I will skip over the longer story (summarized by saying that Grandma went into surgery Saturday night, then had to be kept asleep and on a ventilator all of Sunday while they waited for her lungs to show they could do their job alone).
She is now awake, and off the ventilator (doing her own breathing). The things that were initially of concern: first the internal bleeding, then the low blood pressure and need for a ventilator, and wondering a long time how she would respond to the anesthetic; all have come to their proper (healthy) conclusion.
Nurses predict Gma will be out of ICU and into a regular hospital room by tomorrow. The concern at this point is her perennially weak lungs– preventing pneumonia, which she has been susceptible to, but doesn’t have right now.
God has again shown us his great faithfulness.
(Also posted at Untangling Tales
Do you ever find (if you’re not a swear-er, especially) that certain words escape as if you were swearing?
My 87-year-old grandmother has been in the hospital via the emergency room since late Friday night. I spent most of Saturday at her bedside, keeping her company while folks tried to figure out how to “fix” her (she’d been ailing since Sunday, and it finally came to a head).The whole time I was juggling my Mama (10-week-old Elisha was with me) and Granddaughter hats, my mind, against all my attempts to ration my frazzled resources, continued to frame how best to put the experience into words.
We’ve been dealing with something of a family crisis lately, my grandmother’s suddenly declining health.
I visited with her Wednesday morning, and went back for much of Thursday (until my mom could get home. The kids were remarkably cooperative (other than Natasha simply not napping).
Grandma said more than once “Oh I am so glad you were here Amy.” And then the next morning (Friday) Mom called to reiterate the same thing. “When you have so much of your own to do at home,” they said.
It really is nice to be thanked, and I think I’ve said before I thrive on that. But what I find odd is the method of presentation (if that’s it?) implies I looked at the situation, weighed what needed to be done, and decided to go with Gma, either in spite of my own projects and/or deeming her more important.
The reality is that I didn’t do any weighing I all. I just showed up. My first (internal) response to the thanks (every time) was the question, “Where else could I go?” There was an obvious need, one I could fill (one I felt privileged to fill) so I did.
I am on-call to my children everyday, and being on-call for my grandma, getting to interact with her, enjoy her in a grown-up way I can’t yet with my children… I’m glad it gets to be me.
There are others (in her congregation for example) who I’m sure would step-forward to help, but I want it to be me. While I can do it. I like the way she lets me into her mind when I’m with her. I like getting to know and understand her better. I don’t like giving that up.
Both my husband and my mother-in-law (my mom too) have made it clear they think it is past time for Natasha (3 1/2) to be potty-trained.
Jay said, “If she can change her own diaper, she can use the toilet.” And Teena said, “If she quit getting away with it [being able to wear/use diapers] she’d learn pretty quick.”
What this did was stick me in the middle: between the “It’s time” crowd and my child (and her will). I’m pretty strong-willed myself, and I prefer to pick my battles.
My take on the changing her own diaper thing was: “Great! one less kid for me to change.”
I responded–I think I refrained from actually snapping– with three points (Why I feel a need to defend myself when it’s her potty habits, I’m not sure…):
- If somebody wants to move in for a while and clean-up after piddles, that’s fine by me, but I’m not going to do it.
- I’ve never heard of a kid who trained before s/he was ready.
- Many of us have heard potty-training is training the parent as much as the child; I’m not ready to be trained yet.
So, by way of compromise we have moved her back into Cloth during the day. Disposies are still (Much!) better for night, but in an effort to make everybody happy (Even though I’m someone who warns against such futile efforts) I’m taking on the extra laundry for at least a few days, and we’ll see if it makes any difference.
Jay’s theory is that if Natasha is more uncomfortable, she’ll be more motivated. I won’t argue with the possibility, it’s reasonable enough, but I’ll believe it when I see it.
And I’m putting Melody in cloth too. At this point one more really doesn’t make that much of a difference. And it precludes arguments (that I know would ensue) over who gets a disposable.
Let me tell you, bed time was exciting last night: “I get my jammies and a sposable diaper now, right?!”
I was reading Dr Seuss’s ABC book to Melody this morning and on the A spread (which the text proclaims as “Aunt Annie’s Alligator”) Melody pointed to the critter and shouted, “Ridin’ an Alligile!” (Pronunciation above).
I loved it. She seemed to decide half-way through the word it was a crocodile instead of an alligator.
Everyone was playing together so nicely this morning. At one point the girls started tossing the cat’s dingle-ball back and forth (a situation with great potential, to begin with). After Natasha threw the ball over Melody’s head, and was waiting for her to fetch it and return the favor, she turned to me and giggled. “We’re playing throw!” she said. The ball went whizzing past her and she went after it, still laughing.
This is a very appropriate name. For obvious reasons you can’t call it catch yet.
As to be expected, Maestro finally dove in. When Melody went to get the ball from him she found a different toy and the game was over. Focus shifted to other things.
At lunch today, both girls’ food was a little too hot to hold long. They set it on their plates and continued blowing on it, to speed the cooling. Then Melody had the great idea that she could maybe still eat it even if she couldn’t hold it, and began nibbling on the edges while it sat on the plate.
It must have worked, because the next I noticed it was half-gone, and she was still eating it straight off the plate.
Jay bought me yellow roses today. We were at the grocery store, and he was planning to buy them before I knew it and take them to the car. But I spoiled his surprise when I walked around the corner and saw him with his bundle.
I’ve been feeling not-myself for almost a week, and I think that had something to do with the timing. They’re on our desk now, and smell very nice. It is so uplifting to see a tangible reminder of Jay’s thoughtfulness. I am very thankful for him.
Compressed the multiple boxes of not-wearing-now kid clothes to four.
They’re sitting in the living room now, and will go under the house once the current batch of laundry is folded (I think it’s one of my pet-peeves to find something after a box is taped and under the house).
Another batch of stuff is supposed to be taken to Salvation Army, and a couple of extra carriers to CareNet (pregnancy center).
Starting to get stuff thinned out. I’m excited.
Our kids apparently have skin issues. We are going to have to figure out some routine to get their ears (especially) greased regularly, to prevent cracks and possible infection.
This responsible-grown-up gig gets old sometimes.
And you’ll be able to see the next time we update our pix that Melody had a bad run-in Thursday morning with something little that bites. It got her right over her left eyebrow, and sometime after midnight it stopped responding to the Benedryl and her eye swelled shut.
It didn’t open again until Friday night. Continue reading
Teena was visiting this evening, and (in her words) had to “keep busy.” She and Jay cleaned most of the kitchen while I was nursing Elisha. It was so wonderful.
Last Saturday my mom came by before Melody’s b-day party and helped me begin organizing the mounds of clothes that have been threatening to overwhelm the yellow room. We made great progress.
I am so thankful our parents continue to give into our lives even after we’re “all grown-up.”