Sunday, September 19, 2010

Frank's Turn

The house is almost quiet right now. I left the TV on in the bedroom because I wasn't expecting inspiration. It's a little after midnight, and I have been awake (except a 2-ish hour nap) since around 2am. I need to go to bed. For my sanity. For Olivia. And I'm so very tired but I can't.

In my adultlife (read: after college), I have been hospitalized 5 times: once for the birth of my daughter, 3 times via ER visits for my colon, and once for the surgery trying to fix my colon. Olivia has been hospitalized once for her surgery but has spent quite a large percentage of her young 17 months in hospitals and around doctors. Both my parents worked in a hospital, so in some ways I am immune to the distaste others have for the experience. Or numb. Or desensitized.

And Frank? No surgeries. His last trip to the ER was in 2003, shortly before we met when his face unfortunately met up with a fist it didn't like. He's the hand-holder. The question-asker. The rememberer.

Until this morning. Until 2am. Until he passed out in the bathroom, probably from waking up suddenly on the couch, grabbing the monitor, and quickly jogging upstairs (he'll thank me for not talking about the drool). Until he fell so loudly I woke up shouting thinking the baby had fallen out of her crib (I'll leave out "again"). Until I barged into the bathroom after realizing the baby was fine. Until I found him non-responsive on the bathroom floor, head cradled between the tiled wall and the ceramic (porcelain? heavy non-plastic, non-porous material?) side of the tub. Until I couldn't rouse him or move him (and I think I lost a little breath in that moment). Until I yelled in the hopes that someone would appear to help or inspire or instruct me on what to do (no one did, it's not like the movies). Until he woke up about 90 seconds later while I was running around the house looking for my missing purse (it was hidden under a jacket, hanging on the bannister) with my cell phones (damn the choice of bypassing the landline) or even my lost glasses (located on the bed, folded neatly, where I apparently set them before falling asleep) so I could see (blind without those damn glasses) the numbers on the phone: 9-1-1 (no need now that he was moving). Until he, disoriented and groggy, refused to believe that he fell or hit his head (the bump would prove him wrong). Until I called his parents to come sit with the baby so I could drive him to the ER. Until the long 20 minute ride to BMH. Until the ER check-in and repeating the tale to every nurse, every resident, every staff member who asked. Until he was given a battery of tests that came back normal. Until he was admitted to the hospital for observation and to rule out scary things like a stroke, seizures, or heart problems (they did or will). Until then.

So now it's Frank's turn. And we wait for the "all clear" light. And the warnings to not do this or not do that. And the scripts for outpatient testing and follow-ups. It will happen; we are not concerned. It's different being on this side. Feeling unscheduled separation.

And until then, the house is almost quiet right now. And I'm so very tired.


  1. Hang in there girlie - sending you and frank lots of happy thoughts!!

  2. found you via the mom was searching for pa bloggers like me! nice to meet you. :)

  3. Nice to meet you, too! Glad you stopped by and hope you come back often!


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