Clinic Day Yesterday

I wussed out. I dropped Patrick and Kaleb off in the pouring rain and took the truck in for some work, down the road. The anxiety I had built up for our first day in "Clinic" was unreal. Poor Patrick bore the brunt of it very well, though he had his own tumbling feelings as the day loomed over us. Apparently, it was nothing more than drawing blood and cleaning his lines. They were done by the time my truck was aligned. Whew. His counts are continuing to rise, which is fantastic. Friday we return for the real tests... ultrasounds, scans and x-rays. Another day of marching him 1/2 naked through the rat maze hospital buildings. In other words, another day of mind-numbing autopilot. Giddy up.

The larger part of me wants to know what's going on. The smaller, more frantic part of me is dreading news that the kidney lump isn't responding to treatment. The dreamer in me is still craving to hear the verdict that our treatment is shortened due to his amazing healing response. The realist in me smacks the dreamer around on a regular basis.

I've got to work on my response to this entire situation. Doctors had better be phenominal at the business end of what they do, because their social skills can be sorely lacking. They seem to enjoy holding the answers and dangling them above our heads, feeding us one tiny morsel at a time. Neither of us dances well enough to appreciate their methods. If I hear (of) one more back-handed inference of how I choose not to be present during an appointment, I'm going to lose it. No mention is ever made if Dad can't be there, after all. I guess many patients/parents of patients have a difficult time processing information and need to be told things repeatedly but there's only so much pounding into our wee little brains that we can take. The nurses are kind enough to write everything down for us, which is an invaluable tool, even if our own ears hear the words. They rarely want to tangle with the questions we do toss their way, anyhow. Too many teeth, I suppose. Tag teaming the system is our survival technique. I trust my husband implicitly with our son and all that involves his a well being. We are truly 50/50 team. This is an alien concept to most professionals, we're finding. Most won't even speak to or look at Patrick if I'm in the room. He's immensely insulted by this.

I've got to find a way to line the inside of my head with velcro, I think. I know I've talked about the fuzzy little popular phrases used in our new world before, but they continue to ping around my big empty melon with tenacity. I don't yet look forward to going to "Clinic", for example. Apparently, once we're more immersed in this pit, a light dip in the clinic pool while on vacation from the hospital will feel refreshing, as opposed to being fully admitted. While I can acknowledge the logic of this, I think I'm just too greedy to appreciate even minor poke to my holiday bubble. Guess I'm still a true government employee... when I check out at 5, I'm OUT. See you at 9 and not a second sooner. Heck, maybe 5 minutes later.