Friends only
I am freaking out. Excuse me: I am restraining myself from freaking out. Barely. With the skin of my teeth. There's a difference. If I'd fully been freaking out I wouldn't have bothered to make that last post private. Here's a summery: Shit.
I've never been so... !!! over good news before. Maybe should have mentioned that at the start. Everyone's fine. More than fine. In fact things are very very fine in all apsects of my life and I just happen to be flipping out a little over one of them.
Cassandra's well enough to come home. Tomorrow. They don't give you much warning about this kind of thing, you know.
Probably. Probably tomorrow. Probably well enough. She needs to be 48 hours without an 'episode' a word here that means anything from acid reflux to turning blue. Actually blue is not so bad. It's grey you have to worry about. Last time she went grey was the day after New Years and two days after we'd taken her off her constant oxygen and something went wrong, bradycordis, if you want a word, and there were alarms every thirty seconds and she went pick to blueish to greyish and back again and her oxygen levels were down in the 80th percentile and they're supposed to be 100 and the nurses were going around making "hmm" noises and saying things like "that's not supposed to be happening," and it was ALL AFTERNOON and I almost clubbed someone to death with a bag of frozen breastmilk.
And three weeks later they think she's fine to go home and let me be safety net all by myself which would be so much easier if I could be genetically modified to be part oxygen machine or had four extra hands grafted onto me or could get all the sleep I needed between blinks and THIS IS ONLY ONE.
I have to leave Phoebe there for a while long. She's not strong enough. They warned me earlier that she wouldn't be. But then they also predicted she'd be my colicy one but since Cassandra has been crying since she came off the O2 and feeding tubes that proves that someone was a little bit WRONG. 'Be is pretty quiet, which is worrying in itself but only if you're totally paranoid. Which I am sometimes.
Okay. These things i know.
They wouldn't be discharging her if they didn't think she was ready. Really.
I have a billion people around offering help.
Somewhere in me is the ability to look after her all by myself. ('Myself" a word here which means with-help-but-without-the-hospital-and-a-nursing-staff-that-knows-EVERYTHING)
AND, which is maybe the most comforting (a word here that the me of six months ago would have never applied to this situation) tomorrow and tomorrow night I'll be staying in the hospital with Cassandra. It's this thing they do for mothers of preemies who have been in the NICU for ages. I get a room and a tiny daughter to look after and do everything for, with the backup of the hospital there in case something goes horribly wrong. It's like backup. Or one intense dress rehearsal. I need a dress rehearsal.
It's just... big and scary. I'm flipping out now so I won't do it tomorrow in front of hospital staff shaped people.
But, you know...
:D
I've never been so... !!! over good news before. Maybe should have mentioned that at the start. Everyone's fine. More than fine. In fact things are very very fine in all apsects of my life and I just happen to be flipping out a little over one of them.
Cassandra's well enough to come home. Tomorrow. They don't give you much warning about this kind of thing, you know.
Probably. Probably tomorrow. Probably well enough. She needs to be 48 hours without an 'episode' a word here that means anything from acid reflux to turning blue. Actually blue is not so bad. It's grey you have to worry about. Last time she went grey was the day after New Years and two days after we'd taken her off her constant oxygen and something went wrong, bradycordis, if you want a word, and there were alarms every thirty seconds and she went pick to blueish to greyish and back again and her oxygen levels were down in the 80th percentile and they're supposed to be 100 and the nurses were going around making "hmm" noises and saying things like "that's not supposed to be happening," and it was ALL AFTERNOON and I almost clubbed someone to death with a bag of frozen breastmilk.
And three weeks later they think she's fine to go home and let me be safety net all by myself which would be so much easier if I could be genetically modified to be part oxygen machine or had four extra hands grafted onto me or could get all the sleep I needed between blinks and THIS IS ONLY ONE.
I have to leave Phoebe there for a while long. She's not strong enough. They warned me earlier that she wouldn't be. But then they also predicted she'd be my colicy one but since Cassandra has been crying since she came off the O2 and feeding tubes that proves that someone was a little bit WRONG. 'Be is pretty quiet, which is worrying in itself but only if you're totally paranoid. Which I am sometimes.
Okay. These things i know.
They wouldn't be discharging her if they didn't think she was ready. Really.
I have a billion people around offering help.
Somewhere in me is the ability to look after her all by myself. ('Myself" a word here which means with-help-but-without-the-hospital-and-a-nursing-staff-that-knows-EVERYTHING)
AND, which is maybe the most comforting (a word here that the me of six months ago would have never applied to this situation) tomorrow and tomorrow night I'll be staying in the hospital with Cassandra. It's this thing they do for mothers of preemies who have been in the NICU for ages. I get a room and a tiny daughter to look after and do everything for, with the backup of the hospital there in case something goes horribly wrong. It's like backup. Or one intense dress rehearsal. I need a dress rehearsal.
It's just... big and scary. I'm flipping out now so I won't do it tomorrow in front of hospital staff shaped people.
But, you know...
:D