96 Hours

I can feel every heartbeat in my throat. I still forget to breathe, but now when I do it's more to sniffle and hold back mucus from falling. There are now 96 hours from here to the promise land and a million things that could potentially get in the way. I am trying, desperately trying to smile and stay optimistic and keep positivity on my side. We were close to leaving yesterday. But Friday's nobody likes to work and the weekend with short staff is not a good day to move a new patient no one knows. So Monday it is. From here to Monday a millions little things could end my world and make Monday's goal get pushed back some. I hope not. I hope with every fiber of my being to protect Jason and make Monday the day. Me. The outbreak monkey, whose body betrayed me too by letting me battle some infection. I'm scared to get too eclose to him. I wear masks and practically bathe in hand sanitizer. I am terrified of every germ. Of every cough in the hallway. The movie contagion is back in my head on repeat.

But I have to do it, because I don't trust very many people and I don't want him exposed to too many. The hospital offers a 1-1. Up until today no one knew what I was talking about when I asked for it previously but now it's a "thing". Mentally I feel so abused by this situation. I have had my emotions played with, been manipulated - I can't even concentrate on the abuse I have received because I am so focused on Jason. But I feel the effects of it.

The good things about yesterday's fiasco is that Jason never stopped breathing. With ripping out his tube he never lost a breath. My boy was strong enough to breathe through a hole thru his neck so much so they are rethinking his need for it. Thinking about the "bright-side" of yesterday makes me feel like I have lost my ever loving mind.

Last year I was wondering what to get the kids for Xmas. I thought about my dead cousin's kids and a girl from high school who left behind a little boy. I wondered If my step kids would be here and what I would cook for dinner Xmas night. Those thoughts could occupy me for days

This year I wonder how I am going to survive until Monday. I can't think enough to think about after. If Jason can have his neck closed up before the new year. If I can get him a fresh pair of pressure boots because the old ones are getting funky.

I don't know how I am going to survive the next step. Jason is ready for the next steps but I don't believe them. I don't believe anybody these days. He is on a DOS monitor now. Downgraded because they say he doesn't need it. The Las Vegas Monitor gave me comfort because I could see the numbers and read them and feel secure when they were in normal range. Now I  am back to being scared. Scared someone might not catch something, and I am not skilled enough to pick up the ball. I keep praying, and asking, feeling real "JOB-ish" right now. Not waivering, not putting faith in what I "see" but what I believe. It's painful sometimes. The pain of this doesn't seem to ever go away no matter what happens good or bad. It is always there but sometimes with good news it's tolerable and with bad news it amplifies. 

Jason will be back one day, hopefully very soon, 100% who he is. Of all the thing I fear and all the things I pray over of THAT I am completely certain.

I am also fairly certain, I won't. 

Please pray for no complications, no hiccups, and for rehab to expedite Jasons recovery. Please.