Night wasn't great. It wasn't. And, I didn't sleep great, but I did sleep and so did she. We linger in the morning and finally get outside. It's cooler that day, but we still head back to Starbucks. We go to the library and it's a beautiful place. They have a small play area and Marley gets right into it. There's another little boy there playing and his grandpa asks me about her. He's very kind and I share freely. It's time to go and we all say good-bye. Marley and I go to a little french bakery and get lunch and the most wonderful croissants and pastries. It is delicious and welcoming. I watch the clock and it's almost time to go home.
The walk back to the Ronald McDonald House seems shorter than there. I try to eek out the last bits of sun my skin can absorb. I am so ready to go home. But, home means thousands of miles away from Dr. L. and that seems almost more terrifying than I can handle. I am sad I am alone with Marley- I feel like I've been doing a terrible job! But she only has me now, and that has to be enough.
I use Uber for the first time. Our flight is late, but if we don't leave hours early then we will hit rush hour traffic and I can't risk missing our flight. The ride is so fast and she does great in the car for the hour or so. When we get to the airport I know my bag is overweight. Why do I do this to myself! I check the scales and it is by a lot. So, I rearrange and pull out a spare carry-on. I get through checkin and right through security really easy. Marley is happy even. We get to our gate and we wait. We wait for what seems like hours and hours. The last two hours we pace around the circle of the terminal. Marley pushes the stroller and I carry a bag behind her. We pass the same people, one, two, fourteen, fifteen, twenty six, twenty eight times. I am bound and determined to wear her down. She's so cute. I know the inquisitive looks I get as she trails the drainage tube behind her and her arm all bundled in her cast. I get more coffee and later tea. I feel drained, but not overwhelmed. We claim a seat then walk. It goes on and on until we are about an hour out from boarding. I had been strategic in dosing her medicine and I had planned to give her the pain meds so she would sleep and we would make it almost home just in time. I know how all the previous nights had gone and admittedly I was scared. I gave the dose and waited.
We boarded and got settled. She did amazing. Like really amazing for the first hour and a half. Then, she got cranky. Since I was hoping she would sleep (ha!) and this was the red eye flight I was tired. Somewhere over Utah I thought she had ached enough and pulled back out the pain meds and gave her a full dose. Then, I did the math....
Inner monologue:
"She got it an hour before we left, and we had only been flying about two hours which meant that she now had two doses too close together. Wait, but according to my phone time, it's four hour later, plus the fifth hour so it's fine. Or is it? She's fine, right. Except now she's zonked out cold. Like, can't wake her up cold. Was it too close together. What timezone are we in now? I'm confused! Add the one, carry the two. Oh my goodness I think I just made a mistake. Think. What did they say would be the signs something is wrong??? If she stops breathing, get her to the hospital stat. So, I start counting the seconds between each of her breaths. And panic starts to set in. I have to wake her up. Did she forget to breathe again? I start to shake her lightly and she doesn't move. I pick her up and hold her. She breathes. And I look at the flight counter and think, would I really tell the captain that we need to land wherever the heck we are in Utah because I think I overdosed my baby! I start crying and praying. I rock her. Its has been at least 40 seconds between breaths. I feel sick. I shake her again and she wakes up with a violent thrashing about climbing upside down on the back of the seat in front of us (sorry passenger). I hold her legs to keep from hurting herself. I am relieved she's awake, but we have three more hours on this flight."
We keep that routine until the last thirty minutes before we land and she is finally breathing normal and fast asleep. When the wheels hit the landing strip I am flooded with emotions and tears roll down my face. I can't look at anyone- I'm so ashamed that I was that parent that couldn't control her kid from being a pain while flying. If they only knew. Everyone disembarks from the seats ahead of us. I have two ridiculous heavy bags to carry and a baby that I have to wake up. I look up and tell the passengers behind us to go ahead and I'll wait as not to hold anyone up, but the two women sitting across the aisle behind us won't stand for it. One rushes in and says which bag is yours. The other grabs the matching and they tell me to get my baby. She wakes with equal violent thrashing as the first time and I carry her as she painfully tries to hit me and throw herself to the ground. We step just outside the plane and I have to grab my stroller. When I single handedly get it open, the one sits the bag in it and walks on, wishing me luck, and the other grabs the handles. We walk.
She is kind. She tells me to have her ears checked, her son's ears were infected when he was a child and she had a similar experience. I say okay, but inside all I can think is do you not see the pink purple and red cast she has on her arm. I don't say much. There's such an emptiness that I feel in this moment and somehow I think- this isn't about me, it's all about Marley. I would do anything for her. She has snuggled into my chest and is back asleep as we walk to the elevator and I take a moment to soak up the moment. I would do anything, anything for her. Anything. If I could take it all away, give my own hand for her I would. I would do anything to keep her from enduring any pain, any questions, any unsolicited advice, any stares, any limitations, any money. Whatever it takes. And while I knowingly would do this for any of my children, I never dreamed what she needed most was just me to be her momma and she to be my baby. The kind lady pushes the button and steps back. She says good luck and I am alone with Marley on our way to baggage claim.
I push the stroller to the carousel and wait a short distance from the other passengers. I still have her in my arms and the bags have started circling when I feel a touch in the small of my back. Hubs wraps his arms around me and I almost fall down as a deep release of all that we just went through floods my eyes and I straight up ugly cry into his chest. We never come in to baggage when someone lands so I am startled and shocked and so eternally grateful he's here. I don't stop crying while he gets our suitcase or while we get back on the elevator to go to the car. When I get to the truck he straps her into the carseat and I get in the passenger side and the amount of tension that releases from my tight shoulders almost makes me vomit. We made it. We made it home and she's alive.
She falls fast asleep and so do I.
Q
The walk back to the Ronald McDonald House seems shorter than there. I try to eek out the last bits of sun my skin can absorb. I am so ready to go home. But, home means thousands of miles away from Dr. L. and that seems almost more terrifying than I can handle. I am sad I am alone with Marley- I feel like I've been doing a terrible job! But she only has me now, and that has to be enough.
I use Uber for the first time. Our flight is late, but if we don't leave hours early then we will hit rush hour traffic and I can't risk missing our flight. The ride is so fast and she does great in the car for the hour or so. When we get to the airport I know my bag is overweight. Why do I do this to myself! I check the scales and it is by a lot. So, I rearrange and pull out a spare carry-on. I get through checkin and right through security really easy. Marley is happy even. We get to our gate and we wait. We wait for what seems like hours and hours. The last two hours we pace around the circle of the terminal. Marley pushes the stroller and I carry a bag behind her. We pass the same people, one, two, fourteen, fifteen, twenty six, twenty eight times. I am bound and determined to wear her down. She's so cute. I know the inquisitive looks I get as she trails the drainage tube behind her and her arm all bundled in her cast. I get more coffee and later tea. I feel drained, but not overwhelmed. We claim a seat then walk. It goes on and on until we are about an hour out from boarding. I had been strategic in dosing her medicine and I had planned to give her the pain meds so she would sleep and we would make it almost home just in time. I know how all the previous nights had gone and admittedly I was scared. I gave the dose and waited.
We boarded and got settled. She did amazing. Like really amazing for the first hour and a half. Then, she got cranky. Since I was hoping she would sleep (ha!) and this was the red eye flight I was tired. Somewhere over Utah I thought she had ached enough and pulled back out the pain meds and gave her a full dose. Then, I did the math....
Inner monologue:
"She got it an hour before we left, and we had only been flying about two hours which meant that she now had two doses too close together. Wait, but according to my phone time, it's four hour later, plus the fifth hour so it's fine. Or is it? She's fine, right. Except now she's zonked out cold. Like, can't wake her up cold. Was it too close together. What timezone are we in now? I'm confused! Add the one, carry the two. Oh my goodness I think I just made a mistake. Think. What did they say would be the signs something is wrong??? If she stops breathing, get her to the hospital stat. So, I start counting the seconds between each of her breaths. And panic starts to set in. I have to wake her up. Did she forget to breathe again? I start to shake her lightly and she doesn't move. I pick her up and hold her. She breathes. And I look at the flight counter and think, would I really tell the captain that we need to land wherever the heck we are in Utah because I think I overdosed my baby! I start crying and praying. I rock her. Its has been at least 40 seconds between breaths. I feel sick. I shake her again and she wakes up with a violent thrashing about climbing upside down on the back of the seat in front of us (sorry passenger). I hold her legs to keep from hurting herself. I am relieved she's awake, but we have three more hours on this flight."
We keep that routine until the last thirty minutes before we land and she is finally breathing normal and fast asleep. When the wheels hit the landing strip I am flooded with emotions and tears roll down my face. I can't look at anyone- I'm so ashamed that I was that parent that couldn't control her kid from being a pain while flying. If they only knew. Everyone disembarks from the seats ahead of us. I have two ridiculous heavy bags to carry and a baby that I have to wake up. I look up and tell the passengers behind us to go ahead and I'll wait as not to hold anyone up, but the two women sitting across the aisle behind us won't stand for it. One rushes in and says which bag is yours. The other grabs the matching and they tell me to get my baby. She wakes with equal violent thrashing as the first time and I carry her as she painfully tries to hit me and throw herself to the ground. We step just outside the plane and I have to grab my stroller. When I single handedly get it open, the one sits the bag in it and walks on, wishing me luck, and the other grabs the handles. We walk.
She is kind. She tells me to have her ears checked, her son's ears were infected when he was a child and she had a similar experience. I say okay, but inside all I can think is do you not see the pink purple and red cast she has on her arm. I don't say much. There's such an emptiness that I feel in this moment and somehow I think- this isn't about me, it's all about Marley. I would do anything for her. She has snuggled into my chest and is back asleep as we walk to the elevator and I take a moment to soak up the moment. I would do anything, anything for her. Anything. If I could take it all away, give my own hand for her I would. I would do anything to keep her from enduring any pain, any questions, any unsolicited advice, any stares, any limitations, any money. Whatever it takes. And while I knowingly would do this for any of my children, I never dreamed what she needed most was just me to be her momma and she to be my baby. The kind lady pushes the button and steps back. She says good luck and I am alone with Marley on our way to baggage claim.
I push the stroller to the carousel and wait a short distance from the other passengers. I still have her in my arms and the bags have started circling when I feel a touch in the small of my back. Hubs wraps his arms around me and I almost fall down as a deep release of all that we just went through floods my eyes and I straight up ugly cry into his chest. We never come in to baggage when someone lands so I am startled and shocked and so eternally grateful he's here. I don't stop crying while he gets our suitcase or while we get back on the elevator to go to the car. When I get to the truck he straps her into the carseat and I get in the passenger side and the amount of tension that releases from my tight shoulders almost makes me vomit. We made it. We made it home and she's alive.
She falls fast asleep and so do I.
Q
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