One Day at a Time

I've been back in my own home since late Sunday night -- Easter. I've been dreading posting on my blog. In real life, I've been telling people I don't even know how to respond to "How are you doing?" anymore. It's just too embarrassing to reveal the saga that is my life. I don't even know where to start. And, I don't know that I want to tell you. You might just finally pull the plug on my blog. I probably would. It's just too ridiculous.

I need to tell you that Grandpa is still alive. When I went to his house, I fully expected that he'd die within hours of my arrival. I can't say that he's improved and I can't predict how long he'll live. He gets out of bed maybe four times a day, for minutes at a time. He eats very little. He can still walk, get out of bed, and go to the bathroom on his own. He needs help bathing. His immediate health issue is pneumonia, with cancer following closely in second place. If he beats pneumonia, there's no telling how long he'll live.

We planned on leaving for home mid-afternoon on Easter. While I sat and talked with Grandma during one of Grandpa's moments of consciousness, one of their sons rushed into the house followed by my husband. They said that O was hurt. While playing at another farm, he was hit by a tire swing and its rider. I panicked. I literally turned left, then right, then left, then right. I didn't know what to do. They said he probably broke his shoulder or his collarbone. I recall saying, "One more effing thing (except I actually said the word)."

After somewhat composing myself, we decided to leave L at the farm. We took N with us, partly because she followed us and partly because her peanut allergy had been an ongoing PSA (Public Service Announcement) throughout our stay. We didn't need one more child in the hospital. I drove while my husband sat in the backseat next to O. O moaned and whimpered, complaining that his neck hurt. I panicked internally while praying to God that it wasn't really his neck, to just let it be his collarbone or something fairly benign. It took a half hour to get to the closest hospital.

Despite the long drive (it takes us under five minutes to get to a hospital when we're home), the ER nurses were very quick in caring for O. We did need to wait to for the on-call doctor. I felt as though I was a guest on Little House on the Prairie. I imagined the doctor racing in on his horse-drawn buggy and narrowly missing Nellie as she peered out her gate. Seriously, I've never heard of an ER that isn't actually staffed.

Dr. Schmidt-Klein, a woman, arrived shortly after the nurses got O comfortable. I guess Schmidt wasn't German enough, so she married Klein. We have friends with the surname Kleinschmidt. My husband theorized a couple brothers feuded long ago, resulting in two surnames - Schmidtklein and Kleinschmidt. Dr. Schmidt-Klein replied without emotion, "No. I was a Schmidt. I married a Klein." OK.

Back to O. Dr. S-K checked him over, stating she didn't feel any breaks. But, she ordered an x-ray to be sure. In the end, the x-ray made the diagnosis (good thing we weren't really on Little House on the Prairie). He has a broken collarbone.

It was somewhat difficult for O to ride the half hour back to the farm, only to ride another three hours home. But, we pumped him full of pain killers and he got to pick the movies we watched. He even got to pick a new toy when we stopped to pick up Kleenex at W.al.gre.ens (yes, all five of us picked up a nasty virus during our visit).

O saw our regular doctor yesterday, confirming the broken collarbone diagnosis. Our doctor gave O a sling to wear in place of the harness he was given in the ER. But, his arm constantly slips out of the sling. So, we're back to the harness. It's probably less comfortable for O, but we feel more confident his bones are aligned and healing properly in the harness.

I'm grateful it was just O's collarbone. I wish it hadn't happened at all. I wish my Grandpa wasn't dying. I really wish I could just live a non-eventful existence. Maybe for a few months. Or, could I optimistically hope for an entire year?

Other than losing E, it could be worse. My cancer could have been incurable. Our roof could totally collapse. N could have been totally blinded (did I ever blog about her corneal abrasions on both eyes, preventing her from opening her eyes for four days about a month ago?). My grandpa could have died without an opportunity to say goodbye. My 'baby' dog, H, could have died alone without me holding her while she drifted peacefully to eternal rest.

Most days, I think I'm grateful. Other days, I want to crawl into a hole. There's no telling what kind of day tomorrow will bring. I try to follow the old mantra 'One Day at a Time.' Sometimes I succeed.