. . . another hospital.  A new hospital this time, too.

Don’t worry — nothing bad happened. I just finally got around to making appointments for the non-essential, non-emergency, non-cancer-related issues that have been bothering Austin for the past six months.  First, those pesky tonsils.  Which don’t actually bother Austin at all.  I mean, he snores, loudly, but that doesn’t bother him. But we simply have to make sure he’s able to be safely sedated for any future procedures so today we visited an ear, nose and throat specialist at Akron Children’s (long story there, related to annoying health insurance issues, but I must say that even with an hour drive, Akron Children’s was very pleasant to deal with).

Then it was off down the hall to see the “plastics” guy. No, Austin’s not getting a new nose (his current one will have to do).  Remember the dreaded finger injury?  (God, how could we forget the dreaded finger?) It’s turned into quite a claw lately, which we’ve labeled the Franken-finger, and which causes him a lot of pain and discomfort. It’s always the little things . . .

Both doctors agreed that “quick” surgeries are in the books. Luckily, they will coordinate their schedules so we can wrap both procedures up into one surgery, likely over winter vacation (since, you know, kindergarten is the new first grade and the kid’s gotta be able to hold a pencil!).

It was relatively easy, but there’s something about hospital days that exhausts me. I think I’ve finally accepted that it’s not the actual day or anything in it that’s tiring (I mean, today was mostly spent on the freeway) but something much more psychological for me. Maybe it’s the reliving I’m forced through (multiple times) as I recount the date of each and every surgery and list the names of all the current and past medications and check the damn Yes box next to so many of the “Has your child ever….” questions, complete with the wide-eyed amazement of the nurse who unsuspectingly asked our medical history. I inevitably come home and feel completely wiped, like I’ve done something so stressful, and then have to, ugh, make dinner and, ugh, oversee homework. It’s a bit silly, I guess, but also completely logical. Ah, it’s always the little things. . .

But tomorrow really IS another day . . .

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