this relatively small amount of time, I have to move heaven and earth to get ready.  At the same time, despite the practical, nurse part of my brain rationalizing how well much easier this will be, the mommy part of my brain is quite noisily going mad in the corner.  Once upon a time, I said that finding out about his heart issues was the hardest day of my life.  Now we are finally here and dealing with all of this, I really am starting to know what 'hard' actually looks like.  It's not a nice feeling.  Not at all.

As I mobilize our support system, I only ask one thing:  say a little prayer, sprinkle glitter, light a candle, shake a chicken, whatever it is that you do... and think of us here at Team Logan.  The next little while is going to stretch already taught nerves.  The storm I spoke of at the start of this year is now blowing in.  I can't help but watch the clouds roll on the horizon, while hoping the supplies hold out.


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12 comments :

  1. While there is no way anyone can affect the storm, should you run out of supplies, count on us to send you more. Like for reals.
    xox

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thank you. I am so happy to have you and your family in my life.

      Delete
  2. Sending hugs and positive thoughts...
    Leah

    ReplyDelete
  3. Love and prayers for the "other" Wyatt in our life! You can do this!

    ReplyDelete
  4. Hello Logan family,
    I understand. My son had heart surgery when he was almost 2 years old. (Also in an April coincidentally and also turned out to be a little to last minute for my taste.) That was nearly 21 years ago, and as you said, medical advancements are making this “easier” all the time.
    Of course it’s not easy at all. But you all will recover and be stronger…and watch out, possibly louder.
    I will be thinking of you all from across many miles.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thank you so much. I think "loud" is our new normal. :)

      Delete

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