I wouldn’t wish my first few months of motherhood on anyone.
Not a word of that
I used my ICU time wisely, thinking up ways in which get that book as far up the author’s rectum as possible.
One day, I’d be sure he was going to make it. And hope he’d just die and get it over with the next.
When his surgeon was encouraged by an x-ray or lab value, I would allow myself a tiny inner fist pump.
When his surgeon was alarmed by a downturn, I hid in the corner of my bunker to wait out the battle.
And on June 30th, 2003 we met with the great wizard for what we thought might be his last excursion into our baby’s insides.
The dead kidney had to go.
The fundoplication was necessary to protect those beat up lungs.
The feeding tube was a no brainer as Owen preferred gag/retch/aspirate over suck/swallow/breathe.
This was a good day. A great day. Like our favorite day so far since we’d been at Children's.
We trusted his team of surgeons a squillion percent. That’s a lot. And they were gonna fix him.
We weren’t worried. We walked around the city. Ate lunch. Shopped. I bought a pair of sandals.
We knew that this was our ticket home; with an actual baby.
We didn’t peer into the baby’s future. That was too scary.
That was eight years ago today.
And I’m thinking about what I might have wished for my son, if I’d dared a wish on that day;
Maybe that he could ride in the car without scolding me for talking. I shouldn’t talk in the car. It’s no fair. He can’t hear me.
Maybe that he wouldn’t fake it when spoken to;
“Owen, what did I just say?”
“I don’t know.”
Maybe that he wouldn’t burst into tears out of nowhere; “I miss my friends!”; because they all live so far away and rarely see each other outside of school.
Maybe that he didn’t have to watch his four year old sister whizz right up the rock wall thingie when he can’t pull himself up an inch.
Maybe that he could make a friend at the playground without me explaining him. Translating for him. Comforting him when the kid gives up on him.
That day, eight years ago was easier than most days now.
And I’m finding myself wishing that fixing him was as easy as removing a sick organ.
Figures the one day I actually venture into blogland is an important date in Owen's history.
And I see that Sprite's Keeper's spin of the week is Wishes.
So we can all blame her for the above mushiness.