Over the course of the last two weeks, there were a million things I wanted to write about, a million different events or observations which piqued my interest and made me go, "I've got to remember to write about that...." And as I sit here on my front porch with rain falling lightly on my garden, on our second morning home from the hospital, do you think I can recall even one of those items?
No.
They are lost. They are gone to that place where lost trains of thought go. Where they are waiting, sometimes interminably for you to pick the thread back up and proceed where you left off.
I so wanted to write while we were there, but my mother, whom I dearly love, has this habit of attempting to converse with me at that exact moment when I am trying to string my thoughts together and if you know me at all, you know that it can sometimes take an act of god for me to keep my thoughts in order long enough to eloquently elucidate whatever I am trying to express. If you are talking at me or there is a great deal going on around me, I might as well forget any attempt to write.
It is simply hopeless and then I just stress on the fact that all I am producing is crap. So, I stop writing.
This is probably why I have put any writing other than blogging on hold for this period in my life. I have way too much going on to be able to focus on a storyline or plot that I am developing. I can manage posts if I am up early before everyone else or after the kids go to bed, but that is about it.
In the days right before Max's kidney call came, I found a manuscript from one of the novels I am writing. In looking at it, I was at first astounded just by the sheer heft of it. It is long. I did not recall that I had written so very much. The second thing that astounded me was that I actually produced that out of thin air. I began reading it again and as I fell into it, I was literally amazed. I thought to myself, "wow... this is not some book I just bought. I actually wrote this. And I like it."
Maybe someday, life will settle down enough for me to feel as if I can dig back into that project, fix things here and there and get past that point in the plot which left me baffled and in a bit of a writer's block about how to proceed.
The Emperor is doing well. Caring for 'transplanted Max' is a great deal different than 'pre-transplant Max'. In some ways, I feel almost as out of sorts as I did when we first brought him home from the NICU, when everything was new and frightening and I was terrified of fucking up. He is currently on 10 different medications, 7 of which are completely new to me and 3 of those are immunosuppressants. Those are frightening to me. They must be taken at the same time every day, numerous times a day. Not doing so is risking rejection. A medication schedule so regimented is not something I am used to. I am used to being able to push things here or there....
I don't have the medication schedule down in my head and so I am paranoid I am forgetting something....
Today we have our first set of labs and clinic visit since his release. I am nervous about that, as well. I am sure everything is fine. But, I worry... worry... worry....
I will forever worry, where Max is concerned.
