Bits without Stuff Inside...
Depleted. Like the leftover grog at a uni party at 2am. Like the slushy machine in the Seven Eleven after stoned teenagers have been at it. Like the feeling when the one person you’ve always loved gets engaged to your sister. That’s how I feel. But more so.
My little girl had an operation last week. They shoved a naso gastric tube down her without sedating her to clean out her gut. The next day she was in theatre for four hours. Hour one: R and I fidget and pretend to read the newspaper in the hospital waiting room. Hour 2: Discussion on which is the best way to make tuna lasagne ensues. After a little controversy over whether the inclusion of mushrooms is appropriate, we both agree the secret is in the Béchamel sauce. Hour 3: Dash off to shops to buy tuna lasagne ingredients. Hour 3 and a half: Dump tuna lasagne ingredients in aisle and rush back to hospital. Hour 4. Wait in recovery. Keep waiting…
They bring her in, up to her little miniature eyeballs in morphine. And limp. I nearly vomit on the anaesthetist. The operation went well, they say. I’m sure they say that to everyone. But at least she’s out. And alive. And sitting still long enough for me to finally clean her ears.
We were in hospital for a week. She is recovering well, but I fear I took home a different child from the one I brought in. She’s been a public person now, with doctors and nurses and registrars and volunteers saying her name, touching her, telling us what’s best for her. One morning I came into her ward at 5Am and the nurses had hooked up the TV for her and were about to feed her jelly. She’s five months old, for Christ’s sake. There’s no need to expose her to the Danoz Direct shopping show, while feeding her refined sugar. I had a terse discussion with the nurse about the fact that she’s not on solids yet. Jelly’s not a solid, she argued. But the pole I’m about to shove up your arse is, I thought.
So happy to have Little O home, but so so tired. I feel like a bleak grey girl, no colour left. Also, I’m sure I have no internal organs, just cardboard outside and hollow inside.
And I also thought in the midst of this that I may be pregnant and having an early miscarriage. Then I went to the loo and realised it was just gas.
My little girl had an operation last week. They shoved a naso gastric tube down her without sedating her to clean out her gut. The next day she was in theatre for four hours. Hour one: R and I fidget and pretend to read the newspaper in the hospital waiting room. Hour 2: Discussion on which is the best way to make tuna lasagne ensues. After a little controversy over whether the inclusion of mushrooms is appropriate, we both agree the secret is in the Béchamel sauce. Hour 3: Dash off to shops to buy tuna lasagne ingredients. Hour 3 and a half: Dump tuna lasagne ingredients in aisle and rush back to hospital. Hour 4. Wait in recovery. Keep waiting…
They bring her in, up to her little miniature eyeballs in morphine. And limp. I nearly vomit on the anaesthetist. The operation went well, they say. I’m sure they say that to everyone. But at least she’s out. And alive. And sitting still long enough for me to finally clean her ears.
We were in hospital for a week. She is recovering well, but I fear I took home a different child from the one I brought in. She’s been a public person now, with doctors and nurses and registrars and volunteers saying her name, touching her, telling us what’s best for her. One morning I came into her ward at 5Am and the nurses had hooked up the TV for her and were about to feed her jelly. She’s five months old, for Christ’s sake. There’s no need to expose her to the Danoz Direct shopping show, while feeding her refined sugar. I had a terse discussion with the nurse about the fact that she’s not on solids yet. Jelly’s not a solid, she argued. But the pole I’m about to shove up your arse is, I thought.
So happy to have Little O home, but so so tired. I feel like a bleak grey girl, no colour left. Also, I’m sure I have no internal organs, just cardboard outside and hollow inside.
And I also thought in the midst of this that I may be pregnant and having an early miscarriage. Then I went to the loo and realised it was just gas.
posted by Yidchick at 8:02 pm
4 Comments:
Bloody hell YC, you have totally been through the wringer. Liked the delusional shopping in the middle of O's operation and then a WTF moment in the aisle.
I'm shocked that the nurses were feeding her jelly when she's never actually had solids. And sugar? What next? Sausages?
My husband has a colleague of some advanced years whose favorite line when surprised by anything is, "Jesus Christ on a bicycle." That's what I said when I read that little O had a naso-gastric tube procedure without any drugs. She probably handled it fine. Then I read on that this wee baby had a four hour operation. My emotions went from poor little O to you poor, poor parents. I can't imagine how tough that was for you. I wish you all lots of sound, healing sleep. [stupid, bloody nurse trying to give that baby jelly]
i hope things get better for you all very, very soon. *hugs*
Thank you for you sweet words of support :-)
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