A Long Night

The hospital room is dark, but not quiet. There's the nurses chatting in the hall, the hum of central air, and the constant rushing of the oxygen mask forcing air into my son's mouth and tired little lungs. A mask that, on any other day Darren might have found kind of cool, as it whooshes rhythmically, in and out with every breath. Very Darth Vader-esque. An IV in one arm, bandages up and down the other arm from blood being drawn, and many failed IV attempts, while nurses tried to distract him with stickers as he gritted his teeth and cried on the inside. His big toe glows red with the attached O2 monitor, that occasionally goes off in an alarmingly loud way, causing a nurse to scurry in an adjust his oxygen levels or monitor.
So that's 3. Three wires running to my baby boy, keeping him stable, keeping him o.k. That's also 3 more than I'm comfortable seeing on my baby. I'm supposed to be able to fix him with hugs, magical cure-all kisses, and the occasional tylenol. This, this is way out of my league. Way out of my control.
An entire day behind us of x-rays, blood tests, playing medical musical chairs room to room, pin pricks, all while telling him 'just a little longer' when he clearly couldn't take it another second. A day of watching my son not being able to breathe without pain, and a hundred different faces telling me 'just a little longer', when I clearly wanted to explode and cry out 'FIX my SON dammit!' Thank God, my mother came to be with us, to support us, and to give me the chance to just leave the room and cry, because I didn't want him to see how scared I was.
When they finally got that IV in, when they finally made it work, I cried and cried, we all cried. It reminded me of when Darren was born, and he wouldn't breathe at first and we all held our breath. None of us could do anything, we had no control as the nurses worked and worked. Then he cried out, and the floodgates of relief opened. It was the same feeling of relief, knowing he wouldn't have to have another attempt made, and finally, finally, the 'fixing' could begin.
And now, here we are, after this 12 hours of panic and emotionally exhausting ordeal, just he and I, and the whirring of his Darth Vader oxygen machine. He has such tired, heavy eyes, but he doesn't want to give in. A few rounds of "You Are My Sunshine" and some gentle caresses help things along. His eyelids droop, as my hand finds a sweet spot, a gentle figure eight over his brow and hair....I suddenly flashback as if it were yesterday, to a crystal clear memoryof when this tall 6 year old who now takes up an entire pediatric bed was just 6 pounds, a tiny, fragile infant. He would cry and cry some nights, and I would search for the magical cure. The right song, the right motion, the right caress; the sweet spot. The thing that would make the crying stop and the calm deep breaths of sleep begin. I would stand by his crib, crib rail jammed up under my armpit, tracing a magical figure 8 at 3 in the morning, for what seemed like hours, just to let him sleep. Whatever it takes.
The nurse brings in a pillow and blankets for me, well intentioned, but yea, right, thanks but no thanks...and I ask for a pen and this paper instead. Much more useful tonight. No, no sleep tonight, tonight I will sit here in loving vigil, alternating this writing therapy with magical figure eights when need be. With this hospital bed rail jammed up under my armpit so he can feel my presence and get some well needed and deserved rest. Whatever it takes.

It's A New Day

I went asleep last night tired from the fight
I’ve been fighting for tomorrow all my life
Yea I woke up this morning feeling brand new
‘Cause the dreams that I’ve been dreaming
Have finally came true

It’s a new day

It’s been a long time coming
Up the mountain kept runnin’
Souls of freedom kept hummin’
Channeling Harriet Tubman

Kennedy, Lincoln, and King
We gotta invest in that dream
It feels like we’re swimming upstream
It feels like we’re stuck inbetween
A rock and a hard place,
We’ve been through the heartaches
And lived through the darkest days

If you and I made it this far,
Well then hey, we can make it all the way
And they said no we can’t
And we said yes we can
Remember it’s you and me together

I woke up this morning feeling alright
I’ve been fightin’ for tomorrow all my life
Yea, I woke up this morning feeling brand new
Cause the dreams that I’ve been dreaming
Have finally came true

It’s a new day

It’s been a long time waitin’, waiting for this moment
It’s been a long time praying, praying for this moment

We hope for this moment and now that we own it
For life I will hold it, and I ain’t gonna let it go

It’s for fathers, our brothers,
Our friends who fought for freedom
Our sisters, our mothers, who died for us to be in this moment

Stop and cherish this moment
Stop and cherish this time

It’s time for unity for us and we
That’s you and me together

I woke up this morning feeling brand new
Cause the dreams that I’ve been dreaming
Have finally came true
Yea, I woke up this morning feeling alright

‘Cause we weren’t fighting for nothing
And the soldiers weren’t fighting for nothing
No, Martin wasn’t dreaming for nothing
And Lincoln didn’t change it for nothing
And children weren’t crying for nothing

It’s a new day

-Will.i.am.

January in New Hampshire...awesome.

I sit, alone, on my bed in my room, watching Fox New Channel. No, not because it's AWESOME. For me, Fox is a very strange thing. I liken it to having a sore, welting black fly bite, or a big poison ivy blister. You want to scratch SO bad, and even though you're not supposed to, you do anyway. And the resulting sensation is pain, but a satisfying pain. 'hurts so good, Bill O'Reilly, make it hurt so good,..." I can not stand anything that man says, every word of it spewing out like disease, from that smug asshole face of his. I am a person of peace and tranquility, but even I have limits, and Bill O'Reilly is the one person, who if I met in person, I would have to fight back the strong urge to just punch him in the face. Right in that ignorant, self righteous, asshole face. And yet, here I am, watching him. It really is an odd phenomenon. Everything he says, I yell at the screen in useless rebuttal, becoming increasingly upset. Everyone is entitled to their opinions, but how is it even possible for someone to have their head quite that far up their own ass? Finally, I click over the channel to Family Guy before I have a stroke...throw the remote on the bed and go check on the kids. They're both sleeping quietly, which is a relief, because they have both been constantly sick this winter. But right now, they are happy and resting. Sweet. Time to raid the liquor cabinet. They say it's bad to drink alone, but honestly I hate being home alone. I am petrified of being alone in the house at night, and I'm pretty sure a little bedtime drink will take the edge off. Dean has been pulling all-nighters to catch up on the job, so we can hopefully catch up on mortgage and bills, and maybe even go grocery shopping! There is only so much ramen noodle I can take. And I love ramen noodles. (Don't worry, the liquor is from a gift card, I'm not that crappy a parent. ) Not that it would matter if he were here, it would still be silent. See, we are having one of those cold shoulder showdowns, where we are both holding out till the other gives in, the original quarrel that started it long since forgotten, but the winter doldrums make us extra obstinate. Like that barenaked ladies song, one week. "It'll still be 2 days till I say I'm sorry"....I bet they wrote that in January.
Yes. A bottle of Captain Morgan. Not something I'm familiar with, it was Deans' pick, but hey, there's a handsome pirate on the front, and he's looking at me like I could use a little capn' in me. Who am I to argue? I turn to grab a shot glass...then dismiss the idea. Nah. Having the blues needs a shot glass. Stubbing my toe needs a shot glass. January? January says take the whole damn bottle with you. Yes indeedy.
I return to the bedroom with my booty, and practically trip over the cats, who are breaking into a fight. 'Cut it out!' I scold, and one takes off across the room, them climbs the door jam and hangs there like a monkey. Yup, cabin fever has officially set in. 'Well, climb the walls if you want, but you're gonna have to chill out, it's 5 degrees outside. So either get along or die' she jumps down and skulks off, she won't mess with me and the Capn'. It's January. I'm not screwing around in January.
A swig off the bottle....not bad! Spicy and strong, without the jet fuel after burn of whiskey. Oh, what a wonderful new friend I have made. I wink at the captain, and he winks back at me. Time for a hot shower. I bring the bottle with me (it would be rude to let my new friend out of my sight)and set it on the counter. After a long hot soak I come back out, reach for my brush, and then...noooooo! I knock the bottle...it does the movie style-slow-mo teeter, before heading down. It does a 10 second tumble bouncing off my fumbling hands and the counter, and I desperately yell, 'Not the rum!' without even conciously thinking about it,before finally catching it. I break out in hysterical tipsy laughter over this. See? it really does put a little capn' in ya. Not the rum? ohhhh, that's pretty good, right?
I go back to my bed, guitar on my lap, captain by my side, and start playing some music. That always calms me down. The music makes my stress retreat for the night, so I can finally get some sleep.
It would be so nice if we could just hibernate...at least for January.