Things are progressing just about as well as can be expected. Better even. Like, I haven’t misplaced a single child in the 48 hours I’ve been left in charge.
As usual, I’m blown away by the RBWH staff and so grateful we have a health system where I don’t have to sell a kidney so Tracey can fix a hernia.
Here’s the news on our latest adventure:
One. Frozen Dope
The kids’ emotions have been flopping about like a beached fish. And not just as a reaction to Tracey’s operation.
Keeping an eye on the money, which is what I promised Tracey I’d do while she’s hospital, is exhausting.
“What we’re going to do today,” I said to the kids as we drove through the Legacy Tunnel on our way in to see their Mum, “is park a few streets away from the hospital so we don’t have to fork out twenty-five bucks for parking.”
A nurse friend of ours had explained the best place to claim some free curb.
“Then how will we get to the hospital?” asked Miss7.
“I thought we could walk.”
As I expected, the car erupted in protest.
“I thought we could walk,” I repeated loudly enough to be heard, adding with a smile, “past Hungry Jacks on our way in and use some of the money we’re saving to grab a frozen coke each.”
My smile lasted all the way to the hospital foyer, which was the first place Miss5 lost some of her frozen sugary goodness.
The second place was waiting for the lift. Then in the lift – which was when we realised the reason we were having so much trouble was she’d split the cup when she dropped it back in the foyer.
The fourth clean up was in the ninth floor visitor’s area waiting for Tracey to be able to receive us, when Miss5 bypassed the straw and tried to sip from the little hole in top of her cup and the lid came off and dumped a heap of coloured ice in her lap.
The fifth and final spill was next to Tracey’s bed: not because I took the cup off her in frustration so much as because most of it had been soaked up by dunny paper.
Tracey has suggested tomorrow I give them their reward on the way back to the car instead of on the way into the hospital, but I’m considering just paying the $25.
Two. Big Steps Forward
Tracey managed to get out of bed yesterday. Not only that, she walked. She didn’t just shuffle a couple of steps either, she went for a lap of the ward. In truth, she was hoping to catch a glimpse of some of the nurses who looked after her the last couple of times she’s been in, but there weren’t a lot of familiar faces.
As with two years ago I’m amazed by Tracey’s determination. I shouldn’t be, because I know how painfully and frustratingly driven she is on things which matter to her, like eating our way through the pantry before letting me order pizza.
Three. The Belly Button Situation
Yes, they removed Tracey’s old belly button. It’s been sidelined. Binned. Sent packing. Superseded.
Tracey has a new, one-of-a-kind, designer, bespoke belly button in what was once the skin of her hip.
And before you ask, she’s just got the one: she didn’t go with my Southern Cross idea.
I’m told, unlike an organic belly button, she may not have any feeling in her new ‘centre’. Given the kids and I are all very excited at the prospect of sticking our fingers in it to see if it feels normal, that’s probably going to work in her favour.
Four. Love & Other Drugs
They’re taking away her ‘panic button’ pain meds because she’s not using them enough. I have to remind myself they were playing with her insides on Thursday and today is only Saturday. The pain doctors said she wasn’t pressing the button enough to warrant keeping it, so she’ll be on tablets and stuff.
I’m horrified at this. I had a headache last week which the seemingly ineffective stuff I was swallowing with my coffees failed to take the edge off.
But Tracey just shrugs and goes with the flow. She apparently only pressed the button 17 times since her op.
I know for a fact at least one of these was hyper Miss5.
Took the kids geocaching on the walk back to the car. Seemed like a great idea at the time. Sent this video and a get well soon to Tracey from the car. I need help.
Raising a family on little more than laughs
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