Today I had grand plans laid out before me. After taking Max and Ro to transplant clinic and to get labs drawn for Max, I was going to take them to the park. Then Moose and I were going to attempt to take the boys to their first movie, either UP or the new Ice Age. We were then going to come home, get them to bed and I had plans to watch a movie, eat some yummy salad and veg out.
I made it to the park and that was it. That was it because I got a call from C. right after we got home from the park. Max's labs were horrible. They were so horrible that they could only assume there had been something wrong with the sample, but because they were so horrible they could not let it go. My choices were to a) come back up and have them drawn again or b) try to go to the inpatient unit tomorrow morning, have them page Dr. A., have her enter orders, have them page IV therapy and wait for them to draw the blood OR c) go to the ER tomorrow morning and do the same damn thing.
Options B and C both sounded like the potential for an all day odyssey to the hill, so I had to scrap the movie plans and drive back up with the Emperor. I don't mind saying that worrying about Max's lab values was a familiar sensation that I did not really enjoy experiencing again so quickly after transplant. In fact, it threw me into a funk that I am only now just beginning to get over.
Incidentally, there is nothing wrong with Max. It was the lab's equipment. The second draw was absolutely normal, but I only just found that out now.
Dealing with this today made me realize how much stress I have let go of since the transplant. I mean, yes... there is a great deal to do for him. But, I don't have this sometimes debilitating worry coating everything all of the time. I don't know that I fully recognized that the overarching worry was mostly gone. This doesn't mean that I don't worry about him, because of course I still do.
However for the last two and a half years, I think we have felt as if we were in this tremendous holding pattern. We were, at first, doing everything possible to keep Max off of dialysis and to get him to transplant. Then once dialysis began, it was this constant drive to keep him stable, healthy and to get to transplant. Transplant. Transplant. Transplant.
Transplant was the ending. Transplant has been the beginning.
I am much more settled about post-transplant Max and what caring for him entails. I knew it would just take some time. I am able to focus more energy on Rowan, which has been something over which I have suffered a fair amount of guilt since he was born. I feel good about myself. I feel good about myself as a mother.
I feel proud of myself as a mother. I am sure that soon there will be something else and I will kill myself over and over again with guilt. But for now, I am going to savor the good feelings...
Revel in the happiness.
Throw the worry to the wind and enjoy my summer with my boys. They will only be 2.5 and 1.5 once and I do so love them at these ages.
Joy is my toddler boys.
