Jarrad is in back in the hospital. Ok - He got home on Friday - the 22nd. His hemoglobin level was 6.7 and he felt good. Saturday, he got up for a couple of hours. Sunday, got up. Said that other than feeling light headed - a result of anemia - he felt fine. The pain was down - score!!!
Monday, good, up. Tuesday good. Wed. good, up. Then that night, we noticed that his incision was leaking more than it had been. So we covered it and then had to change it and change it again. He spent all of Thanksgiving in bed. On Friday, he went to his GP. She said to pack it and apply pressure. We did. Didn't stop. Got up on Saturday only to use the restroom. Pulled some staples out. We redressed it and applied pressure. We thought that maybe the staples being pulled resulted in more blood. We changed the dressing every 3 hours. The blood started to smell fishy and the skin was looking gray.
Today, he called the surgeon.
Once again, our fabulous, amazing, Angels on Earth came to the rescue. Big C took Jarrad to the hospital (hope you got some studying done. . . ) while Middle C and Little C came to keep us company.
Oh, and today, was my birthday. Yeah. 37.
Anyway, my wonderful husband said, "Take the crew and go see Frozen." Well, he texted. (Great movie - by the way.) Because he knows me. He knows that I need to be distracted. He knows that I will feel guilty. Because even though we have these amazing friends who I would trust with my children in case of a zombie apocalypse, I feel guilty asking for more than a couple of hours to watch my kids. And I know that they don't mind but it doesn't stop the guilt. AND I feel guilty for not going with him to the hospital.
Yeah - guilt!
This is the hard part - because I could have just taken the kids to the hospital too. But see, for 9 weeks they went to the hospital or skilled nursing facility EVERY DAY. They had a week off when they went to Grammy and Grandpa's and they had a day here and there but they went and crammed their 3 and 5 year old selves into a roughly 10 by 10 square foot room for 2- 3 hours every time. I don't want to do it to me again. I don't want to do that to Jarrad again. And I definitely don't want to do that to the kids again. They were so afraid to even touch him because they might hurt him. . . I just don't want them to have to do that ever again.
And I know I will have to. But if we - Jarrad and I - can prevent it, we will. It is part of being a parent. It means that I have to let him go and he has to go sometimes by himself. A hospital means that something is wrong. It means long hours of sitting in bed and being checked and monitored and uncomfortable beds.
UGH. I hate hospitals.
But I also love them - because his hemoglobin level was at a 4 when they admitted him. He is going to get a transfusion and they are going to give him antibiotics and get him healthy to come home. A hospital saved his life. I don't go there too often but sometimes, I do - just a little bit before I stop. Our therapist at rehab said that we should play the sound of a video rewinding whenever we "go somewhere". I think of that noise and stop. She so had her finger on my pulse... so, I do love hospitals too.
I just wish we didn't have to use them as often as we do.
Oh, and my birthday presents? Thank you, thank you all for being amazing and fabulous people. You are the best presents EVER!
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