Sacrifice

The ward is quiet right now, no babies crying, no machines beeping, and I'm just awaiting the nurse to come in and wake Matthew out of a peaceful sleep, sleeping for the third night in a strange bed because of an inevitable slip.

I always knew Matthew would break an arm someday; I just didn't plan on it being a week before the end of tax season, just before the weekend where I was going to get all caught up and coast into April 30th.  But tax season doesn't really seem to matter anymore; that all went out the window the moment I saw him with an extra elbow where his forearm used to be.

It was a truly gruesome sight - his right hand dangled down and I knew immediately that he had broken through the bones.  X-rays would later confirm my suspicions.  Elizabeth ran screaming down the hallway at the sight and I broke into adrenaline mode - phoned the neighbours to get over there, kept telling Matthew to not move his arm, but for some reason my brain couldn't tell myself to get dressed (this all happened at 930 pm).  Adrenaline does funny things.

We sat in the Devon hospital for a while, and then the doctor said we had to go to the Stollery - and in an ambulance, no less, since they had given Matthew morphine.  The doctors at the Stollery emergency did their best, but the bone was too badly broken to fix manually, and surgery was the only option.

I hope we get to go home tomorrow, but if we don't, I'll stay, for as long as it takes, since Matthew doesn't want to be here alone.  I'll endure the sleepless nights, the noisy roommate, the crying babies, and if work doesn't get done, oh well.  April 30th comes and goes with no real consequences, but a child is forever, and it's my job to take care of him. 

 I would give up my entire career to make sure he's comfortable and unafraid.  He'll always be my baby, even when we're both old and grey.

What A Guy!

Ryan Smyth of our Edmonton Oilers visited Donnie in the hospital yesterday. Donnie of the Mustard Seed, Donnie of the inner city, who was always dressed head to toe in Oilers or Eskimos clothing. Poor Donnie will probably not live out the week, but he will pass away with a smile on his face, remembering the day that a millionaire took time out of his day to visit a dying fan.

Mortality

I've been thinking about mortality a lot over the past week or so. First, with Michael's passing, then, finding out that Donnie (the Mustard Seed's #1 Oilers and Eskimos fan) has about a week to live, and today, walking into a hospital room and seeing my grandpa hooked up to machines with tubes attached all over his body.

At first I wasn't even 100% sure it was my grandpa - he looked so frail, he was sleeping, but his mop of curly grey hair gave him away. He always kept his curls tamed with Bryl Cream, but I suppose that's not too much of a priority in the hospital.

I watched him sleep for a while, and then I walked to the other side of the bed to look at his wristband to make sure it was him. Wouldn't that be silly if I was sitting beside a complete stranger? He opened one eye, looked at me and said, "Kathy Jo" in a quiet, slurred voice, and I figured he must be on a lot of medication. He tried to sit up and joked about how it would hurt if he pulled any of the tubes out. He then asked if I'd give him some ice chips. His mouth looked so dry, and he savored those ice chips as if they were rich European chocolate. He thanked me, and I asked if he wanted to go back to sleep. He said yes, I gave him a kiss, and left.

I logically know that my grandparents will not live forever, but I'm not ready to say goodbye yet. When I was a kid I thought I'd be stronger as an adult and could let them go, but I'm not - it's going to be so hard. I just hope I can have one more game of crib - we haven't played crib in so long.