Apparently I am writing this as a series, so if you didn't read Kobe, do that first.
The flight is uneventful. Hubs and I both try to eek out sleep and by the time we land we are stiff and cramped from the uncomfortable accommodations. The plane departing is long and Marley wakes up. She's so quiet. We de-board and grab the difficult stroller at the gate. She wanted to walk some and I was grateful that she had rebounded so well. We headed straight to baggage claim and it's only then that I realized that I was emotionally spent. I told Hubs that I was going to the bathroom and Marley didn't like that at all. I left and finally get to wash my hands.
The shuttle ride to our rental is quick. Our driver is great. We used Turo again and the same vendor and somehow they don't seem like strangers. Our car is small, but clean. It did have the faint smell of some thing smoked on a really fun night out, but it dissipates quickly and we are off. We didn't talk much. Its been a lot and we want to rest. We pull in to the Ronald McDonald of OC and go in to get registered. It's simple. The room is dated, with a blue sink and tub, but clean and a blessing being only a five minute walk to the Hospital. We had wanted to go to Mama D's in Newport for dinner, but at a 30 minute drive we stayed close and went to the mall instead. We ate Blaze pizza and walked. Marley was finally back to herself, almost. She rode the escalators up and down and up, over and over again with us as we took turns. I remember looking at the rails and thinking how germy these things are and I kind of laugh at the thought given we just spent five hours on a plane with a fever baby who probably had rotavirus and exposed everyone on there. I'm sorry.
We finally sleep. I am apprehensive, but optimistic. I can tell you I prayed a lot. When we woke up we are ready. There is no breakfast before surgery and all I can think is: please don't let her have a fever when we get there. We go back and she is puffy faced and but happy. We play.
When the preop nurse comes to talk to us I am nervous. I am not a good liar. So with the most reluctancy that I have ever had in my whole life I answer yes when she asked if she's been sick or had a fever in the last 24 hours. And I sit down.
Anesthesia comes in next. She has questions- did she only vomit one time. Did she have a fever. How long did it last. Anyone else sick.... Etc. She's concerned in her tone, but she doesn't show it. She says she'll talk to Dr L. When they take her temperature again it is not high and I can't help but almost collapse in relief. Marley will have her surgery today and we get to start the first chapter of our road to restoration in movement. I. Finally. Breathe.
Dr. L's nails were painted a beautiful lavender color. Perfectly oval and manicured. She wears dark black pants and a gray heathered sweater. She was excited. I'm not sure I had much emotion given the circumstances. Adrenaline had worn off. L was later than expected. She had came from a meeting that ran long. She seems apologetic, but not disorganized. She says she is so excited. She gets right to signing paperwork. I'm still like a school kid waiting on them to discover her flushed cheeks. I stand feeling slightly guilty, so my enthusiasm isn't a prominent as it would have been any other day. She's bubbly and joyful. I can not believe we are here. She writes quick and then initials Marley's arm and draws a heart. That's it. Marley's already been give Verset and is a little loopy, eyes blank and wide. She can hardly sit up. They both look beautiful. Marley's skin is so soft. So smooth and tender. Red cheeked and all she's enthralled with Calliou, baby shark and daddy's phone. She's oblivious to her blankets. Dr. L gives us the quick worst case scenario. I think I smiled. I hope I didn't. Who smiles at that? The nurse Caroline comes in to change her in to pajamas and Dr L turns and leaves with a smile and reassurance. She's gone and it's almost time to go back.
I look at him and we both smile a weak smile, and then my phone rings.
I recognize the number- it's Nationwide Children's Hospital. I'm not sure why I answered, but I do and expect it to be a nurse. But, in a millisecond I know it's Dr B. (Superman) I can hear the faint crackle that is always present in her talk. She says hello and I say hi. She starts in that she's sorry that she hasn't gotten back to us until now and that she had to talk to her attending, blah, blah, blah.... I'm sure I listened. I cut her off. I say we are in Pre-Op in California. She says Oh and is quite startled. Flustered. I say we were disappointed that she no longer wanted to be on our case. She seems confused and says she only recently talked to Dr. L. I say her case manager or nurse or whoever called me weeks ago made it very clear- they were very terse, curt. She says again she only talked to her recently and that she hadn't relayed that. I say it doesn't matter. We were heartbroken; she was the only Doctor that Marley had ever known since the very beginning. I wish I could remember all that I said, or that she said, but I can't. We are about to end and I can't get off the phone without really knowing. I say, what did your attending say? She's quiet, reluctant, and with a slight stutter she says he didn't think that we should continue with the care of … Blah. I say "that breaks my heart; I'm so disappointed." I follow up quickly with Goodbye Dr B and good luck. And. I. Hang. Up.
I know I'm shaking. I feel weak and exposed. I sit down. I suddenly have no idea of what I just said and I look at Hubs. He says you did great. He never asked me who it was, he just knew. He says what's the chances she would call right now. I say 100%. The chances were 100%%. And I know it. I know it's done and we will never talk to her again. Superman's dead. And it's over. Finally.
And in walks the nurses to grab our peanut. They yell down the hall, 'We'll take good care of her" and I stand there, my chest tight hand in the arm of my Husband and I don't cry.
The flight is uneventful. Hubs and I both try to eek out sleep and by the time we land we are stiff and cramped from the uncomfortable accommodations. The plane departing is long and Marley wakes up. She's so quiet. We de-board and grab the difficult stroller at the gate. She wanted to walk some and I was grateful that she had rebounded so well. We headed straight to baggage claim and it's only then that I realized that I was emotionally spent. I told Hubs that I was going to the bathroom and Marley didn't like that at all. I left and finally get to wash my hands.
The shuttle ride to our rental is quick. Our driver is great. We used Turo again and the same vendor and somehow they don't seem like strangers. Our car is small, but clean. It did have the faint smell of some thing smoked on a really fun night out, but it dissipates quickly and we are off. We didn't talk much. Its been a lot and we want to rest. We pull in to the Ronald McDonald of OC and go in to get registered. It's simple. The room is dated, with a blue sink and tub, but clean and a blessing being only a five minute walk to the Hospital. We had wanted to go to Mama D's in Newport for dinner, but at a 30 minute drive we stayed close and went to the mall instead. We ate Blaze pizza and walked. Marley was finally back to herself, almost. She rode the escalators up and down and up, over and over again with us as we took turns. I remember looking at the rails and thinking how germy these things are and I kind of laugh at the thought given we just spent five hours on a plane with a fever baby who probably had rotavirus and exposed everyone on there. I'm sorry.
We finally sleep. I am apprehensive, but optimistic. I can tell you I prayed a lot. When we woke up we are ready. There is no breakfast before surgery and all I can think is: please don't let her have a fever when we get there. We go back and she is puffy faced and but happy. We play.
When the preop nurse comes to talk to us I am nervous. I am not a good liar. So with the most reluctancy that I have ever had in my whole life I answer yes when she asked if she's been sick or had a fever in the last 24 hours. And I sit down.
Anesthesia comes in next. She has questions- did she only vomit one time. Did she have a fever. How long did it last. Anyone else sick.... Etc. She's concerned in her tone, but she doesn't show it. She says she'll talk to Dr L. When they take her temperature again it is not high and I can't help but almost collapse in relief. Marley will have her surgery today and we get to start the first chapter of our road to restoration in movement. I. Finally. Breathe.
Dr. L's nails were painted a beautiful lavender color. Perfectly oval and manicured. She wears dark black pants and a gray heathered sweater. She was excited. I'm not sure I had much emotion given the circumstances. Adrenaline had worn off. L was later than expected. She had came from a meeting that ran long. She seems apologetic, but not disorganized. She says she is so excited. She gets right to signing paperwork. I'm still like a school kid waiting on them to discover her flushed cheeks. I stand feeling slightly guilty, so my enthusiasm isn't a prominent as it would have been any other day. She's bubbly and joyful. I can not believe we are here. She writes quick and then initials Marley's arm and draws a heart. That's it. Marley's already been give Verset and is a little loopy, eyes blank and wide. She can hardly sit up. They both look beautiful. Marley's skin is so soft. So smooth and tender. Red cheeked and all she's enthralled with Calliou, baby shark and daddy's phone. She's oblivious to her blankets. Dr. L gives us the quick worst case scenario. I think I smiled. I hope I didn't. Who smiles at that? The nurse Caroline comes in to change her in to pajamas and Dr L turns and leaves with a smile and reassurance. She's gone and it's almost time to go back.
I look at him and we both smile a weak smile, and then my phone rings.
I recognize the number- it's Nationwide Children's Hospital. I'm not sure why I answered, but I do and expect it to be a nurse. But, in a millisecond I know it's Dr B. (Superman) I can hear the faint crackle that is always present in her talk. She says hello and I say hi. She starts in that she's sorry that she hasn't gotten back to us until now and that she had to talk to her attending, blah, blah, blah.... I'm sure I listened. I cut her off. I say we are in Pre-Op in California. She says Oh and is quite startled. Flustered. I say we were disappointed that she no longer wanted to be on our case. She seems confused and says she only recently talked to Dr. L. I say her case manager or nurse or whoever called me weeks ago made it very clear- they were very terse, curt. She says again she only talked to her recently and that she hadn't relayed that. I say it doesn't matter. We were heartbroken; she was the only Doctor that Marley had ever known since the very beginning. I wish I could remember all that I said, or that she said, but I can't. We are about to end and I can't get off the phone without really knowing. I say, what did your attending say? She's quiet, reluctant, and with a slight stutter she says he didn't think that we should continue with the care of … Blah. I say "that breaks my heart; I'm so disappointed." I follow up quickly with Goodbye Dr B and good luck. And. I. Hang. Up.
I know I'm shaking. I feel weak and exposed. I sit down. I suddenly have no idea of what I just said and I look at Hubs. He says you did great. He never asked me who it was, he just knew. He says what's the chances she would call right now. I say 100%. The chances were 100%%. And I know it. I know it's done and we will never talk to her again. Superman's dead. And it's over. Finally.
And in walks the nurses to grab our peanut. They yell down the hall, 'We'll take good care of her" and I stand there, my chest tight hand in the arm of my Husband and I don't cry.
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