This will be most likely my last "anatomy of a car crash" post. Because, as my Dr says they just have to get two more things out my body & then it's time for me to go home. Home. I haven't been home since 2:45pm on Christmas Eve. Last time I was home Colum was alive & well. My life was perfect. But currently, Colum's Christmas presents are still waiting to be opened, his clothes are hanging in his closet, & his crib is still there with his precious imprint left in his beloved blankets. If I could, if my body wasn't broken, I would walk in the door and climb in his crib & just breathe in every smell & deposit them in my most dependable memory bank. All the laundry has been done, so I think the crib is all I've got. It's been 5 & 1/2 weeks so I hope his crib still smells like him. I fear I'm forgetting his smell. Forgetting how it felt to hold him. His head laying on my shoulder, my hand under his shirt tickling his back, his skin so soft, & my face buried in his soft, blonde, uncombed hair. His arms, one wrapped around my shoulder & one around my neck. His wobbly steps throughout the house. His uncanny ability to just dance when ANY music was on. He would constantly yell out "NO!" (learned from his big brother), & sometimes it was kinda through his nose. I learned after many times of getting decked in the face & him yelling "NA" (his other more violent no, that he said (not through the nose)) that if I wanted a kiss, I had to pin his arms down & just take one. That boy could hit so hard.
Every few shift changes I get a new nurse &/or aid that I haven't had before. I never know if they know our story or not. I constantly ask myself, do I just come out & tell them, so they know why I'm randomly crying throughout the day? Sometimes we start talking about our kids & life, & I catch myself out of habit saying "my kids", then I hesitate and stumble through the rest of our conversation. I know I'm allowed and able to count Colum as my kid even though he's gone. I guess I am still going to have to find what I'm most comfortable saying to new people I meet, that hopefully won't bring on any tears. It's something I never thought about before this happened.
I know going home will be wonderful, but I'm sure I will be a mess. I've never heard Ryan cry so hard since he's been home. I can't feel Colum here in the hospital, I hope I can feel him at home. I plan on not having visitors the first few days so I can have a few days to mope around & hopefully have my own spiritual experience. I'm a little scared to be on my own, no warm blankets placed on me when I suddenly get cold. Getting my own fresh water & being in charge of my own medications. I've always had a problem asking people for help, no matter how bad I need it. Will I be able to overcome that & call all my wonderful friends and family who so graciously volunteered their time to help us? Will I over do it, ....probably.
This week they just have to take the stent out of my kidney & hopefully take my IVC filter out. I can vaguely recall having the IVC filter put in. They make a tiny incision in your neck, lightly sedate you, and put a rather large, collapsible, metal, umbrella shaped device through the incision. They place it below your lungs to prevent blood clots & it expands like an umbrella. To remove it they go in through your neck w/something like fishing line & a hook. They attempt to catch it w/ the hook & it collapses & out it goes ...but I guess they are only able to get it out 20% of the time, otherwise it just becomes a part of you until it dissolves. Ryan was one of the lucky 20%, they 'caught' his a few days before he was discharged. He was very anxious for days, weeks even, before they removed his. He was not as drowsy as I was when they put it in, and you must be awake but you get lightly sedated for the procedure. He hates needles, even the little, tiny ones. He has a scar on his chin from when he fainted from piercing his ear in high school (glad that didn't last long). They normally have to break out the fainting salts when he gets his blood drawn and he gets white as a ghost. This all makes me laugh out loud. He's a manly man, he does manly things, & works a manly job.... But he just can't do needles. When you do IVF there are a lot & I mean a lot of shots given. He gave me every one, yet it didn't help him overcome his fear. He was starting to get me worried about them removing my filter. After, they took his out you would have thought he'd just returned from battle. "Does it hurt really bad", I asked? "well, no...it's just crazy cause you know what they are doing", he said. This, makes me giggle. The man has titanium rods throughout his body now but this small procedure was such a huge ordeal. Oh, I love that guy! Whenever he doesn't take my fear of spiders seriously, which he didn't for years, I just chase him around with a needle :).
A few more days left for me here in the hospital! I really have enjoyed blogging about what's happened and what I'm going through. It's been therapeutic and it's great to read all of your supportive comments to help get me through. I'm going to continue posting updates and hopefully throw in a few pictures because I can use my other devices, once I'm home.
One thing I've realized from being in rehab is that I'm one of the lucky ones. I will walk (& run) again. My mind is stable. Although broken, I still have all my limbs. My speech and cognitive skills are not impaired. Soon, this will all just be an old memory, and a new chapter will begin...