Nana’s Notes:

Pain last night sometimes, restless night.

Doctor came in and said he’d order pain meds and told Papa to eat so he’d be ready for rehab in a couple days.

Papa fell asleep hard after pain meds given.

Another doctor came in to say to eat so Papa would be ready for rehab.

Doctor #3 checked feeding tube and said it is fine to start using it.  She helped with inserting it yesterday & said all went well, no issues.  Said it is fine from their standpoint for Papa to eat by mouth if he can tolerate it.

Friends came to visit.  Papa opened eyes and acknowledged them, but asleep/out-of-it most of the time.

X-ray suggested by one doctor to determine pain Papa is experiencing with the tube, but later the doctors who inserted the tube said that everything looks fine and X-ray will do no good at this point; some pain is normal, just keep up with pain meds.  If pain continues and is beyond mild & treatable, then X ray will be reconsidered.

 

Text: (from me to an aunt)

… my dad is hanging in there.  Had a feeding tube put in his stomach yesterday.  Causing him some pain, but hoping he’ll finally get the nutrition he needs to recover; really hasn’t eaten or drank much all week.  Slept most of today, speech hasn’t improved much.  But tomorrow is a new day, right?

 

My Reflections:

J has a mountain bike race and I plan to stay home with the boys.  But then I get the bright idea of surprising J at his race, with all three boys in tow, to the race venue that’s over an hour away.  With being gone from home so much lately, J’s been a saint in picking up the slack.  So what better way to show him my support then to surprise him as we’re all there cheering him on at his race?

J had told me his race would last about 2 1/2 hours.  So I decide to show up about an hour after it starts so the wait won’t be so long for the boys.  Once there, we settle ourselves on our picnic blanket with our lunch and soon see J rounding a corner on his bike.  We wave and cheer and holler and he’s so surprised to see us that he stops, mid-pedal stroke.

“What are you doing?!, Keep going!” I encourage him, and he does, his big smile indicating he’s glad we’ve come.

And after our 20 second encounter I settle back in with my brood to wait it out till we’ll see J again on the last lap of his race.  But the boys soon get antsy with the waiting… there’s a moon bounce beckoning to be jumped in, and somehow everyone gets hungry again, and Little M decides that he doesn’t like drinking his milk out of a bottle.

And we all get hot.

And tired.

After a while, we finally make our way to the finish line, because surely J will be finishing up any second now….

any minute…

any……..

We wait and we wait and soon I begin to wonder:

Did we miss him?  Is he okay?….. Should I be worried?  

And the boys get cranky with the wait and I appease them with letting them play on my phone till the battery’s nearly dead.  And J still doesn’t come.  And he’s 4 hours into his race.  And I have no idea where he is.

And when we’ve all reached the final limits of our patience, when I can’t possibly say “just 5 more minutes” one more time, I make the executive call to pack it up and go home.  There’s a mass of cars in a field and I can’t see J’s anywhere and my phone is now dead so there’s no use trying to call him.  So much for us all being there to excitedly cheer J on at the finish line; and then be there afterwards to congratulate him and have more than our mere 20 second encounter.  All this way, all this effort, all this to give J a boost and show him our love and support and it feels like a total flop.  A complete….

DISASTER.

And with my brood dejectedly loaded in the car, I drive through the field, making my way towards the exit, big boys in the back asking,

“But what about Daddy?”

“Where’s daddy?”

And all I can say is, “I don’t know.”

And then I spot it, on the far side of the field on the outskirt of the mass of parked cars: J’s team tent.  And we park and get out, and there J is, sprawled out in a folding chair, completely exhausted from his 4+ hour race and oblivious to what we’ve just endured trying to surprise him.  He’s hanging with his buddies and I’m ticked and blinking back hot tears, and trying not to show it, trying to save face in front of J’s friends.  And by this time Little M is screaming from his carseat, wanting to eat, NOW, my pumped bottle being rejected hours earlier.  And I’m afraid I’m going to start sobbing, right then and there, surrounded by all these spandex-clad mountain bikers . Oh what a classy scene that would be.

I just want to disappear.

NOW.

Nobody’s to blame.  Just a classic case of good intentions gone awry, but with no lasting damage done.  Just some added pieces of straw on this camel’s already overloaded back and I’m afraid this not-really-such-a-big-deal moment might just break me.

But J’s been found.  The boys don’t leave without getting a chance to see their daddy.  J appreciates the effort we’ve made to come support him.  Little M gets fed and gets happy.  And we all leave together as a family and stop for a treat on the way home too.

It’s not the worst day ever.  Just a little rough in the moment(s).

And when it’s all said and done, tomorrow is, after all, a new day….

Right?

 

(quote and composition by Mark)