That's where I left them after tromping around the house in them for two hours, when I finally realized we weren't going out.
I had adorned jeans instead of sweats. I had actually applied makeup, the first in days, and curled hair, which only happens about twice a year. But eventually, I had to admit to myself that we can't leave. Rather, I can't leave.
And I don't mean this to seem as mournful as it sounds. I just really wanted to take Jim away tonight, and not to worry whether Sam needs his Codeine to help alleviate the pain of a major surgery involving an osteotomy, whether that's contributing to his digestive struggles and whether we should just give regular Tylenol, whether he's having spasms after all his muscles have been cut through and whether we should give him Valium, whether he is drinking enough, whether Maya is feeling totally neglected during all of this, whether we should get them out more, get them out less, get them out together, get them out apart.
My brain won't stop, it's always working. And it always has done, but now the stakes are pretty high. And I just can't seem to let up on myself. That's why getting out tonight was ideal. But life sometimes tells you things you don't want to hear.
So finally, when Sam began wailing again around 8:45 p.m., about 30 minutes before our chosen movie was set to begin, I just unzipped my knee-high boots and put on my comfy slippers. Jim and his mom tried to usher me out the door around 9, but somehow I knew.... we hadn't given him the hard stuff, he wasn't going to go to sleep. Sure enough, as they were shoving a coat into my hands, I heard him again. I gave him the Codeine and he went to sleep after I sang a few songs and rocked him. But we had already missed the movie.
Of course, he was hurting too bad to go to sleep. We're trying to do what they said in the hospital, tapering him off the meds. But it's only been a week and a day, and mostly they are adamant that he needs medicine regularly if he's hurting.
Here's the hard bit. He's 2.5 years old, and is used to living with a certain amount of hip and bone pain. He doesn't quite know how to articulate it, and is so fearful of the "yucky" medicine he will often cover up unless he's just in excruciating pain. (I've tasted it. It really is horrible.)
He has always had a certain amount of discomfort or pain in his hips or femurs, even if the doctors don't believe he has. I know my boy really well, and I think he hurts more often than we think. That's what I said a few days ago, but was rebutted with stories of how he was engaged and playing. I think he can play with quite a lot of pain. He is used to pain.
Looking back, I think I was right. He was hurting. But even he didn't know how to express that pain, until it got too big for him to take on. Then he became inconsolable, testy, angry... and then the pain became more difficult for us to control. That is essentially why we are here tonight.
Through all of this Maya has begun Occupational Therapy, and we have tried so hard to give her special time. The two of us had a tea party this morning. Still, I can tell she misses me and her schedule. I miss her too. I miss our schedule, and all the time the three of us usually have together.
It was funny, I was on the phone with my sister-in-law and she had scolded her kids for fighting. I got a funny twinge, totally unexpected. I hate that fighting more than anything, or so I thought, but suddenly I missed that bit of normalcy in all our lives. Not having to wonder if something hurt, if so, what was it? Should I give this medicine, that medicine? Is the other sibling getting her share of my attention? Can my husband and I just go out for a couple hours? Being driven nuts by fighting siblings suddenly sounded welcome! So that means I am clearly unstable, because I hate that fighting so much...
I guess I should pick those boots up and put them back in the closet, because they're kind of making me sad. There will be other date nights.
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