Wanted

Sometimes I sleep, sometimes it's not for days...

The people I meet always go their separate ways...
Sometimes you tell the day
By the bottle that you drink...
And times when you're all alone all you do is think...- Dead or Alive /Jon Bon Jovi

We are back to pseudo-critical. In the step down unit with a bigger patient to nurse ratio. They know I am here, so they can do that. The nurses here are all very nice, most hugged me and welcomed me back. Others smiled and asked if they could get me anything. It takes a special person to dedicate your life to helping others. When you come here Anxiety gives you a measure of expectation towards everyone. They should be more knowledgable than you and they should be perfect. No mistakes. But being here as long as I have you realize that is not true. Everyone here is human and they make mistakes. The hope is that someone is around to correct them and no mistake initiates the ultimate consequence.

As soon as we got here things were lost in translation. Unnecessary X-Rays were almost taken, bloods that have already been done, catheters were intercepted. Now when they try to talk me out of a firm "NO", they don't scare me with their reasoning. I have been here long enough that I picked up a little education and I can argue back in their language with sound logic. I have to be more hands on here because people are busier. I do pillows under his butt, oral care and they come around once a day to catch up. When all was re-evaluated the unnecessary probing that almost happened was sorted out and I thank God that I am here. By all accounts this is a great hospital so getting annoyed is futile. I am blessed that I do not have to know what it was like at a bad hospital. 

I restrained Jason to the bed myself tonight. No tears anymore, I am still pretty numb. Either his hands remain forced at his side or he will grab his trach-color again. The things we do for love...

Through 6 degrees of separation I was introduced to someone who has lived this nightmare already. Here in this very hospital with her own child I met the general of the war with this disease. This ridiculously strong woman who lived and survived this ordeal and is now on the other side. You never realize what you sound like until someone else says your words. Two years after: her child is better, recovered, normal. It just took two years.

Two years...

I know what they tell me to expect. I know what I say I am prepared for. But I don't know how much of that is actually tangible. I miss my son. Thanksgiving his 2nd favorite holiday after his birthday is this week. He loves my ham. He always asks every year who is coming and what I am making and the ham is always his  favorite. I'll be here in the hospital with him. Not eating my ham right alongside him.

My mom is cooking this year because my little ones deserve a holiday too. While their mom can't function I am asking others to step in and make sure they don't skip a beat. This sorry life has me missing my kids-all of them. I stay here to protect my older son and I miss my babies at home something serious.

I don't know what to do. I am trying. I don't know holidays without Jason. I grew up Jehovah's Witness. Making a fuss about the holidays have always been for and because of him. Do I buy him Christmas gifts this year? Do I hold on to them and give them when he wakes up reminding him of how much time will have probably passed?

My new friend told me the great part of this whole thing is that Jason won't remember. Her daughter didn't. To Jason this will all be a blur and he will be able to continue his life.

What about me? I will remember everything.