Sometimes the words of a song are just the words of a song. A beautiful haunting lyric that draws you back over and over, but still just a song. Then, sometimes the same song hits you differently. Tonight, listening to Alfie Boe sing “Bring Him Home,” I felt the song as only a parent can. And as I felt the song, Charlotte laced her fingers through mine and whispered, “Chills.” Jean Valjean prays to God to bring Marius home, to let him live. Truly, those are the only thoughts that go through a parents mind when their child in on the operating table. Any operating table. I don’t care if the general anesthesia is for ear tubes, a tonsillectomy, a heart surgery or a lung transplant. When the doctors wheel your baby away, and you have no control….that’s the sentiment, the lament, the prayer.
And when they say to you, “Okay, you can take her home today,” you cry precious tears of relief. And realize how very lucky you are to hear those words, and no other words.
Last February 17 we heard those words. Yesterday, we were too busy jamming to Gloria & Emilio Estefan’s excellent and joyous On Your Feet to even think about it. Chills indeed.
So, for “throwback Thursday,” I give you Flashback #5: February 17, 2015:
Current Status: Sitting in the living room playing Katamino waiting for sushi to be delivered.
Medical Update: Sitting in the living room playing Katamino waiting for sushi to be delivered.
But seriously, Charlotte was discharged around 2:30 today. The day consisted of removing the central line, which was a bit difficult but not nearly as traumatic and traumatizing as any other removal has been. In between crying that she couldn’t do it, Charlotte breathed (deep breath in, breath out “sushi”), and giggled at Despicable Me 2. Once the central line was removed, she had to lie flat-ish for about 30 minutes. Then we went downstairs for a chest x-ray.
After the chest x-ray, we waited for the prescription delivery and to get the last peripheral IV out. That last thing is what took the longest, and what made me the most proud.
Charlotte hates having things put in or taken out (can you blame her?) and she also dislikes having medical teams hover around her.
So, she insisted on taking the PIV out herself. Her excellent RN, Katie, sat on one side of the bed, Phil an I on the other. While Katie walked us through the discharge instructions, Charlotte worked on the tegaderm surrounding the IV. She worked and worked, listening to some Katy Perry and Taylor Swift. She vacillated between “I can’t do this” and “I’ve got this.” The last little bit was really difficult. Both Katie and then Holly, the APN on duty, helped Charlotte strategize how to approach the tape.
Finally, she got all worked up, “I can’t do this. I’m never going to be able to do this.” Then silence, then “Oh, it’s out.”
She did. The sushi is here. Have a good night, ya’ll.