I outright begged Rock to stay home from work today. He was up half the night in the emergency room with Michael, while I was up half the night sitting on the couch, waiting for word from him. I distracted myself with a phone call and some Facebook e-mails in between.

The hospital didn’t admit Michael last night. Rock and Michael were home at around one thirty or so. The staff gave Michael IV fluids and a shot of steroids. They had a lot of trouble getting a vein for the IV because Michael’s hands are so scarred. How fucking sick is that? A one year old baby with hands so scarred, professionals have trouble giving him an IV.

Rock admitted that he felt like crying when the nurses said that. As a parent, you feel as though you should take some responsibility…like it is somehow our fault that the little man needed to have so many IV tubes and central lines put into him before he was even supposed to be born.

The ugly truth is that in moments like those, my heart bleeds with responsibility. My fault, my fault, my fault. And then my heart fills with guilt. My fault, my fault, my fault.

They also did some chest x-rays on Michael and found fluid in both lungs. Yes, again. This was the fourth chest x-ray that the little man has had since last April. I’ve gone with him for two and now Rock has accompanied him for two. Even Steven.

They put a mask on little Michael to open his airways, force some air into his lungs and help his breathing along.

They don’t believe it’s bacterial and held off on antibiotics. I don’t disagree with this decision. We all know that the more antibiotics a person has, the more resistant their body becomes to them. And Michael has already had his fair share of antibiotics, his first huge does happening over a year ago now, when he was about six days old and in infection threatened to kill him in a very safe space.

They finally sent Rock home with Michael and gave us instructions for what to do next. Rock will pick up some Pedialyte this morning and drop it off at home. I’m to keep trying to give it to him, every five to ten minutes, today.

He hasn’t dropped off the Pedialyte, yet, but Michael has been drinking this morning. He almost finished a bottle of formula this morning… a first in a couple of days.

If we don’t see a drastic improvement in the next few days, we should take him back. They will give antibiotics and maybe admit him. We do have an appointment with our regular family doctor, Dr. Asshole, this Wednesday. So, we’re sure someone will be seeing Michael one way or another. That made the hospital staff happy.

That makes me happy, too. Happy and relieved.

I’m trying not to dwell on all of this morning. It’s the beginning of March Break and all of the kids are home from school. There’s a lot on my plate…lots to get done in between chasing after a very whiny and cranky Kate….lots to get done in between admiring Emma’s artwork….lots to get done in between rocking and cuddling and patting Michael…lots to get done in between trying to get him to drink.

I have to phone the Weirdo, our physiotherapist this morning to cancel today’s appointment because there’s just no way Michael is up for it. Answer me this, would you? In this day and age, how is it possible for a provincially and municipally funded organization to NOT have voice mail?! I tried phoning last night to leave a message about today’s cancelled appointment, but there is no answering service. I was instructed to phone back this morning, during business hours. Only trouble is, the appointment is set for fifteen minutes after the place opens….and I’m scared that the Weirdo will have left right away and will miss the message.

I’m trying not to dwell. I’m trying instead to concentrate on an e-mail I received from my sister. I read it last night. If I would have read it even three or four weeks ago, I would have been crushed, angry, upset….but last night, reading her words, I didn’t feel any of those things. Instead, I looked at the e-mail as a door opening….I looked at it as a possibility opening up in front of me. Funny that, eh? Lately, I have been seeing most things as possibility, instead of defeat.

I’m trying not to dwell. I’m trying instead to think of my American Boy…the star of the dream in yesterday’s post. I’m sorry for confusing so many of you. And here you thought that you had seen the end of the cryptic writing!

I’m trying not to dwell.

One foot in front of the other…one day at a time….plugging along….as above so below….* Trust * * Trust * * Trust *.


I finally got a hold of someone from CCAC and told them that I was trying to get a hold of the Weirdo to cancel today’s session. They didn’t open until 8:30 am and although you just know that she was sitting next to the phone at 8:28 am when I first called, she wouldn’t answer until 8:31 am. I yelled at her a little bit when she snapped,

“Well, it’s probably too late.”

I snapped right back,

“Yeah. I realize that. But you people don’t have an answering service which seems pretty ridiculous. And he’s never given me his extension, which seems equally ridiculous. I’ve been trying to get a hold of the Weirdo since last night to save him the trip out to my house. But if you don’t have voice mail and you don’t answer the phone until 8:31 am, I’m kinda fucked, aren’t I?!”

Silence.

“I’ll try to contact him, Mrs. K”.

“Thank you”, I said and hung up.

He hasn’t shown up and it’s now….ten minutes after nine….so I think it’s safe to assume that he got the message. I don’t really feel badly, mostly because he constantly calls me to ask if he can come over in a hour. He doesn’t give notice, he doesn’t get notice.

Shit…lack of sleep has turned me into a bitch.

Rock arrived a little while ago with a bottle of Pedialyte. Michael likes it. Insert a sigh of relief here.

Rock’s step dad and co-worker stopped by a few minutes ago with a door for the front of our breezeway. It was a surprise pop-in and while I felt relief that my MIL wasn’t with them, thinking that she still had to midget sit while the Weirdo was here, I was annoyed by having to hear the tale of the golden child’s return to Canada. Rock’s sister, Phoebe, is a series of posts and I’m not going there. I tried to give a shit about her trip home but found it hard to dig up any kind of interest. I just have a low bullshit tolerance this morning.

And yes, I’m a bitch.

The girls are playing nicely with Play Doh and feathers and Popsicle sticks in their bedroom. I’m actually kind of grateful for March Break this morning because it means that I didn’t have to haul ass out to meet the bus this morning. I’m taking it easy today, on them and on myself. No major chores. No pressure. I’m just gonna fly by the seat of my pants and know that it’s for the greater good.

Happy Monday, Everyone. If I haven’t visited your blog lately, know that it’s nothing personal. I’m dying for some time to catch up on everyone but it’s been one fucking roller coaster ride around here and I’m on dial up which makes MyBloggers run very, very slowly, freezing up every couple of minutes. And when you only get a few minutes of computer time as a whole….well, you get the idea. I promise to be a better MyBloggers buddy, Facebook friend and computer nerd soon. Okay?