Well, I bathed today.
And, I bought some milk. And, I quit crying. Mostly.
The best thing that happened today was that I came to the conclusion with Nonni that Ashton needs to go directly to Cincinnati, effectively skipping Round Three at Dayton.
As it is told to me, less than 24 hours after Ashton’s surgery, his port is not viable. Also, he is not a candidate for chemo. So, it’s time for a change. I have the utmost respect for the men and women who have cared for Ashton at Dayton. However, I am of the mind to take a calculated risk and somewhat “upgrade”. It is not a guarantee for anything. The chemo will be the same. The timing will be the same. I only want a viable port before his blood counts are too low for surgery and I do not want that port to fail during a bone marrow transplant. The wonderful doctor who has done his two prior surgeries is not at fault. It has much to do with how Ashton’s body works.
I would like someone at the 3rd best children’s hospital in America to give it a shot.
Why not just jump a base and get this show on the road. Right? We are gonna end up in Cincy anyway. Let him get close to the new staff the way he fell in love with Dayton. ( Thank you, Dayton!)
It feels like a break up.
I feel like a traitor.
I also feel like…I am WORRIED about ASHTON. And so, I must put sentiment aside. On every level. I am getting good at that.
I put sentiment aside and threw my back out yesterday carrying this child to and from an xray to determine the FUCKED UP new port and it’s situation. Sorry for the ef word. He was awakened abruptly after he literally passed out and it was as always: do NOT wake this kid or you will have an issue.
It took three nurses and me to hold him down after a long, long negotiation. He was in danger of hurting himself so I picked him up and wrestled him against me, kicking the elevator button which would not move until the nurse caught up and turned the key. I was not angry. I was worried. He had to be restrained. My back is a wreck because he has gained 13 lbs. He is not 5, he is 5 and a half. Time flies. I never once picked up Blaise when he was 5 as I was unable.
The stress I feel can be nothing compared to what he has felt in the last two days. The inconsistency. The miscommunication. The whole thing was so confusing. Stay. Go Stay. Go Stay Go. Discharged. Stay. Go stay.
At least at home it is better. And we are getting prepared with paperwork on Monday to get to Cincy.
P.s. I must thank Grandpa for today.