I have been silent as conversation pertains to Riley…not because there isn’t anything to say but because it is so ever-changing that the moment I find space to write my thoughts they have already shifted.… More
Oh this place. This room…I’m looking around and there isn’t a thing that I don’t recognize, not a single detail that doesn’t feel intimate…familiar in ways that only my own home is familiar. You know those commonplace bits of a house that only the inhabitants are keen on, like the creaky tones in certain floor planks or the exact origin of a knick in paint that is unnoticeable to the visiting eye. But you…you hear the creak, you hear it maybe because you remember the first day it began or maybe because it’s always been there and that’s part of it’s charm. The scratched paint…you don’t just notice it, it’s all you see when you walk by. Years later you’ve now found yourself breaking into a grin instead of cringe recalling the exact moment of contact between that damned “Sit to Stand” walker commandeered by your eager learner, the culprit of the scratch. Those are the privately ordinary parts that make a house a home.
The room I am currently sitting in I have never stepped foot in. But I know it all. I’ve got every inch memorized. They’re all the same…maybe not in exact physical detail but holy emotional carbon copy. Unlike a home the sounds are not consistent creaks underfoot but beeps, shrieks from down the hall, the rolling of beds and carts, the robotic ramblings of a “TUG” stuck in the hallway, the sound of your thoughts racing and your stomach churning in nervous hunger. For food or answers? Both? Neither. The scratches aren’t in the furniture…they’re in you…they are the wounds brought on by being a past, present and future resident deciding whether now is the time to open again or continue healing. The ones you’ve been nursing and could almost convince yourself no one sees but boy do they stand out under the florescent lights of a hospital room…or in my case in the glow of my computer screen and my tell all fingertips.
Saying I can’t believe we are here feels ridiculous. Of course I can. The moment I walked through the doors I felt like we never left. It’s an all consuming form of confusion. The lack of sleep is probably aiding in that but I feel as though I have either been sucked back in time or catapulted into the future. I don’t feel shocked that we are here…but today? I don’t feel like this was going to be my current day situation. An all nighter in the local ER ending in transport and readmission at UCSF just wasn’t on my radar. Or apparently it was…I remember standing up last night just to go to the bathroom and looking over at her…she looked peaceful, comfortable, perfect. She hadn’t made a peep all night…for once she actually seemed to be resting easy. Touch her. My inner voice was clear. Touch her. I don’t want to. Now. I knew then. I reached over and spread my palm over her bare back…fire. The type of heat you forget can radiate from a human and are reminded every time fever strikes. Fuck. I sauntered down the stairs for the thermometer…the very heavy first steps to a very long night. Fevers for most mean Tylenol and cool wash cloths with a side of cranky kid…congratulations “most”. Our protocol is a pinch different. All the rushing around, tests, frantic discussions, questions, teams, yada, yada, yada…you’ve read the blog before and you’ve seen Greys Anatomy…your imagination can fill in the gaps I leave. Bumping along 101 watching the sunrise out of the back of an ambulance this morning my thoughts spun…positive perspective weaved in and out of every ray of light and then cold hard reality bottomed me out as the tires slammed into potholes. Oh, baby girl.
We were wheeled onto the 6th floor and of course met by a slew of familiar faces…coming here now is like visiting family you only see at funerals…both parties genuinely embrace and squeal about how happy you are to see each other and then upon pulling back from the hugs those smiles melt into remembrance of the shit nature of the real occasion that brought you here.
We are here. Riley vs Riley Round ___ …ugh…I’m not sure even sure at this point. She’s resting easy now which tonight I’m going to go with means… she was craving a lick of attention and will get her act together soon and be back bouncing off the familiar walls of home…our real home before I can even really believe this happened. Sleep…she’s doing it…I should too.
Send us all the love you’ve got to spare. xoxo
I have urges, needs, dreams, desires, goals. I’m human. I have all of those things. Some of them are selfish and some of them are selfless. Finding a way to combine all of my worlds seems to be my hardest task these days. Maybe because it’s the one task I’m supposed to have the most control over though lately I feel I have control of nothing. I’ve swallowed the far too large pill that is Rileys health. I know I cannot control what happens to her but also know how to be right there with her when it does. That part I know I can do. That is the only thing I am sure of. I know how to be “that” mother…the hospital mother…the “nothing else matters but this moment” mother. But right now…right now Riley is home, she’s stable(ish) and so my most important job is to be a functioning mother in the out and open. The mother who’s skin I can live in and they’ll be proud of. The mother that isn’t waiting for one of their children to get sick again. The mother that makes them grateful for every moment without making them feel time is fleeting. The mother that attends to their needs but teaches them independence. I don’t know who she looks like…I don’t know how to manage the time and responsibilities in a way that serves every aspect of our reality. One minute I want to quit work, live off grid and soak up every moment in the sunshine with Riley knowing that there may not be an endless amount of summers ahead of her. The next I’m yearning to go back to work for 2 reasons…number 1 I am passionate, full of ideas and LOVE working, number 2 I need Presley to learn the balance of working mother and know that even through hardship women GET. SHIT. DONE. The next I want to curl up in a ball in the farthest corner of my house and hope that no one asks me for anything because even the request of toast might break me.
I look at them and am lost as to how to not fuck them up. I honestly feel like that’s 98% of parenting…just not fucking them up. When I go back to work will they understand and appreciate now that it is because there are bills to pay?…because work is a part of me?…because it’s a part of teaching them ethic? Or will they just feel secondary…secondary to my schedule…secondary to bills…secondary to lessons they won’t value until they are past the phase of thinking I just suck. I envision Presley as an adult…who do I have to be to make her look at me and thank me as opposed to resent me? What is the schedule that will make her remember me as a dedicated mother and professional? How do I work to put food on the table but also sit at it with her? And then there’s Riley…Riley I can’t picture as an adult. Riley I can only see in the present…which makes being away from her even harder. The life lessons I yearn to teach her are simpler…they are to enjoy, to endure, to appreciate…to just be present. Funny thing is…I feel I’m learning most of that through her. There is not a human on this planet that I have learned more about endurance and appreciation than that little lady. But while most days I feel she is my teacher I am still hers.
The pressure I put on myself is immense but necessary. There isn’t a thing I can put down. Nothing I can neglect. I have an enormous tribe of supporters but at the end of the day it is me tucking these girls into bed and hoping that tomorrow I’ll be better for them. And then I lay myself down and beg that tomorrow I’ll be better for me. I looked at a calendar yesterday…reviewed all of Rileys upcoming appointments and Presleys school functions and around that I penciled in a work schedule that I think I can manage. Trying to plan my life out even 5 weeks in advance seemed ludicrous…my brain keeps taunting me. It whispers things like “sure lady that’s a great plan”, “ha…this looks a whole to like the schedule of a healthy kid mom” and then it shouts at me “you’ll never pull this off” and then “fuck off, yes you will”. Earning a living while raising non-assholes while managing Rileys complicated little body while maintaining sanity just seems well…impossible. But it’s not. It can’t be because turns out that is my life. We all only get one…this is mine and it has to work, it has to be beautiful, it has to mean something…it has to do all of that…for them.
As for Riley…she continues to equally amaze and confuse us all. The only thing that is certain about her is uncertainty. We have no answers only more questions. We have no cure only management. We have no timeline only the time in front of us. We have one goal and that is to keep her as happy and healthy as her body will allow and love her viciously no matter what. I keep telling myself that somehow if I just keep coming back to that thought everything else will fall into place. We aren’t in the hospital anymore Toto…we’re back in the world and it’s time to be a part of it.
As per usual…thoughts, prayers, juju…keep it coming y’all.
*Disclaimer…Lately finding the time to write and then actually get what I write onto the blog at the same time has been proven impossible. For weeks now I’ve written off and on but the moments to post have been fleeting so I’m left with half finished thoughts, paragraphs and updates no one will ever read. Whoops. Anyway…this one was too important to stay in just my possession so while I know it is now Thursday (or at least I think it is) this was written Sunday. Forgive me? xoxo
Riley is next door…on the floor with Papi playing their millionth round of Barbie wedding. I’m next door as well shoveling leftover pasta into my mouth with crossed fingers that each bite will soothe the hangover rattling in my brain. My brother doesn’t come into town often and turns out we had a bit to catch up on and that clearly involved more beers than my next day body felt necessary. I stroll back to my house to get Rileys afternoon meds ready and as I open the back slider I hear the door bell. It’s Sunday. Who solicits on a Sunday? Rude. Don’t these people know I’m in no mood to say no to solar?! (not because I don’t support it I just can’t afford it). I open the door to an empty porch…no salesman…just a gift bag, I look up and see a car pulling away but not one I recognize. I lift the gift bag and peer into it…there’s an envelope protruding that reads To: Riley and Family. I set it on the counter, pull up the meds and then carry back next door with me two different pain meds, chemo and a gift. Happy Sunday. Riley is expecting the meds but the bag excites her. We open it up and as I read through the cards I’m humbled…there is never a name other than ours. I don’t now who its from…before I even get to the gift I don’t know who to thank and am immediately consumed with curiosity and my all time favorite emotion…gratitude.
Inside is a blanket…a quilt. It’s blazing pink and stupidly soft on one side but the other side…the other side is a mix of patterned fabric and pictures. There is an image of Chris and I donning Zebra capes in New Orleans during a SCID convention, one of the hospital staff happily holding a sign announcing Rileys initial release from the hospital, a couple of the sketches that my cousin had done that saved me during this latest stay. And the middle…the middle has “Go Riley Go”…smack dab in the center which has been my mantra from the beginning. When I’ve had no other words “Go Riley Go” has conveyed what we all want. We just want her to go, to keep going and going and going. Denise and I grab the edges as we notice that there are names…we both have the same initial thought…this must be who it’s from. But then we look closer and there are names going around the entire perimeter…names of people I know, people I don’t, people who are my dearest friends and family members and people who are strangers but vigorous Riley supporters. The words on the card now make more sense… it reads:
To Riley & Family,
We made this blanket to represent each person & family that supports you through your journey. Hopefully, for everyday we cannot be there in person to show our love & give big hugs you are able to wrap yourself in this blanket to give you strength & support. Or at the very least make those uncomfortable days just a tad more comfy. Go Riley Go! 🙂
I’m speechless. Humbled. Moved to tears. The cure to my hangover was not pasta…it was this. It was the reminder that our little family is still in the hearts and on the minds of so many. A reminder that our journey is nowhere near over and someone took an obscene amount of time to let us know they knew that. A reminder that when I’m not at my best I can be made better by my support system. A reminder that no matter what life throws at Riley she will always be loved by so many. That WE will always be loved by so many.
Thank you doesn’t do it justice and especially because I don’t know who to thank. For now I’ll thank you all…each and every name that flanks the edges of our new go to hospital blanket:
Mickey & John
Danny & Didi Stout
Dan & Jessica Proctor
Cathy Mitchell & Family
Elsie Brooks & Family
Walsh Family (SCID Group)
Shannon Reed & Family
Your Hughson Family
UCSF Nursing Staff
SCID Angels For Life Foundation
Ane & Family
Entire SCID Group
Thank You, Thank You, Thank you.
We had an appointment up at UCSF on Tuesday and let’s just say on the drive home she felt all the love & support. 😉 xoxo
I’m glued to a chair in the corner of a hospital waiting room. I considered wearing a sign that reads “Do Not Even THINK About Sitting Anywhere Near Me” but I’m pretty sure the look on my face is conveying that just fine. I’m waiting for the surgeon to come back out and let me know that I can head back to recovery. Chris is at home rearranging the room downstairs that we use as an office or actually a more accurate description would be “kids art explosion area.” He’s tossing piles of art supplies and half completed works of grandeur into bins, breaking down the table and will then be moving Riley’s bed down into it. Thing is…it’s not for Riley. Riley is playing Barbies with Papi (Chris’s Dad)…she’s having a lovely day. We’re in emergency mode…I’m at the hospital, Chris is readying the house and it’s not for Riley. This is familiar ground for us…not hard to step back into these roles…these roles that according to our life events we were born and bred for.
My Mom fell yesterday…she was finishing a haircut and in one wrong move got tangled in the cord of a blow dryer that she’d clearly offended at some point because it took her down. Hard. She landed directly on her left leg on the tile floor. She couldn’t move…typical scene ensued. Paramedics were called, I was called. I ran into the salon and there she was…flat on the floor surrounded by a hoard of adorable medics who proceeded to pump her full of morphine and me full of questions. I followed the ambulance to the hospital, Chris met me there…ER, X-Rays, questions, consent, vitals, questions, nurses, doctors, information…all so familiar but this time I was advocating for my Mom the patient instead of my Daughter the patient. Quite the turn of events. My poor Mom. Of all the assholes on this planet that deserve the pain of a bone broken in two she is not one of them. Not even close. She had gotten tickets for me to take Presley to Mathilda last night and insisted I leave and not miss it…leaving a hospital is not my strong suit. I stay. I don’t leave. I stay. She was adamant and already feeling terrible that her tumble was the reason for me spending another moment surrounded by medical staff so I decided to let her win that battle. Chris stayed with her and I left while placing bets with them on who would be a bigger shit to the doctors in my absence. Riley stayed with Deena, I went to the play and Chris was at my moms side. Once again our little tribe of humans banded together to get through crisis one moment, one task, one person at a time. Presley loved the play and while my mind was elsewhere I did my best to focus every bit of my energy on being present with her…she needs that…she’s still stuck sitting in the backseat and the least I can do is strap in next to her sometimes.
Chris and I both got home around 10:30…he waited until her pain seemed better managed and she was able to drift off to a hospital version of sleep before he slipped away. We relieved Deena of her auntie duties, I laid Pres down for bed and then snuck in to give Riley her meds. At some point after that I took a deep breath. Another day down. Another plot twist. Another opportunity to persist. The next hour wasn’t so glamorous…I attempted to clean and tidy…or ignore and avoid, whatever you want to call it. I packed Presleys lunch so vigorously it was as though I was being chased by a battalion of soldiers brandishing weapons loaded with tears and if I didn’t get the grapes washed and in the bag in time they’d gun me down. They did. Those fuckers were fast. It was a flood, I was hit from all sides….just a mess of emotions…all the overwhelming events, facts, twists and turns in our world…mess. My daughter and now my Mom. Why? Ugh. Poor Chris. I recovered…well actually I just forced myself to go to bed. Same thing, right?
This morning I woke up and just knew I had to be calm. Today wasn’t a day to fix anything. Just breathe. Just ask for help when you need it and fucking breathe. I got Presley ready for the day and just as we walked into the classroom I knelt down to kiss her goodbye when suddenly her eyes welled up with tears.
“Pres…what is it kiddo?”
Her chin quivered.
“Mommy…I wanted to wear a special outfit today too like everybody else”
I turned and scanned the other students in her classroom…it wasn’t the usual sea of navy blue polos…there were frilly skirts and Pokemon t-shirts…Shit. It’s picture day…it’s free dress day. I forgot.
“Drop your backpack kid…we’re going home to change”
Tears. Gone. God I wish it was always that easy. She giggled as we sprinted all the way back to the car. There are so few days in her life where I can control her heartache but this one…this one I could fix and you bet your ass I took advantage of that gift and we fixed it. She was late…late donning a smile and a fuchsia dress. Maybe today was a day to fix.
I stayed glued to that chair all afternoon, scowling at any approaching humans until her surgery was completed. The surgeon came out, gave me the brief rundown which is basically that the injury which they expected to require a partial replacement ended up necessitating a complete hip replacement. My experience tells me I’ll get a full run down of what to expect in the coming days, weeks and months as far as recovery tomorrow. My experience also tells me that what I can realistically expect is that what they tell us may not be accurate to actual reality but we will get through it all the same.
As with every other situation our family has faced we will have ups and downs and spend a ridiculous amount of our waking hours re-framing our thinking and focusing on the positives. She is okay. The surgery went great. And while it seems timing couldn’t be worse in all reality with Chris and I’s immediate schedules cleared for Rileys care and my brother coming in with his family for a visit tomorrow it turns out that it’s just not that bad. If this had happened just a few weeks ago when Riley was still admitted, intubated…oh jeez…I can’t even. There I go with the re-framing…oh perspective…you rarely fail me. Riley is all sorts of ready to play nurse to Binky when she arrives here at compound Brown. I’m sure they’ll share some battle stories, swap strength and take turns bossing us all around.
I’m guessing it goes without saying but you know all that positive juju y’all have sent Riley’s way for years?…Shoot some my moms way as well. Many of you know and love her from here to the moon but for those who don’t…she’s dear to me and a really big deal to Miss Riley so we need her back in action pronto.
“I just can’t get comfortable.” It’s a simple enough statement…but for her…for her it means pain. That was her first phrase in the hospital that gave us true insight to her discomfort, a phrase she’d never said before that allowed us in. She experienced so many different levels of hurt, discomfort, agony and angst…the tests, the procedures, the constant influx of masked strangers poking and prodding of her poor little body. There was screaming, there was crying, there was excruciating silence when she was clearly too weak to fight. Then there was begging and pleading when she regained some of her strength and yet amongst all of those audible emotions and deflections, all of the things that came from her vocally during treatments and trials…the only one we could ever know to truly mean she was in real pain…not fear…not frustration but just…pain…PAIN was spoken as…”I just can’t get comfortable.”
The doctors are relying on basically 3 things in medical mystery situations such as hers…symptoms, test results and the parents. For Riley the meaning behind her symptoms and results eluded them on a million different levels so the form of reference that was often most reliable was US. Finding those cues is agonizing. Weeding through it all, trying to translate a toddlers emotions and physical state during such trauma is just…gahhhhhhhh. It’s awful. It’s agonizing. It’s full blown adulting when you want to kick and scream yourself. But when those 5 words would escape her lips it was clear…she was in pain. The team trusted our guidance because their tools often left them still pondering. Sigh. No pressure.
“I just can’t get comfortable”. Once she gave me that cue wading through her waves of emotions that ebbed and flowed like a tide became more predictable. She is smart. I know that. She was also scared…time and time again…terrified…but never pulled that card when it wasn’t meant to be played. She’s too smart for that. Some of the things we had to do to her all in search for answers were just so taxing…physically, emotionally. And I’m referencing me…I will not even pretend to speak on her behalf. But as a child she was always able to come right back to the present. Her resilience…amazing. Her ability to express exactly how things feel in the moment without fear of the future or a reliance on past experience is uncanny. I take back what I said…we as parents were not the doctors most reliable reference…she was. We were simply the messengers.
As the days pass now that we are at home we have moved from frantic and frazzled to a convoluted version of “settling in”. She is home. But the fears I felt in my last entry are still guiding the majority of my days. Thanks to the container store and a cleared corner in our kitchen I have her medications organized and essentially serve up tube fed appetizers at meal times courtesy of Pharmacist Mom. 15 medications…some in powder form that have to be mixed, some in pill form that have to be crushed and then mixed, some in suspension form that must be refrigerated, some that must be mixed and administered for 10 days and then discarded, some that are good until the bottle is empty, some over the counter, some to protect the stomach, some that advise things such as “wear gloves while administering chemotherapy” and some to simply make her shit. So many meds. Such a small person. I hate them. And I live for them. And she lives because of them.
Our days teeter on normalcy but are lined with moments that remind us they’re nothing but. Conversations during breakfast and Sofia the First reruns such as this now happen…
”Mommy does Sofia have to take as many meds like me”
“No baby…she doesn’t”
“That’s not fair.” deep exhale.
“I know baby…but you know what?…we are so lucky that we have all these meds to help you, sometimes people get really sick and there isn’t medicine to help.”
“Hmmmm…ok Mommy. Guess What?”
“I’m stillllll HUNNNNGRRRRYYYYYYY”
In one minute flat I go from keeper of the cartoon, to recovering from a punch of gut wrenching reality, to spouting off a watered down attempt of explanation and then right back to line cook. Piss off Sofia.
It is all just nonstop. Watching her, caring for her and being home with her is the most rewarding and most trying thing I have ever done. She is here and I’m still so grateful for the simple fact of that reality. There are long stretches of the day that I’m too wrapped up in her existence to be held back by what she’s lost. I’m still celebrating her breath that it takes mine away when she begins to progress in other areas. I root her on as she takes steps…encouraging her strength while burying my fears. I help her onto the potty celebrating her that she made it while having an inner dialogue with myself that goes something like this…”good lord this kid is so heavy, I think letting her wet herself is easier…but we really can’t afford these damn diapers…what the hell…HOW is this our reality?…we were done with diapers…we didn’t have another baby…how is our child disabled?…shut up Alissa she is not disabled she’s a fucking superhero…yeah a superhero in a wheelchair…god she’s so good at wheeling herself around though, how is that possible…she’s amazing, she’s breathing”-—MOMMMMM I’m DONE…dialogue interrupted…I help her get down, balance her while I wipe her ass and carry about our day.
Meds. Playdoh. Food. Steps. Painting. Potty. Walls…the invisible kind…she hits them. Food. Steps. Wheel chair races. Play. Meds. Food. Potty. Walls…the invisible kind. Food. Food. Food. Playdoh. Painting. Play. Steps. Wheel chair races. Food. Food. And today…the 4:30 invisible wall…hit…hard.
“I can’t get comfortable”
Damnit. Meds. Pain meds. Bed.
“Mommy…can you make sure I don’t walk as much tomorrow…I think I just trying to do too much”
Sigh. “Ok baby”
Once again…she’s guiding me. Progress. Pain. Progress. Pain. Her life. Our life. Progress. Pain.
She doesn’t say “for real real” anymore…I’ve tried to get her to…but she won’t. Maybe it was a phase that passed during our weeks here, like when they all of a sudden grow out of mispronouncing words or maybe everything is just way too “real real” for her now that it’s lost its charm. I get that.
There are big moments during our days now where she is Riley…our Riley…she laughs, talks, colors, plays with princess toys, whacks us endlessly with her balloon and smiles. During those moments she knows exactly where she is and is still able to enjoy.
There are other big moments for her filled with frustration, terror, annoyance and anger…steroids are NO joke y’all. During those moments she also knows exactly where she is and is pissed. Her distaste for the nurses and doctors goes from zero to sixty real quick, her appetite insatiable, her patience non existent and her ability to control her emotions just flutters out the window of our 6th floor suite. It’s like a bonified glimpse of puberty. Resisting authority while angrily eating hunks of chocolate soaked in tears…yup sounds like teenage years.
It’s brutal. And then it’s beautiful. And then it’s brutal again. All day, everyday. All night, every night. She’s so resilient…I’ve thought for sure after episodes she’s had that she’d never speak to me again but not 2 minutes passes before she sweetly spouts off “mommy you wanna color with me?” Ha. Sure baby…let me just peel myself off the ceiling real quick. Outwardly I channel her resilience plop in bed with her and color…inwardly I’m still stuck to the ceiling like the petrified cat you see in the cartoons looking down at the two of us screaming “WTFFFFFFFF?!?!?!”
We do have the answer to our overall question. The what. It’s graft vs. host disease. It’s not “normal kid stuff”…it’s complicated, so damn complicated. It’s not the virus we’d hoped for it’s her T cells…(well my T cells if you wanna get specific) that are doing this to her. Attacking her muscles. Stealing her ability to function. For whatever reason 3 years later those cells that gave her immunity have now decided that her tissues are the bad guy. Rude. Infuriating. Confusing. Yup. In true Riley fashion none of her symptoms are presenting like classic chronic GVHD so while we have “an” answer it’s left us with about 3 billion more questions. The main being …what next? For now it’s steroids…piles of steroids followed closely along with a medication that will hopefully wipe out the T cells and allow us to taper down on said steroids. That’s all happening alongside a whole host of other prophylactic antibiotics, blood pressure meds, pain meds, etc…We’re also still waiting to see how her lungs progress, if her eyes are involved and why her heart rate is through the roof for seemingly no reason. Next question…then what? I don’t know. Follow up questions…What if that doesn’t work? I don’t know. How long will we be here? I don’t know. Will this happen again? I don’t know. Why did this happen? I don’t know. Will she regain all of her movement? I don’t know. Insert next question here____________) likely answer…I don’t know. You see a pattern right?
Needless to say we are nowhere near out of the woods but at least we’ve found he forest. Thank you all again for the love, gifts, messages and donations. Every bit is keeping us going.
Wednesday afternoon I shook yet another anesthesiologists hand and then held Rileys as she got put under again. If you would’ve told me after the first or even second time that it’d be something I’d get used to I would have said you were out of your damn mind. How quickly she goes from awake to just gone in a matter of seconds at the hand of a stranger with access to her IV, the way her breathing instantly changes and the oxygen mask is hurriedly placed, the twitching that is followed by doctors reminding you “that’s normal, just the medication” and then they give you the “you have to go now” look and you do. At that moment it goes from feeling real to unreal. Your options…your world…everything is just suddenly so clearly out of your grasp. You look at your child and you leave.
So many times a day I want to grab her and run…take her far away…ok not too far…actually… maybe just back in time about 6 weeks where all was well. Where ignorance was bliss. Where she was a curious little thing who said “for real real?” as a response to half the things you told her…a feisty powerhouse who’d shoot her sister the side eye and firmly announce “Presley that is un-cceptable” when her way wasn’t gotten…a full blown bull in a China shop that seemingly nothing could hurt. A time where what we didn’t know wasn’t killing us. Now what we don’t know IS killing us. I don’t run. I can’t. I walk out of the room and I wait for answers at this point knowing they’re probably the ones I don’t want.
After I left her I walked past the gift shop and spotted a stack of Sees candy…I walked in bought a box and proceeded down the hallway tearing away the red wrapping and peeling off the top. No shame. I just shoveled Scotchmallow straight into my pie hole in the hospital hallway. Coping skills 101. Clearly I’m not the type to have a mild appetite during stress induced life cycles…that would be convenient for my figure but it’s just not the case. I ate my feelings one nut and chew at a time. In my angst I tried to soak up every minute of “adult” time…time that I wasn’t wrangling cords, entertaining, calming, changing, mothering. About an hour later I (along with my mom who was with me at that point) met the nurse back in the recovery room to wait for Riley to start stirring. The moment she started coming to she let out a big ol’ “I’mm Hunnnnnngggrrryyyyyy” That’s my girl.
The results of the CT came back that evening…there is some spotting/schmutz in her lungs. File that result in the “Answers We Didn’t Want” category. The hope is that it’s an infection or some residual inflammation. We’ve started a course of heavy antibiotics to treat our hopes and from there only time and another round of anesthesia for CT will tell.
Please continue to keep the love coming and never mistake my silence for anything other than having my hands full…with either our complicated girl or chocolate.
Go Riley Go.