What can I say that can paint a picture of what we’ve begun? Today, Vampbaby was stabbed with a needle about eight times. Babies in general are “tricky sticks”, but our son has inherited his mommy’s veins. Of course, two weeks worth of IV’s hasn’t helped, either. This is usually all solved thanks to the marvelous technology that is the Portacath, but that doesn’t go in until next week. Until then, the nurses just shake their heads in woe and begin the litany of apologies for making my son scream like a banshee.
After the sticking, there’s the waiting. Blood draws every hour for three hours. Sticks with needles in between. Calm shattered by screaming and crying — but wait, was that Vampbaby or me — then back to aimless wandering around the hospital, waiting for the next test. We had some musical entertainment at one point, which Vampbaby danced to like the best Solid Gold Dancer ever (hip sway and all!). But the rest of the day was spent waiting, or crying, or crying about waiting.
Then the day ends with a failed echocardiogram, because it never dawned on anyone that you might need to sedate a 16 month-old to conduct an hour-long ultrasound study of his heart. Note for next time (which is tomorrow), but in the meantime there were several hours wasted for nothing but a few moments with Vampbaby covered in ultrasound goo.
Let it go, fight traffic, get home, pet dog, eat.
Now, sleep. There’s about 365 days just like this ahead.