How dare they didn't take me first! At least I rock this hospital gown like a champ!
OK, so this has been one crazy week! I meant to post about his earlier this week, but you know, life doesn’t stop just because I have something to write. Also, linear thought patterns have been a challenge for me this week, so I hope you can follow along!
I was all set to post about my business card fiasco because I didn’t think there would be much to write about with Thomas’s ear tube surgery. Oh, but I was wrong, so the business card fiasco is going to have to wait until later because I need to vent about the surgery.
Sunday night, last night I was a wreck about this simple ear surgery. It only takes 10 minutes, but I think I was upset that it had to come to this. One ear infection turned into two, turned into three, and then he had fluid in his ears that wouldn’t drain for another two months. So really he’s been sick pretty much his whole life, all of 11 ½ months. And when I really look back, I think all those nursing strikes had to do with his ears because he would always bat at his head and ears. The ENT said that even though there was no fluid, there may have been pressure. So then there’s that whole Mother’s Guilt thing that just puts an endless tickertape of what if’s: what if I nursed him more, what if I made Marie wear a hazmat suit to school so she wouldn’t bring any of germs home, what if I told the doctor I wanted to see an ENT when he was having nursing problems instead of assuming it was a stomach issue.
Anyway, so we were told to arrive at the hospital at 8:10 a.m. and the surgery would be at 9:10a.m. We were the second surgery scheduled for that day. When we arrived at the hospital at 7:30a.m., we are greeted by the waiting room staff Greeter, Patricia. Patricia was very friendly and informed us that the patient before us had not shown up yet and that we might be bumped up for the first surgery of the day. I thought that was great!! And then in comes the patient with her mother and two handlers at 7:50 a.m. Instead of making her wait and letting us go first, since I am guessing she was an hour late, they whisk her back and get her started right away. I was livid!! I felt if my looks could seriously injure someone, they would have. And Late Mom didn’t have that oh-shit-I’m-so-late-vibe, judging by the McDonald’s coffee she was leisurely sipping and letting her baby suck on the cup lid. Also, one of her handlers sat in the waiting room and cleaned out her purse while she waited. But whatever. As soon as I was able to count from 10 to 1 without my eye balls pulsating with adrenaline, I voiced my concern to Patricia that this may set our surgery behind, but she assured me that we would still be on time. Well, fifteen minutes late turns into forty minutes late which then turned into fifty minutes late. I was so mad!! Seriously, how could Late Mom have no care for arrival time, and how could the hospital just be OK with that?! It’s already a stressful time knowing your kid is having surgery but then add Late Mom with her easy, breezy attitude that sets my kid behind, I was pissed. And then to entertain a baby in a tiny pre-op room for fifty minutes was enough to drive me over. the. edge. And during that wait time, I had the painful experience of watching my baby boy prefer his daddy instead of me. I am usually the go-to person for all that is comfort. What the hell was this all about? I feel like Thomas prefers Harrington when he comes home from work because he’s the Good-Time-Daddy, but at the hospital, I thought he’d want his Mommy. I mean, I know it’s good that Thomas feels close to Harrington, but sometimes I feel insecure. I feel like Thomas is getting back at me because I may have expressed some mild trepidation when I discovered he was a boy. Here’s another what if: what if our house becomes a house divided into boy and girls? That would be bad.
So that was my Monday morning. Thomas is doing well, for the most part. I, however, am still recovering. I think all this stress has made me break out in a rash. Here’s a brief recap of my conversation with my dermatologist that I had today:
Dr. Bird: Are you allergic to anything?
Me: My life.
Dr. Bird: Are you saying that you feel is under duress.
Dr. Bird: You are going to have to work on getting that under control if my remedies will be successful.
Me: It is painfully obvious you did not do the heavy lifting when it came to your kids.
Well, I said that last part in my head, not out loud. I mean, he did promise a cortisone shot to help with the insane itching, so I didn’t want to totally piss him off. Anyway –
So tell me your hospital waiting room stories? How do you feel when your kids want their daddy to comfort them instead of you?