There’s a lot of stuff I wish I’d written about. Sometimes it’s laziness, sometimes it’s busy-ness, sometimes it’s worry about what others might think; sometimes it’s an inability to formulate anything coherent enough to make any sense, due to emotional or intellectual meltdown; something keeps me from it.
Henry was in the hospital overnight a little while ago, after his cardiac catheterization with balloon angioplasty. The procedure was a success. The surgeons were able to open up both of his pulmonary arteries substantially with no apparent ill effects. He may need this procedure again later in life; he’ll be monitored at least yearly by cardiologists. The hospital stay was as good as could be hoped. Henry had some nausea and vomiting from the anesthesia, but that was over pretty quickly. He was very friendly with the doctors and nurses, and quite impressed with their stethoscopes and flashlights. The various probes for heartrate, breathing rate, etc were also fascinating, particularly when any of the monitors beeped. Henry always imitated this with a loud “BEEEEEEEEEP!” of his own.
It’s good that Brad and I were busy trying to comfort and distract Henry before the procedure. We didn’t have a lot of time to think about the fact that people we barely knew were going to control his breathing and stick stuff up an artery in his leg into his heart, and then try to widen the arteries from his heart to his lungs by stretching them apart from the inside. Thinking about it now, I am amazed that Henry left the hospital within 24 hours of the procedure, with a band-aid on his leg.
Underneath the surface, I’m a little more shaken up. I’ve been getting frustrated with Henry and with Brad (and with myself) very quickly. I keep worrying about bad things happening to us, way more than I usually do. Brad went up to our house on Saturday and was away for over an hour, not really so unusual. But, I started worrying he’d been in a car wreck, or fallen down the stairs at our house (no railings yet), etc. Tragic tales of children disappearing are suddenly popping back into my memory. I feel more paranoid when out in public with Henry. I think all this must be a textbook psychological phenomenon, a reaction to the surgery and also to Henry’s other medical issues. He’s been itching more lately; is it a worsening of the liver issues or just dry skin? He hasn’t been sleeping well; is it a normal phase or something related to his heart or liver?
Sometimes I want to run away from it. Not forever, but for a day. Go see three movies in a row. Ride my bike for three hours straight. Sleep for eight hours in a row. Guilty feelings immediately follow these thoughts.
So, I feel scared, crappy from sleep deprivation, selfish, and guilty. Not a good combination.
On a more positive note, Henry’s vocabulary explosion continues. Recent additions: TiVo, tiger, mush, nobody, gorilla, dragon, meet, tall, small, hill, crack, grass, mow, trimmer… And so many more. Right now, Brad is “Dad-eee” and I am “Mop” or “Mob.” He can’t seem to get that last “m” sound. Yet.