Day 3

It was now day three of being home and I hated it.  All the girls were still sleeping when jolly guy got up to get ready for work.  I was having coffee and asked him when he thought his sister was coming to get them so I could have everyone up and ready.  He snapped at me that he didn’t know.  I asked if he could get in contact with her to let me know because I had a lot of things to do that day with the therapy session, trying to get her bathed, etc.  He again snapped at me saying that I should contact her myself since it was my plan.  I was furious, but held my tongue this time.  I text her early to ask what the planned departure time was and she didn’t answer.  Soon after; one by one they began to roll out of bed.  Requesting breakfast and what they were going to do today and why they couldn’t come with my daughter and I.  I explained that she was in a very emotional state right now and needed some time to work with the therapist alone, but that we would all meet up later in the day and be together.  They seemed genuinely disappointed at the thought of being separated again.  I didn’t realize until that moment that they too were suffering some form of anxiety or separation from the two of us.  They too needed to feel a sense of stability and that they were included and I think the thought of us being away again, even if it was for a short amount of time made them nervous that something else could happen to us.  Trust me when I say I thought everything that could happen to us already happened.  how very wrong I was.  My daughter finally woke up and the girls and I made her laugh and got her washed and dressed and into the living room where she could be comfortable in one chair that seemed to make things a bit less painful for her.  Every move, every gesture seemed strained and it pained me to watch.  It was breaking my heart to see her eyes well up with tears every time she moved the wrong way and felt the sting of pain.  It made me cringe at the sight of her wounds.  Every day, twice a day I had to inject her with medication so she wouldn’t develop blood clots.  She hated it and I totally thought it was gross.  For a period of time in my life I thought I could be a nurse, but the rippling effect in the back of my throat every time I had to slam her stomach with that needle made me realize I chose wisely not to go into that field.  Although I was highly skilled as an orderly changing sheets and linens and washing and bathroom duty.  I saw more nooks and crannies of my daughter’s body then I knew existed.  I hadn’t seen that much nudity of her since she was born and I had my fill of nakedness.  The day was beginning to get away from me, that seemed to happen once the hands on necessities were underway.  I text his sister again with increasing alarm as I still hadn’t heard from her and it was getting dangerously close to when we were to leave.  I decided I couldn’t wait any longer and I got everyone into the car, packed with all their swim stuff and off to jolly guys fathers we went.  When we arrived the father was outside.  He was always so nice and funny and calm and I really did like him very much.  He is a prominent doctor with a ton of experience and always asked if I needed anything or what the reports said or what the prognosis was.  Very technical in a lot of ways, but still it was nice to know someone with that knowledge was on my side.  The girls piled out of the car and into the house and we hurried ourselves off to my parents house.  Second stop; therapy.

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