Part 2 of bad memories begins thus:
As I was saying last time, coming home was never easy. No matter what, you always feel pulled in the direction that you aren't. It was also hard for the kids. Seeing us only to know that the hours were ticking down until they would have to leave us again. I can remember the tension building as they could just sense what was going to happen even without us saying a word. Nevertheless, we tried to come every few weeks or so. We tried to grasp the threads of some kind of normal.
This time we decided to come home for two nights. It was late in January and we had never done that before. Rambo was still in the PICU because he had yet to thrive and they had yet to figure out what was going on. I can't remember the specific details of why we decided to come home. I have to assume that he was stable when we left because I know that we only left him when we felt comfortable that he would be in the same position (hopefully better - certainly not worse) when we returned.
So, home, day two, and we are slowly wrapping things up. We knew in a few hours we would be headed towards the hospital again. Ben's parents had come to pick up the kids and I was upstairs for some reason. We had been in close touch with the hospital as always, calling several times a day to check up on Rambo. It had only been a few hours at best since we had talked to his nurse last. I come down the stairs and Ben looks at me in such a way I don't know how to describe, but I knew instantly that something was going on. And he says to me, "The hospital just called." That's never good.
This is where things get really fuzzy for me. I don't think that Theodore was intubated when we left, but he may have been. And I don't remember what exactly happened to cause him to need to get intubated this time, but whatever the case, they needed to do it. Or at least they tried to. And, yes, in the most literal sense I mean that they 'tried'. For about 20-30 minutes he was intubated 4-6 times. Each time they did it, he still was not breathing. That means they would intubate, see it wasn't working, then extubate. Try all over again. I can not imagine what his poor little body went through. I do remember that the doctor told Ben it was "touch and go for a bit" and that they weren't sure what damage was done we would just have to wait and see. They were also very sure to point out that his heart never stopped. I guess that was supposed to be comforting. I can see in my head the chaos going on at his bedside. They said they didn't know why the intubations were not working but their best guess was a plug of some sort.
Are you serious? Our first trip home for two nights and this happens?
That is the kind of uncertainty we lived with. He could be fine, thriving even, one minute and then dying the next.
Needless to say, that was the first and LAST two night trip home we ever made.
I would have given anything to have undercheesing breadsticks as our biggest issue. Domino's, you are SO lucky.
Of course, this story reminds me of another story and another story.... Not sure why I'm suddenly reliving these, but they are in the back of my mind for another day...
Leaving you on a good note: I just looked out
the office to check on Rambo and he was up on his knees!!! He may have
had a rocky start (to say the least) but he just keeps going :)