Tag: Spawn

Phew. I did something right.

There are plenty enough things I’ve stuffed up.

Just sticking up a post so that people don’t think I have completely succumbed to alcoholism and despair.

I am going to post a copy of the funeral ceremony soon, but I thought I would wait until I had some photos to post at the same time – but I am in no hurry. I can’t yet look at the memorial cards – and if you wanted to be there and couldn’t be, let me know and I will send you a copy of the order of service and a comment card. So your thoughts for us can be included in our memorial.

So yes, things are bleak. And I don’t have energy, emotional of physical for anything other than getting through each day.

Yesterday, Inigo chose his outfit (as he is wont to do), and it was a stunner. His tie dyed hippy rainbow shirt (which says “my dad reads to me”), and purple fleece pants with a butterfly on the hip. His hair was looking spectacularly curly, and I had a hair clip (black though!) to keep it out of his eyes.

In Medicare, the woman at the counter complimented my beautiful daughter on her lovely manners (he likes to hand over the medicare card), and I decided to let it slide. I mean, in that outfit, who would guess he was a boy? Often I do correct people, but they get very embarrassed, and I really didn’t have much extra emotional energy yesterday.

But Inigo did. “But I’m a boy”, he piped up with.

Classic. You could have cut the air with a knife. And I look like the strangest mother in the world.

“He likes to choose his own clothes”, I squeaked. It was the best I could do in the circumstances.

My counsellor from Sids and Kids has been wonderful with helping me to talk to Inigo about death, and about life, and about what happens in between. Without her I would have been lost, knowing how to deal with this situation, how to guide Inigo through this terrible situation. When I asked if Inigo should attend the funeral, she suggested that while Inigo might not know the difference now, in later years he would want to know if he was at the funeral, and what role he played. That is why we have decided to bring him to the funeral, and to give him the job of handing out the stickers to the other kids for decorating the coffin. And I have asked friends to photograph and video the service so that he will be able to have his questions answered in the fullness of time.

She also suggested that including Archie and Aubrey in our family rituals was a good idea. So this week when Steph took me out, I bought three glass ornaments, small, medium and large, one for each of my boys, and had them personalised with their names. Then when I got home, the funeral director was waiting for me to sign some paperwork, so I dropped my shopping bags on the verge, and signed.

Cue large 4WD, running directly over my shopping bags. The gin was ok, the tonic was ok, but the bag with the ornaments was in the middle. Inigo’s ornament was fine, Aubrey’s ornament was fine, but the box that held Archies was crushed. I opened it to assess the damage, and it was completely undamaged.

I think I am due for some good luck.

Still no fevers after switching to oral antibiotics. Touch wood.

So I am thinking I’ll be home before the nurses strike on Wednesday.

More fevers. Docs decided to drain ooze.

Another cannula tissued. I think it is my mutant clotting factor that keeps blocking them and fluids start going into my tissues (instead of the vein), leaving large, painful bruises. Docs decided to put in a PICC line.

Was told I could have both done together under a twilight sedation – ie, I would be off my head when it happened. I signed a consent form.

PICC line nurse came and told me that it couldn’t be done all together. That I couldn’t have the twilight sedation, but it wouldn’t be that painful, and it would be all over within half an hour. She lied.

It was painful, and it took ages. And it failed.

She got from below the crook of the arm, to the armpit, and then it wouldn’t go any further. After over an hour of stinging local anaesthetic, poking, prodding, pulling, and quite serious pain, she was forced to give up and pull everything out.

By that stage I was almost hysterical, and they left me alone to chill out for a while. And I had missed Oprah.

Poor dad was almost as traumatised as I was, so a few hours off was a huge relief.

Eventually the douchecanoe* came to wheel me down for my next procedure. I asked the nurse that accompanied me about the sedation, and she said she would ask when we arrived.

On arrival, I was told that “we don’t do that here”, and “it’s not an option”. At this point, the pain was getting worse and my temperature was rocketing. I had also missed two doses of antibiotics, so the feelings of fear, pain, and extreme sadness were almost overwhelming.

So I cracked it. I refused to consent to the procedure until I was able to speak to my doctor. I got cranky about being patronised, being told that I was being a wuss, that I was causing trouble, that I was compromising my medical care.

Fuck that. I know my rights, and I know what I am capable of withstanding. And I know I am not a wuss. There are many things you can say about me, but I don’t think anybody has the right to call me a wuss – especially after these last few weeks.

So eventually the gorgeous Armani arrived (part of Team Lara), and arranged some valium for me, as well as another cannula – so at least they can get antibiotics into me while we argue about the PICC line again.

I got the valium (tablets), and 30 mins later went in for the procedure. The valium had not yet taken effect, but I was feeling a little calmer.

Under ultrasound, they found the pocket of ooze has shrunk, and there was no point doing an aspiration. Then they did a CT scan just to be sure.

Tomorrow we will look at the result of the CT scan and have another confab. More news as it comes to hand.

But I would like it on the record that being needle shy after everything I have been through does not make me a wuss.

And I would like to say a huge thank you to Steph, who despite having three kids of her own, has been by my side so much this last week, and I honestly don’t know how I would have go through some of those days without her humour and strength.

*Speaking of the douchcanoe – both Steph and mum met him today, and bot agree with my assessment that he is generally a kind man who means well, and there is no benefit in reporting him.