Part six of a seemingly endless series about what is turning into a seemingly endless hospital stay. Scroll down for parts 1-5.
Gloria Gaynor was not so successful on Friday, but at some point the next day, when nothing else would calm Lilah, I tried again. She was attached to a fluid drip, oxygen, and a monitor, so the dancing was pretty subdued, but I did discover that singing “I Will Survive” while bopping along is particularly calming for her, while “Puff the Magic Dragon” seems to piss her off. Mark that as “file away for future reference.”
And, so, we spent the weekend in the hospital. Eventually, they took her off the fluid drip so that she would nurse more, which was a relief because she was not taking her usual amount and so I was pumping to keep up my supply. The Snot Culture came back positive for RSV, so they took her off antibiotics because clearly the problem was viral. Unfortunately, this meant they also needed to institute masks and gowns for everyone entering our room so as not to spread the RSV to other patients. Again, very dramatic. It was like being in The Andromeda Strain.
J came home early from work on Friday and picked up Zachary from his friend’s house. He ordered them pizza for dinner, packing away the leftovers to be eaten on subsequent nights. He rented them a video Saturday afternoon once I had pointed out that this just might be an extreme enough situation to relax the “one program a day” television rules. Because it was becoming just that sort of a weekend, J also took them out for ice cream Saturday night, which is when he discovered the flat tire. Conveniently, we live around the corner from Pep Boys. Less conveniently, Pep Boys couldn’t fix it and this particular problem needed the dealer. Which would be closed on Sunday. And my car was in the lot at the hospital, fifteen minutes away from our house.
“Everything for tomorrow is cancelled,” he declared on the phone, which seemed to me a bit extreme, given that we had a perfectly good car sitting five floors below me. “Nothing scheduled tomorrow is essential.” That, actually, depends upon one’s perspective. To the adults, swimming lessons and a birthday party are skipable, but Zachary had been planning for his friend’s celebration all week. Come hell or high water, he was getting to that party.
I started calling people, but strangely, people weren’t picking up their phones at 8:00 on a Saturday night. Finally, I caved. I called Wanda. I hadn’t wanted to, because we call her for everything, and I worry she is starting to feel like the Favor ATM. She had already helped out several times in the past few days. But, these were desperate times, and we were beginning to wonder whether we were God’s Favorites. Wanda – my hero – went to our house to stay with the boys while J took a cab to the hospital to retrieve my car.
Yes, 9:00 on a Saturday night, after having the boys to himself all day, after leaving work early in the midst of a very busy Friday, after being whined at all afternoon, while his baby was in the hospital, after adding insult to injury with the fucking flat tire, my husband took a cab to the hospital so he would have a car for the next day. So that his son would not miss a birthday party.
Someday, dude, someday Zachary will appreciate just how much you love him.