Challenging times. Again.

Oscar is back in hospital with the same infection in the same leg. The exciting development this time around was he developed (he had?) sepsis – which is what they call septic now. Just to keep us all on our toes he ended up in the domain of machines that go ping, ICU.

He wasn’t there for long, I’m unsure if that was because he got better or because they were as skeeved out about his “incontinent stools” as I was. Nothing tests your maternal ties more than incontinent diarrhea, particularly when it happens all over a bare mattress, in the emergency waiting room (“nurse, you’ll need to wipe down that chair”) or in emergency (“I keep wiping but you’re not stopping” as you witness a squirt of liquid mustard “incontinent stool” then burned.onto.your.retinas). Finally the adult nappies came into action and sweet baby cheeses I bowed to them in all their depressing reality.

You still with me?

We’ve clocked up a week so far and there seems no end in sight. Everything seems to happen in polaroid snapshots.

The well-intentioned but idiot paediatric registrar who relatively late last night tried to show his authority around the processes we’re currently going through. Fuck off buddy, we’ve been here before.

The same cars in the carpark – the fancy shiny brand new Range Rover, two identical mini Coopers, another transporter like ours, a huge country ute with serious storage gear on its tray, wicked spotties and mud on the wheels. Once you’re sick it doesn’t matter what car you drive.

The confusing reality of your man-child. In a paed ward when really he should be in an adult one. Having to help put his penis in a wee bottle. That hairiest of hairy arses. Showering him. This is the hardest thing of all.

Confounding doctors. You don’t ever want to be the case that confounds doctors.

The only good news in this is that he is getting better.

The reality is IV antibiotics for another 4-6 weeks. We’re not going home until his elephant leg looks totally like a normal one. We’ve already been here a week. They want us to see the orthopaedic specialist who operated on his feet. The thought, the merest suggestion he might have to have surgery again makes me want to eat my own head.

I don’t think he’s going to make it back to school this year.

I have an overwhelming urge to bake.





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  • Susan, Mum to Molly

    Sh!t. Sh!t. Sh!t.

    Very sorry to hear this Kim.

    Big kid nappies are a means to an end and should be viewed as just that (also, be glad he’s not menstruating too…)

    As for idiot paed registrars – yes, please do put them in their place. The sooner they learn that, the sooner they’ll actually become useful.

    Please, please try and take care of you amid the chaos. Hope the rest of the brood are managing ok…

    • They were an absolute godsend Susan, a GODSEND!

  • Frogdancer

    I’m so sorry that all this is going on. Sounds awful. I have no helpful words… xx

    • That’s OK, it’s pretty ridiculous and tends to defy words anyway!

  • Megan

    He’s lucky to have you. You are an amazing human being, I am in awe. Enjoy the Xmas baking. All the deliciousness has got to help. Especially those incredible mince tarts. Onward x

    • I need to get onto my Christmas cake baking – and maybe knock out a few batches of fruit mince tarts.

  • blackbird of Tuvalu

    The night nurse with a bad attitude used to be my particular nemesis. I’d fume one night, cry the next.
    I’ve got my arm round you over here and think of you often.

  • jac

    Baking sounds like a plan. A fucking good one, actually. Just don’t drop any biccies off to crap registrars.

  • Kathy S.

    Fucking hell, Kim. I am sending all my magic wellness voodoo his way.

    • It’s stellar isn’t it. We are the epitomy of falling, with style.

  • Linda

    Still with you and wondering where the hell you and Oscar find the strength to deal with it all. Life’s been dealing your family a shitty hand lately.

  • Paola

    This is why I MUST NOT complain EVER. I mean whatever I have is nothing, NOTHING. You are a HERO. I look up to you.

    • Complain away my friend, we all have our loads to bear. (How are you anyway?)

  • Tim

    Baking is good therapy, isn’t it? I find kneading dough by hand to be great. Though, when I’ve had enough”therapy”, I chuck it back in the machine.
    I hope that you also find time to look after yourself, too.

    • Making something that takes time, that forces you to slow down is the best therapy ever.

      • Tim

        Mindfull baking … I think we’re onto something.

  • Fuck me dead.

    I love you. Baking in solidarity with you, Kim xxxxxxxxxx

    • Dude, I am feeling bad because I haven’t even managed to VAGUELY follow your Ugandan exploits about from philandering women looking for more satisfaction. I need to hug you and squeeze you on your return.

      • DO NOT apologise Jesus fuck. I did think of you when I went to a school run by WV that incorporates children with disabilities. There’s more then one School of Awesome out there Kim! So cool! I love you and I hope you’re doing as best you can beautiful XXXXX

  • Can I just say though the situation is shitty the writing is brilliant. I read it twice. The second time aloud. Small thing and off topic I know, but I thought it important to mention.

    • Well you’ll keep!

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