You should’ve seen me trying to put Austin down to sleep last night while he kept insisting, “We are NOT sleeping at the hospital!” It was after ten when he finally conked out only to be roused a few hours later and whisked off into the cold dark night. But he happily watched the empty streets pass by as we drove home at 1:15 am and quickly crawled into our own beds. There is something to be said for waking up in your house with your family all around you.
And after some moments of blissful normalcy this morning, I went to flush his PICC line . . . and it was blocked. Oh, I was so mad. SO mad. It is the worst feeling to sit there and attempt a necessary medical procedure on your child only to have it fail. I tried a couple of times, afraid to push too hard; was able to draw blood off of it but only with a lot of resistance and air bubbles. Right as I was fuming about what to do next, the charge nurse from the floor called to see how everything was going. “Weeeellllll,” I began and she said, “Oh no.”
So we spent the next several hours down in the clinic, the absolute last place we wanted to be, waiting for the “central line Draino” to work its magic. Which it did, of course. And then, back home, finally home.
Speaking of performing medical procedures on your own child, his injections are becoming quite a production. He is fighting them tooth and nail, and has to be pinned down by me while Mark attacks him with that needle. It’s all sort of ridiculous and would almost be funny if it weren’t so awful. We’ve tried all the tricks recommended by professionals — have given him options (which leg, where we sit to do them), we’ve given him needles to stick into stuffed animals, and have explained over and over that we don’t want to hurt him but have to do this to make him better. But nothing works. He simply will not have it. And because he is squirming and tensing up his muscles, the damn shots hurt all the more.
Ah, how many more marbles indeed?