That started early. Up at 5.15, on the road at 6, at the hospital 7.07 (The B Bus to the right of the shot, check out the killer park – that blue wall is where the lifts are):
It was a quiet day in ambi care, only three of us in on the early arrivals. I hoped it meant we’d be in and out relatively quickly. Quickly for a hospital that is. The boy was pretty good, just the occasional breakdown and teary nervousness that besets him whenever we have a hospital trip. Distractions:
And even so, time, time just gets sucked into some cruel vortex when you are in a place meant to look after your health:
I can’t tell you what these curtains do to my psyche:
sometimes memory associations can be viscious:
Me and Oscar and chef, same place, same bloody curtains, 9 1/2 years ago.
Anyway, off we went. The student nurse looked after Grover as I took the boy in to theatres. Lots of tears, lots of refusing to go into the room, lots of flight winning in the fight vs flight debate. Thank goodness. Holding his hand, leaning on his body to keep him on the bed in theatres, stroking his hair as the mask went over his face. Lots of encouraging words as he breathed in the gas. Trying to keep that pang in my chest in check when he starts to go under. Wanting to wail, ‘we’re losing him!’ when we’re not at all. But I am. Into the hands of the crew in blue.
Then more waiting.
The dental surgeon came out to fill me in. Five extractions – three were lose, one was infected – with p.u.s. oozing out of the gum (I felt like you do when the police drive past you and you feel guilty even though you’ve done nothing wrong. I was all ‘but he didn’t say anything! I didn’t see it!’. He reassured me that toothache does not hit children like it does adults. But still, g’ah!) and one had a very deep hole and was a baby tooth, so they decided to whip it out as well. I had no expectation or inkling whatsoever extractions were even on the cards. Maybe something was said when we last saw the dentist, but who can remember that far back (it was a year ago. Yes that’s how long we’ve been on the wait list). Anyway…
This little fellow was an absolute angel:
In recovery. More waiting. Oscar tasting blood in his mouth, them trying to suction him only serve to heighten his narcolepsy:
Finally back to the ward. Owie:
Incentive to drink/eat anything to get the owie taken out. The incentive worked. A little.
You might get me dressed, I might eat a little jelly and take a few sips of water so you take the canula out, but that, that there on my hand, means it’s still owie.
Culprits (there’s five teeth in there):
Finally, going home (that there is the wonderful student nurse who is going to make a beautiful paediatrics nurse indeed):
After a quick detour to pick up Jasper from daycare, we were home:
Oscar deeply traumatised, me absolutely wrecked.