I keep trying to write about the past week and it gets so long and so jumbled up that I don’t think it is ever going to come out right. So to help my words spew forth, I am linking up with Maxabella Loves for Grateful Saturday.

I am just grateful.  I am grateful that my son is home, safe, and well enough.

I am grateful that in a hospital that gets particularly bad press – and that I actually requested NOT to be sent to – we received stellar care.

I am grateful for the paediatrician who recognised Oscar’s best interests and fought for them.  Working long hard hours, insisting on extra staff and monitoring in an understaffed ward, to avoid a transfer that would be to the detriment of Oscar’s health, simply because there are not enough staff to cover one on one (and eventually one on two) monitoring.

I am grateful for the paediatric registrars who worked long, hard hours away from their own families, for the sake of my boy.  BJ was away from HIS wife and HIS twins for the sake of my boy.  He was in trouble when he got home, as he said: “Two babies, it is too many babies for one person on their own.” But he also assured me when I hoped that it wasn’t too bad a ribbing (knowing how I would have been if it were Pal!): “It is OK, I am well ventilated.  In one ear and out the other.”

I am grateful for the nurse who came back in after she had already finished her shift, gone home, changed into her pink flanny pajamas and fallen asleep on the couch.  And then backed it up the next day with two twelve hour shifts to watch over my boy and another sick baby carefully and considerately.

I am thankful for answered questions.  I was never left in the dark.

I am grateful for the two nurses that absolutely insisted that the doctors come and look at my boy immediately.  Who counted my sons respiratory rate over and over and over again, sure that they were counting wrong.  Because 80 breaths per minute seemed ludicrous when the average is 20-40.

I am grateful for CPAP machines, xrays and computerized medical notes.

I am grateful to other understanding mothers, who know that when a child can be heard crying, there is little a mother can do to ease their child’s pain but cuddle and sing and wander the halls (if there are no monitors or cords or IVs or oxygen hook ups).  At fellow inmates of the pediatric ward who sleep through my crying child just as he will sleep through them, thank you.  I am grateful for a little girl, Oscar’s age, insisting on entering the nursery to give Oscar a toy.  I am grateful for Baby John’s mother, who heard me singing lullabies to Oscar so many times she gifted us a CD of lullabies to listen to when we got home, to give my voice a rest. (I’m wondering if she just got really sick of “Hush Little Baby” and thought this would be a subtle hint to SHUT UP ALREADY!)

I am grateful to the two nurses who bore the brunt of Oscar’s frightened behaviour.  Bottles and toys thrown, twisting, kicking, scratching, screaming.  They recognised he had been traumatised with 12 cannula attempts in Young, 1 antibiotic injection in his thigh, 2 more cannula attempts in Wagga and god knows how many other times he had to be held down for examination and ventolin administration.  And that was only within the first 12 hours.  I am so grateful that on our departure, they were the two nurses Oscar had the biggest smiles, laughs and songs for, and who had the most air kisses for him.

The safe zone from our point of view.  If the steel stand line was breached, all hell broke loose.

I am grateful to the nurse who broke the rules.  When instructed not to give Oscar any milk orally, and with us both at our wits end with my hungry hollow legged man at 3am, she gave him all of 25mls in a bottle.  Which he had consumed before she’d even managed to let go of the bottle.  And that he promptly threw back at her and hit her in the head.  I am grateful because although it didn’t curb his hunger, it showed the doctors that he could tolerate oral fluids.  I don’t think a hungry baby is likely to recover as quickly as a fully fed calm baby.

I am grateful for all of the support we received while we were away.  Traci from Precious Hearts sent us a care package.  Messages and phone calls of love and support poured in.  My mother dropped everything to come and look after the children so Pal and I could both be with Oscar.  It might seem prudent for at least one of us to stay with Rory and Fraser, but the overly dramatic truth and sentiment is that with Oscar, we never really are sure how serious things can get.  We need to be with him.  I wouldn’t leave him in that situation and I wouldn’t expect Pal to be apart from him either.

We were transferred to Wagga on Thursday afternoon/night, Pal visited with the other children on Friday, to check on us, and eventually we made the decision that he would bring the children home to have a night with his mother, and then be cared for by mine in their own home.  I am so grateful that we chose this path.  With Pal on Saturday afternoon, when the world turned pear-shaped and began to melt like a Dali painting, I had him to hold my hand, help me speak to doctors and to ask the questions that I had not yet asked.  And to send me for a sleep for the first time in 3 days.

I am grateful to Ronald McDonald house, who made Pal and I feel very much at home and comfortable on our “nights off”.  We alternated nights at the hospital after Pal arrived, and I am once again glad that although I wanted to be there, and be the best mum I could be, I knew that I was no use to anyone dead on my feet.

I don’t usually like to post pictures of Oscar all connected, but this was too good to not!

I am grateful that winter is nearly over, and all the ex-prems, heart kids and asthma kids will hopefully get a break over the warmer months, and have a year to grow bigger, stronger and healthier and hopefully avoid a hospital stay next cold and flu season.

Mostly though, I am grateful for Oscar.  So many times he has fought so hard.  He will probably have to fight again. But he fights well. He fights strong.  Sometimes he even fights dirty.  But by God, does he fight.

Unhooked and hungry.  That chicken nugget got what it deserved.

Escape

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