There wasn’t a Morning Chalkboard Thursday and there won’t be
one today.
Wednesday, I gave my son Fritz a shout out
and he decided to pay me back with an emergency appendectomy later that night.
It all happened quickly before it suddenly slowed down and scrambled things
enough to make me ask that famous Talking Heads question, “How did I get here?”
I went from thinking my son was jerking off
from school with a headache and a tummy ache to hearing in the ER, “We can’t
wait until Thursday morning, this vile flap needs to be taken out immediately.”
We went from the immediate care office to the
emergency room, to the operating room in six hours. I wore the same clothes
from early Wednesday morning to late Thursday afternoon. I needed a pitchfork
to finally dig my underwear out of my booty.
Fritz never complained
and he never gave the pain more than a five. The next morning his pain was a
one and we left the hospital after lunch.
I wasn’t comfortable with my child having surgery
in the same hospital that botched his brother’s birth, almost killing George
and his mommy. The same hospital that couldn’t put Fritz’s PopPop back together
and keep him from going to heaven a couple years ago.
We had a doctor named after a tragic Old
Testament fable, and to top it off, Fritz might be the size of a middle
linebacker, but he is still the age of a child. We were placed in a room in the
pediatric unit with those yellow cartoon characters with goggles and one eye
plastered on the walls. They look like lipstick vibrators. I think Fritz called
them Mini-Ones.
Surgery went well and
Fritz now has three little scars on and around his bellybutton. I couldn’t tell
my sixteen-year-old they looked like hickeys and someday a jealous girlfriend
is going to question him.
I can only picture
that conversation….
“What do you mean, Dad?” Confused
look on his face.
“Girls can
really do that?”
“They can, son… and it is
a delightful situation.”
I sat up all night listening to my kid
sleep off anesthesia, getting stared down by Mini-Ones in the shadows of the IV
machine while a baby cried all night across the hall.
Here is where my faith humbled me and
kept me from feeling sorry for my fat ass.
My son will be home with me eating hot dogs
at Parky’s next week. Who knows what will happen with the painful cries down
the hall? What are those parents going through?
My
son is sleeping peacefully with three hickeys around his bellybutton. Their
child is screaming in pain, and they are desperately struggling to know why.
I will be able to change out of these
crusty clothes, have a couple slices of pizza, and tuck my son into his own bed
later.
Who knows what the parents down the hall
have stored for them?
Everybody around us is going through a
shitshow, and many would trade places with you in a heartbeat.
I didn’t expect a five-day weekend. I
never miss work, and I was floored when Fritz’s mom thanked me. I couldn’t tell
her that I cried for her at three in the morning as I thought about the last time
I slept in that hospital. Kate Bush’s A Woman’s Work echoing through my head as
George was wrapped in an umbilical cord and his mom bled profusely in the
delivery room. That was the most vulnerable day of my life.
Fritz is home safe in Riverside with a grumpy
dad keeping him warm. I can’t wait to see what damages Blue Cross/Blue Shield
has in store for me. Just another crying baby down the hall reminding me how
lucky I am to have insurance and a great job.
Listen to your
instincts and love your babies. Things can flip in a heartbeat, so stay agile.
The Morning Chalkboard will be back
Saturday morning.
Astonishment and Gusto for you Chalkheads.
