I thought I did a wonderful thing yesterday, going in to hospital with Miss15 and having the same procedure done, but Tracey is so angry at me she’s started confiscating my stuff.
First of all, I just want to say a big heartfelt THANK YOU to everyone who sent Miss15 lovely messages of encouragement yesterday, both on the photo I posted on BFLI and the pm’s. She really appreciated them.
Poor thing swung from nervous titters to teeth-chattering terrors. I don’t know why every single one of my kids does this. I understand their Mum being so unwell a few years ago dug deep into their psych, but this goes beyond that. They’ve never liked needles.
Me either. As a kid I had half a dozen fillings without any anaesthetic, and my first gastroscopy I refused as well. I did not make that mistake twice. (Find that story here: Scary Prick)
But I get needles whenever I need them and I let the kids see me not squirm if they’re around.
As for Tracey…
“Tiny little pricks don’t bother me at all,” she used to enjoy telling them. “Hey, Bruce.”
Once the older kids started to catch on to that ‘joke’ she decided to stop.
We arrived at two o’clock for our procedures. Miss15 for her first gastroscopy and me as a sacrificial spit roast. I decided if she was going in I could be with her the whole way and show her how there’s nothing to worry about. It didn’t really work, but I think she liked having me about.
I know it seems unusual for me to book in for the same thing with my kid, but I’m not being some ‘look at me!’ Superdad wannabe. I get these done fairly regularly so it just seemed a great way to make sure I’m there with her. Two birds with one stone, sort of thing. Not like you could do the same if your kid was having their appendix out.
Some delays meant we weren’t even changed into our hospital garb until after six. I don’t mind delays. I understand it usually means some poor sod is in for a rough time when they wake up. Last thing I’d want if I was that person is a surgeon trying to speed things along because someone in the waiting rooms was keen for a snack.
We played our phones and I managed to clock up six kilometres walking up and down the ward hallway.
I’ve been doing 10km walks most days the last few weeks. These ‘wake me up before I slow-slow’ tablets the sleep specialist has me on have turned my life around. Back to normal 8 hours of sleep a day and feeling like I have the giveashitness to do stuff. Like write. Like walk. Like live. Determined now to lose some of the extra weight I’ve put on the last ten years while trying to sort out what the hell was wrong with me.
Miss15 did so well. In the end only three staff and myself were needed to hold her down as she was given gas prior to the feed-me-tube in her hand being inserted. Beat her big brother’s effort by two staff members, when they had to call in help from reception to help get a blood sample.
She woke up giggling and giddy with relief – and that continued all the way home and beyond.
It’s funny how drugs effect people differently. I have a friend who wakes up cranky and sick.
Tracey says I wake up dumb. On the way home from a procedure she once left me alone in the car while she ducked into a shop and by the time she’d come back I’d purchased a hat stand from the furniture store across the road.
Last night I somehow got caught in a tree in the six meters between the car and the house. If you asked me prior to this I’d have sworn there were no trees between the car and the house, but I found it.
She also raced outside a short time later because there were loud banging sounds, and found me brandishing a hammer.
“What the *expletive* are you doing?!” she asked me kindly. It was midnight.
“Fixing the balcony,” I said. “I noticed one of the slats was lo-”
“Go! To! Bed!” she suggested, snatching the tool out of my hand and racing off to hide it.
So there we are, I do a nice thing for my kid and Tracey gets the shits. Women.
Raising a family on little more than laughs
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