Gratitude Project / The Baby

Comfortably Numb

I am a creature of habit. Maybe more than anyone I know (except my oldest), I thrive in routine and structure. I love waking up and knowing what the day is going to be like. I do not like my feathers ruffled.
 
That being said, The Baby has been in the hospital now for a week and a half with no end in sight. This hospital stay is nothing but a complete lack of routine. What’s worse is now we’re being strung along with the vanishing mirage of discharge. We’ve been told at least 3 times that we might go home, only to show up the next morning and be told “Oh, nevermind.” I hate getting my hopes up that we might return to some sense of normalcy only to be sentenced to “one more day” in our medical prison.
 
I’m starting to feel numb now. When doctors say, “We’re going to try xyz and try to get you home tomorrow!”, I think they expect me to jump up and hug them and have a party. Instead I stare through them as if they were invisible before turning to gaze out the window existentially. I cannot feel despair or hope at the hospital. I have to function and talk to doctors and help get vitals and learn the damn CPAP machine. 
There is a bright spot, though. Dang, I have some really great people in my life. Aside from those of you that have delivered food, “washed dishes” (ahem, CHARLES), watched our dog, there are three people that have propped me up during this ordeal.
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My husband is quite literally the best. He is a solid rock. He works all day, comes to relive whoever is at the hospital for the evening shift, gets home and does dishes, passes out, wakes up and does it all over. I had to yell at him this morning because he “slept” at the hospital and wouldn’t go home. He comforts me when I collapse next to him on the hospital couch with dirty sheets that haven’t been cleaned in three days. He jokes with me and makes me laugh. He is very level-headed. When the doctor gives us bad news, Alex keeps me from responding in a serious voice, “Doctor, I hear you and I fart in your general direction.” We are such a great team. I wouldn’t want to do this with anyone else.
20160125_132846 This dude (pic from our stint in the NICU last year, which is making me the same kind of crazy) is a trooper. Whatever we need, whenever, wherever. He’ll be there. He’s helped me find my phone battery after I threw it across the hospital room. He’s brought me Subway and meandered around the hospital looking for aspirin. He makes nice with the nurses and respiratory therapists when I feel like melting everyone with my laser beam eyes. He’s flipped water bottles with The Kid for an eternity. He loves my boys and they love him. He is a great dad and he is a fantastic grandfather.
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Every time I think that I’ve reached some level of adulthood and I don’t really “need” my mom anymore, we go through something and I run back to cry on her shoulder. I guess I’ll never stop needing her. She never sits. If she’s not entertaining the Kid or holding The Baby at the hospital, she’s doing laundry or vacuuming or dishes. I don’t know how we would have made it through this week without her. Whoever takes the hospital shift after her has to deal with the staff saying, “Oh, where did that nice lady go?!” She is a bulldog. A lovely, selfless bulldog who won’t take no for an answer, writes down everything everyone says so she can give a full report, and pushes the “Call Nurse” button with reckless abandon. I’ve needed my mom this week.
I love you. All of you. Thanks for loving us too.

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