Some Other Stuff

This will be a pretty busy week for us - today is the Veterans' Day holiday with both kids at home and speech therapy this afternoon, tomorrow is back to school, Wednesday is David's yearly pediatric ophthalmologist checkup, Thursday is a sedated echocardiogram, and Friday he meets with his new CBRS/teacher. So yeah, busy.

The speech therapist and home-based teacher come here as part of David's Early Intervention, but we have to go to Hendersonville for the eye doc and Mission Hospital in Asheville for the echo. There is one pediatric ophthalmologist in this part of the state, and she been working with David since he was in the NICU. She's said before that David is nearsighted and has astigmatism (well, he is my son), but she didn't think he'll need glasses until he's closer to kindergarten. This echo is sedated because at his last one (in April?) he was 101% uncooperative with everything, and Dr. Aaron couldn't see anything he needed to see. It has to be done in the PICU at Mission, and we have to be there at 7:30 a.m. for an 8:30 a.m. procedure, which means we have to leave the house at 6:00. Whew. Simon will be spending Wednesday night at a friend's house (a mid-week sleepover, as you can imagine he and the friend are pretty excited) so Matt and I can both go. David will have to have an IV, which is always difficult, but that's about it as far as discomfort for him.

His last sedated echo was a couple of weeks before his open-heart surgery; the doc wanted him perfectly still for the most updated images. Writing this, it's odd to realize that at some point, David had not had heart surgery. I know that sounds weird, because obviously all during the long NICU stay, he hadn't had it yet, but ... I don't know, It just feels as if I've been writing about the surgery and recovery a lot lately, and it just seems there could not be a point in our lives at which it had not yet happened.

At the last one, the pediatric anesthesiologist had a difficult time with the IV, and both Matt and I noted but didn't say until later, we never had the slightest idea what he was saying, because he spoke in such a low voice. I mean really, it was ridiculous, and I speak in a low tone and sometimes don't get understood the first time. I suppose the nurses on the unit are used to him, but I hope he didn't tell us anything critical because we totally missed it. I believe he had a sort of French last name, when Matt and I were speculating about where he might be from I guessed "Port St. Mumble," which Matt found hilarious (when David was in the hospital so long, gossip and speculation about his doctors and nurses was about all that kept us going - all these little jokes that no one on Earth would ever find funny).

 Another reminder: when we were in the PICU waiting room, waiting (duh) our turn, there was another family, of a 16-year-old girl who had been in a car accident. The doctor had evidently told them the prognosis was poor, and they were discussing removing her from life support and donating her organs. I don't often feel outright pity for someone, but I did pity them. I also really wished we were not overhearing the most private conversation I've ever overheard, but what were we going to do? Plus I imagine the last thing they were worried about was what we were hearing.

Perspective is a ... well, not a nice word, sometimes. At that point it was difficult to be thankful our daughter was not in that situation, because David was still so small and sick. But thinking about it now ... yeah, I will put my arms around our healthy sons and try not to complain too much about anything like the drink machine taking my quarters, while we are there.

Whoo, this started out as a simple update and ended up being a total bummer. Sorry. But, enjoy the pictures! And, hug your own kids tonight.

And to all the veterans and active duty military folks I know: thank you and God bless you for everything you have done for us.