Today is the day. We woke up and got ready to bring C home. I am nervous, excited and cautiously optimistic. I called the nurse to get a report on how he did through the night and was told he had just thrown up. We have been on high alert his entire hospital stay because any vomit could be a sign that his bowel blockage has returned. My previous excitement instantly turned to dread and terror. I do not want to bring him home only to have something go horribly wrong.
I grilled the nurse, nurse practitioner and surgical resident when we got to the hospital and they all tried to assure me that he was mostly likely fine and just ate too fast. They tell me repeatedly that C is just like a regular healthy child now. I find myself desperately wishing C was a regular healthy child, but the trauma of the last almost four weeks combined with the three inch incision on his tiny belly scream otherwise.
We prepare to take him home and suddenly I cannot get him out of there fast enough.
As Steve is putting him in the car seat I am sure someone is going to stop us.
As we are walking out of the pediatric unit I am sure someone is going to stop us.
As we are getting on the elevator I am sure someone is going to stop us.
As we walk out of the hospital I am sure someone is going to stop us.
As we put him in the car I am sure someone is going to stop us.
And as we drive away with C and M and J and D in the car, I burst into intense, silent, sad tears, overcome with deep emotion. I feel beaten and broken. Hopefully now that I have all my children and husband at home some healing can begin.
I grilled the nurse, nurse practitioner and surgical resident when we got to the hospital and they all tried to assure me that he was mostly likely fine and just ate too fast. They tell me repeatedly that C is just like a regular healthy child now. I find myself desperately wishing C was a regular healthy child, but the trauma of the last almost four weeks combined with the three inch incision on his tiny belly scream otherwise.
We prepare to take him home and suddenly I cannot get him out of there fast enough.
As Steve is putting him in the car seat I am sure someone is going to stop us.
As we are walking out of the pediatric unit I am sure someone is going to stop us.
As we are getting on the elevator I am sure someone is going to stop us.
As we walk out of the hospital I am sure someone is going to stop us.
As we put him in the car I am sure someone is going to stop us.
And as we drive away with C and M and J and D in the car, I burst into intense, silent, sad tears, overcome with deep emotion. I feel beaten and broken. Hopefully now that I have all my children and husband at home some healing can begin.
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