Yesterday was bone and CT scans and a drug reaction.
Today was a new cannula.
Getting a cannula – hereto known as a cuntula – into a kid with bad veins trumps pretty much everything.
Sure letting a kid die from an infection is negligent but getting a cuntula in is cruel.
I do the tough love thing for about 80 per cent of it because Oscar’s protests are loud and – at 68kg – now quite physical. The kid can make quite the attempt to flee.
The other 20 per cent I tell him what a champion he is and that yes it hurts but it will soon be over and how brave he is. All done with the internal monologue of DON’TCRY DON’TCRY DON’TCRY.
I don’t know, maybe it was because it was Day 10, maybe it was because it took a couple of goes and eventually had to go somewhere there hadn’t been any numbing gel or maybe just because it sucks but I came a bit undone after this round.
When you do this often enough you do go onto auto-pilot. A friend was here the other day when there was a very poor attempt at taking bloods. Her reaction made me realise, remember, that this is a big deal, that it is traumatic, that it really is shitty.
Mum arrived just after it was done giving me time to flee for just an hour.
I got in the car, rolled a cheeseburger and chicken and cheese because if there was ever a time for comfort eating this was it.
The eyes were damp and my heart was still racing.
I could feel the shell cracking. Fast.
I got home, discovered we’d run out of toilet paper and washing powder, that a friend from Grover’s pre-school had not only made the boys a curry last night but also apple crumble. She made my boys apple crumble.
Generosity of heart is all around me.
We missed an appointment on Monday at Sydney Children’s so I had to email and fix that. I asked them about seeing the orthopaedic surgeon who did Oscar’s legs in 2010 at outpatients because we can’t afford to see him privately. (The reason I hadn’t made that follow-up appointment with him after the first incident and which if I had may well have seen us not end up back here.)
I also expressed my concern about Oscar’s left foot and that it is starting to return to the position it was before surgery and that I think he may need an AFO (splint) for that leg at least – and that we need to do that through the hospital too as there’s no way we could afford to do it privately.
We’re now four months behind in our private health insurance payments.
I’m getting really adept at this hand-out, “please sir can I have some more” routine.
Our awesome contact at Children’s got back to me, as did the person he’s referred me to re appointments with the ortho and re splints.
That’s when I just threw my phone down and just gave in to the big heaving sobs of sadness and rage.
We can see him that way but only on this day, there’s a wait-list for AFOs at the hospital so maybe approach our contact at the Cerebral Palsy alliance and then they can put us in touch with a funding body to access to then get an AFO through them but we could do it through the hospital but but but…
I still have to get a new referral for Oscar to see a paediatric endocrinologist as the one we were referred to is no longer there.
I still need to reconnect with The Cerebral Palsy Alliance to get a speech therapist back on board so we can be eligible for a grant to trial a speech device even though we’re already talking to the technology team at CPA.
You want to know what it’s like to have a child with special needs?
NOTHING being easy – be that accessing services, finding schools, ignoring the idiots
Having a disabled child means that unless one of you is earning squillions, you are pushed further and further to the periphery of society so you have no choice but to beg and appeal for charity, thereby feeling beholden and worthless.
I’m so sick of feeling so fucking downtrodden, of falling down and rising up. I just want to lie down and go – TIME OUT. DO OVER. MAN DOWN. CODE RED.