Sleepless Nights

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  • Daffodil Day

    Daffodil Day 3 years ago:

    I was sitting in a hospital waiting room having irregular contractions. According to my dates, Amy was 5 days overdue. According to their dates she wasn’t due for another 2 days. I was big, heavy and uncomfortable.

    My name called.

    Come through.

    An American doctor. He was brisk. I told him I was having irregular contractions and he offered to check my cervix. Or more correctly, he offered to have his medical student check my cervix so long as I didn’t mind.

    Two checks later, it was ascertained that my cervix hadn’t jumped ship and gone for a holiday like the med student suspected. Nor had it gotten lost, she just wasn’t very good at checks yet.

    I was pronounced 3cm dilated and ready to drop. Thrilled, I put my pants back on as the doctor told me he’d probably see me tonight.

    We walked out of there happy, certain our baby was on the way.

    ***

    One hospital floor down, Nathan’s father lay in a bed, having just been diagnosed with cancer.

    ***

    We bought a daffodil pin that day, as well as a little yellow bear. Still a little shell shocked, we walked out of the hospital not knowing whether to celebrate the impending birth of our daughter, or cry for the diagnosis my father-in-law had been given.

    ***

    Three years later my father in law is alive after undergoing intensive chemotherapy. It wasn’t easy, but then, cancer never is.

    Three years later we’re getting things ready for Amy’s birthday. Despite being told I’d give birth that night, Amy hung around in there for another 8 days. We’ve got presents hiding in the closet and I’m trying to decide on a cake flavour. I’m counting sleeps until and hoping that things will just fall into place like normal.

    Three years later I’m grieving my grandmother, a victim of a cancer she was never at risk for. She, who’d never smoked a day in her life struck down by lung cancer. Her second run in with cancer, leaving us broken without her. Stronger, maybe, but flawed. Always flawed. Grieving.

    Three years later I’m not sure how I’m going to get through Amy’s birthday without Nan. I’ve spent so long coping and just doing what I’ve got to do that I haven’t taken time to cry or process anything. I’m starting to be very not okay anymore and I don’t know how to handle that.

    Three years later I don’t have the time to grieve alone. These children of mine have wants and needs and their wants are mostly louder than their needs.

    Three years later and the edge of my purse still has the daffodil pin stuck in it from so long ago. A pink ribbon has joined it.

    Showing support for the people who suffer; the people who die.

    It’s not enough, but it’s all I’ve got.

  • Isaac’s E.C.G.

    As we walked into the hospital, I took a deep breath. The hospital smells like cleaning agent and regurgitated air conditioning. It’s not a smell you forget in a hurry. It was bitterly cold outside and I hopped up and down a little as we waited for the lift. Isaac gurgled in his pram and I smiled down at him.

    I hadn’t thought about it. I’d pushed it to the back of my mind and refused to even dwell on the possibility of anything being wrong. It’s just a baseline appointment. We don’t expect to see anything wrong here. I breathed.

    The lift bell rang as the lift arrived and we stepped in.

    Level 2.

    The same level all of Nan’s oncology appointments were on.

    As the lift doors opened, my heart started to race. I stepped out with a confidence I didn’t feel and walked along the corridor.

    We got to the junction of the two hallways. One would take me to cardiology. The other led to the Oncology doctors rooms.

    I looked down the hallway I had walked so many times before.

    Walk along there. Turn left and then left again. Smile at the receptionist and then a right turn into the waiting room.

    The waiting room that would no longer hold my mother and grandmother. We three. The girls club.

    From Nan’s diary.

    […] the good thing about Kim & Von is that we can talk about anything, I can be doom and gloom or happy and chatty it makes no difference to them they don’t get uncomfortable and can do the “what ifs” with me. What would I do without my “Girls Club”??

    I breathed and walked in the other direction. Along another corridor we three had all walked together more times that I counted, and finally down a new one. One without any lingering memories.

    We found our area and spoke to reception. Isaac gurgled in his pram and I lifted him out to feed him. He elected to smile and gurgle instead. Smiling back at him I gave up on the breastfeed.

    5 minutes later, his name was called.

    Here you go, come in. Can you take his tops off for me? Right. Let’s begin.

    She was lovely. We made small talk while Isaac gurgled and tried to eat the ultrasound wand. I watched the screen nervously, but there is nothing to see on a heart ultrasound. The faint whoomp whoomp of Isaac’s heartbeat at intervals broke through the pictures being taken.

    Well. Everything looks fine. There are no issues with his heart whatsoever. His mitral valve has no leakiness. It’s a perfect baseline. Once you get him dressed you can leave. No need to talk to the girls at the front desk. Will you need to come back again?

    I’ll talk to the Paediatricians about it. I think they want to keep an eye on both children, but it wouldn’t be often, probably every 2 years.

    That sounds about right. I’ll see you later then.

    She held the door for us.

    Thank you so much.

    She looked at me and smiled.

    Nathan and I walked down the corridors, back to where all my memories lay.

    It’s really nice to walk out of the hospital with good news.

    Yes. Yes it is.

    We walked on.

  • I’m a little insane. But I like it.

    Who is doing your wedding cake?

    Well I’ve been meaning to talk to bakeries, but … Why? Would you like to make it?

    I was thinking about it this morning and well yes, I’d like to if you don’t have a bakery lined up.

    That would be lovely.

    It will be our wedding gift to you.

    Nathan’s brother and his girlfriend are getting married in three months and I just offered to bake and decorate their wedding cake for them.

    I’ve got three months to decide on flavours with the bride, bake and freeze 3 tiers of cake, source some cake boards, boxes and dowel, perfect my (already pretty good) buttercream recipe and go insane making sure everything is perfect.

    Not to mention all the cake recipe testing I will be doing in the meantime.

    Plenty of time.

    It’s going to be insane.

    It’s going to be great fun.

    I will be referring to this set of posts as often as I can (every day), paying lots of attention to the comments here.

    Not to mention, I will be photographing everything as I go and posting updates, that is, if you’re interested.

  • Dear Isaac

    Dear Isaac,

    Next time you need to poo, could you not do it while your nappy is off? Today is not the first time I’ve hastily grabbed baby wipes and cleaned you up, trying to make sure nothing went on the carpet. Today IS however, the first time you’ve been faster than me.

    Your sister would be proud.

    Today for lunch you had: a small breastfeed, half a cup of mashed peas, a whole mashed pear and a slice of bread. You ate it all. You are slowly losing interest in milk-as-food, preferring instead to eat solids like the rest of us. Milk is a quick snack, grabbed between meals, or a mouthful here and there to satisfy thirst.

    Except overnight of course. You drink more milk overnight than you do of a daytime. Thanks for that.

    You’ve only had 2 naps in the last ten hours. Each of those naps were 20 minutes long. That’s not enough sleep. Not that I don’t love spending time with you, I do, truly. It’s just sometimes, quality is better than quantity. Tomorrow you can nap longer. I won’t mind, I promise.

    That 10 minutes of non-stop giggles before? Awesome. The tired crash you’ve had since then? Not so awesome.

    Your eczema has come back. I know, it sucks. We’re slathering you in cortisone cream and sorbolene, but until it starts to work, could you possibly refrain from scratching your eyes out? In the end you will be better for it. Eyes are handy things.

    Your mobility is outstanding. You can’t crawl yet, but that doesn’t stop you wiggling all over the house. A quick note though, there is nothing interesting under the futon. You’ll just get stuck. Again.

    You’re growing at a rate of knots. Clothes that swam on you yesterday are fitting perfectly today. I admit, this scares me a little. Soon you’ll be big and your head won’t smell nearly as good. I’ll cope though.

    Oh and one last thing, if you could refrain from letting your joints click when I change your nappy/pick you up, that would be lovely. You have an appointment for an echo-cardiogram this week. It’s an Ehlers Danlos thing. I’m sure everything will be fine, but we’re just checking. Your sister will have to have one too. And me.

    Anyway little man, I love you very much.

    Love, Mummy.

    Pout

  • Life in mashed peas

    I awake to the sound of Isaac crying. Blearily I stumble out of bed and down the hallway. His face breaks into a grin as I look at him, the nightlight casting shadows over both of us. I pick him up and sit down on the couch to feed him. He arches his back and turns away, hunting for the light.

    For him, it is morning.

    I peer at my watch. The nightlight is not conducive to watch reading, surely it doesn’t say 5am? Unfortunately, it does.

    I gather him up, still in his swaddle and take him back to my bed. He’ll play and I will pretend it is still night time.

    We snuggle down, him, a cracker in hand and me, hiding in my pillow. He grabs a handful of my hair and munches contentedly. The pulling hurts, so I wiggle him further away and hand him the remote to chew on. Contented, he sighs.

    Nathan opens one eye and looks at us, his peace disturbed. I counter by placing my cold feet on his legs to warm them. He mumbles, but doesn’t pull away.

    Contentment never lasts longer than 20 minutes, so our time here is limited. Soon he will complain about his wet nappy and his belly that is grumbling for solids – my milk; not enough.

    I sniff the top of his head and sigh. I’m so very tired, but this is nice

    Later we will watch the sun rise, looking out the windows with him on my hip. Amy isn’t awake yet, this is our time. Him and me. Me and him.

    Us.

    ***

    Breakfast time.

    Amy sits on the floor peeling grapes.

    Why?

    Huh?

    Why are you peeling grapes?

    Cos.

    Oh. Okay.

    It makes sense to her, I won’t argue.

    I boil the kettle while Isaac grumbles on the floor. Not long woken up from a nap, I suspect he’s still tired. A mug, a teabag and some sugar. Add the water and walk away.

    I find some peas in the freezer and pour boiling water over them. Not yet warm enough, they go on the stove to heat through. I add milk to my tea and stir. A big sip later, I’m happy. Why didn’t I do this 3 hours ago when I first woke up?

    Oh. Right. I was pretending it was still night time.

    Isaac grumbles louder, near to crying. I hand him a square of bread to gum while I prep the peas. He gurgles, putting his fist in his mouth, bread and all. I drain the peas and place them in a container.Two minutes later and breakfast is ready.

    I sit Isaac in his bouncer with a tea towel as a bib. His eyes light up as the spoon moves towards his mouth. Happily he eats his peas, one mouthful at a time.

    He lifts his foot and waggles it at me. Preoccupied with getting peas in his mouth and nowhere else, I ignore it. He waggles harder.

    I look.

    It’s a very nice foot Isaac.

    He grins and kicks, happy that I noticed.

    The last mouthful goes in his mouth, just as he sneezes.

    Peas everywhere.

    Isaac giggles.