Last week
This six month old got the pneumonia and landed himself in the hospital.
It took five days for Graeme to get to the point where he was safe to discharge.
Though I know I am very privileged to be able to say this, and I don't expect it will stay this way for too long, those were the hardest five consecutive days of my life. Seeing such a small child, my son, going through so many treatments just so he could breathe properly - well, that's a lot of those stinging tears and lumps in the throat to produce and try to control.
And don't misinterpret me - control it well I did not. Save an hour or two each day, I was the one in the hospital with Graeme (because I'm the food source for the young buck). The entire five days I felt like I had an old, disintegrating cork stuck loosely somewhere around my collarbone and that at any moment it may just fly out and release a maelstrom of panic and anxiety on everyone and thing around me.
There were a lot of things that had that cork rattling over the five days:
Seeing Graeme in the state he was.
Getting different reads on Graeme's condition from different nurses, respiratory therapists and paediatricians.
Graeme's inability to suck his thumb, his favourite pastime and most soothing activity, because of his iv bandages. He gave 'er a good go, trying to get the bandages out of the way with his mouth, but that's a tough feat without teeth. (Note: we did get his thumb unwrapped, but he just couldn't get things to work in the usual way, so he abandoned the effort.)
Having roommates and sharing space and germs with people who, though very nice, were complete strangers and, in one case, had a different respiratory illness than Graeme did (so something else Graeme and I could catch - yay!).
Being in pseudo-isolation meaning, though we got to have roommates (!), we had to wear gowns and masks and scrub our hands so often they bled.
Getting tubes and cords caught on limbs, equipment, blankets, whatever, every time I tried to breastfeed the chap.
Being stuck in a hospital 22 to 23 hours per day. Smelling hospital smells all the time. Also, getting used to hospital smells. And, finally, smelling like a hospital myself.
Missing my husband and daughters to the point that mentioning them made my throat swell and those stingy tears appear.
There were also some really awesome things that had my eyes welling up in appreciation and also feelings of peace - these latter bits otherwise fleeting at the time.
My mother-in-law making amazing meals for my family and my husband delivering them to me each evening. And, him including wine or beer with each meal.
My mother-in-law doing approximately 24 loads of laundry to once and for all clear out my much-neglected laundry room.
My father-in-law and sister-in-law spending their days with my daughters while my husband worked.
My dad and brother-in-law relieving me at the hospital for a few hours while I dashed home to shower and remind myself what my other kids looked like.
My mother-in-law, our good family friend and my brother and sister-in-law visiting (and even bringing awesome treats), even though one nurse (but not others) said visitors were a no-go. We totally stuck it to the man.
One nurse who sensed my almost completely eroded mental state on the final day after being told in the most brusque way by the random on-call paediatrician that she didn't think Graeme should go home and that my being told otherwise by the nurses and respiratory therapists who had cared for him for five days was flat-out wrong. That nurse did what nurses can, in my head, do best but are often restricted by busyness and unable to execute. She sat down beside me for a good 20 minutes and talked with me. About Graeme's condition. About the plan for his release. About how they determine readiness to leave. About anything the conversation meandered to. It was so comforting. So perfect.
Getting a call from a friend from our church asking if it would be cool if her husband dropped off a complete roast beef dinner that evening. Very cool, indeed.
I know, it all seems really dramatic, right? Like I just needed to chill right out. It's pneumonia for pete's sake. Totally treatable, no big deal. Well, all I can say is it's just the parental thing. Seeing your child, your baby, with tubes and an iv and in pain and not able to even breathe enough on their own. Well, that just makes us folk lose our shit. Period.
Graeme still has some stuff hanging around in his lungs and I live in a moderate amount of fear that it will not clear completely or that there wil be a recurrence. Or that he'll catch the cold I managed to pick up on our last day at the hospital and the whole show will start all over again.
Please, please, no.
I know, I know, for a baby with pneumonia, the hospital is the best place to be because they really need every bit of treatment that place can offer.
But, man, is it awful.
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