Wednesday, October 23, 2013

Hospital, Day 9746

I may be slightly exaggerating the length of our hospital stay, but not by much. We have been here so long that if you ask Adi where he lives, he says, "Schneider." We have been here long enough to see families discharged and return for their next round of treatment. We know which days hamburgers are served for lunch (Thursdays) and which free food is handed out which days. (Sunday: muesli. Monday: belgian waffles with ice cream. Tuesday: pizza. Wednesday: felafel.) We have been here a long time, is what I am trying to say.

A few days after we arrived, after the whole septic shock incident, we pointed out that Adi had some redness around his belly button. "Infection," they said, and we asked what that meant. "Antibiotics." So we started antibiotics, but the infection didn't go away. In fact, it seemed to get worse each day, and Adi ran fevers every evening.

Two nights ago, they finally drained it. It is disgusting, and I have to scrub the hole in my son's belly, which I really feel deserves a medal or a new iPhone or something, because OH MY GOD THERE IS A HOLE IN HIS BELLY AND I HAVE TO SCRUB IT.

Anyway, draining the abscess (YUK) has resulted in a MUCH happier Adi, but he is still really, really sick of being in the hospital. Last night, you could say that he lost it. He just went nuts, screaming that he wanted to go home, he wanted Daddy, he wanted Savta, he wanted a truck, he wanted to GO HOME NOW. Within moments he was truly hysterical, so we gave him something to calm him down. It sort of worked, a bit.

Frankly, I kind of wish that I could lose it like that. If I could just sit in my bed and scream at the top of my lungs, I think I might feel a little bit better.


This morning, we asked the doctor if we could take Adi out to the mall across the street for an hour or two. He agreed that after two full weeks in the hospital, Adi had earned a morning out. So we set off, went to the toy store, and picked out a remote-controlled Audi for a mere 300 NIS. Then we got Adi a burger and onion rings. He ate the onion rings.

While we were eating, our friends Sharon and Einav came. Sharon was Adi's driver to and from school last year, and Adi loves Sharon's taxi. Sharon brought Adi a gift -- a car, and a balloon -- but he also brought laminated pictures of his taxi, and Adi was BEYOND EXCITED by those pictures. They are now hanging in our room, and he shows them to everyone who comes in. And people look, and they look at us, and say, "Um, what?" and then we explain, and they nod, like they get it, but unless they know Adi, they totally don't get it.


Adi likes most of the nurses here, but there are few with whom he doesn't interact, even when they are taking care of him. I've noticed that these few are the ones I find to be idiots. The ones who mess up doses or drugs, the ones who forget to order his blood, or the ones who spend their shift trying to sneak out for a cigarette. One of them asked me, "Does he... talk to the other nurses?"

"Um, yes."

"Because he doesn't even seem like he knows I'm in the room."

I didn't bother to tell her that's because he's simply judged her as not worthy of his time. He's the greatest judge of character I've ever met. We always trust him.


We had to stop chemotherapy while infection raged through Adi's body. Of course, CANCER was also raging through his body, but hey. Let's back off because of the FEVER. Sounds good. We finally restarted today. Also, our IV antibiotics should be wrapped up on Thursday, so maybe we can go home for the weekend. Although the doctor told me that was "wishful thinking" -- but I'm not sure he actually knows what that phrase means. I think he meant, "That's being optimistic."


I feel like this place robs me of my words. I feel like it sucks all the air out of my body and weighs me down and makes it impossible for me to move. I get up in the morning, and I get in the shower and I think, "Do I have to wash my hair today?" I get dressed, and I think, "Can I wear the clothes from yesterday?" I make the coffee and I drink the coffee and I feed the kids and I get in the car and drive to the hospital and I think, "I should have run the laundry." I sit here all day, and I think, "I should write. I should work. I should go for a walk." I get home at night and I think, "I should run the laundry. I should go for a run. I should clean up." And I go to bed instead, because really, getting up and getting dressed took all my energy, and the rest of the day was really on autopilot.


Once again, I get to the point in the post where I'm supposed to wrap things up neatly, make a witty comment -- but I can't. I seem to have lost that ability, along with much of my functioning brainpower and my ability to multitask. So, there you go.


isf said...

I am so sorry you have to go through this.

I email myself to do lists and reply to them with additions or deletions if I accomplish a task.

Anonymous said...

I'm sorry that you and Adi don't get to enjoy the comforts of home while you go through this. It was good that you advocated to get some time for Adi at the mall though. I bet he really enjoyed that break from the hospital.


Bridget McNulty said...

Sending you so much love, Abbi - you are doing so so well, please don't beat yourself up about the small things you can't get done! Who cares if you wear the same clothes every day? You're being an amazing mom, and that's all that counts...
This too will pass x

Mara said...

Let's get you a laundry wench.

It's one small thing you won't have to think about.