That Day

I enjoy reading and re-reading my old posts and am always happy that I kept a log of where I've been in life. Happy or sad, whether I'm embarrassed for myself or doing the happy dance, I love knowing that you will always know the real me. I can be open and honest with you and with myself.

I'm glad I kept a record to show even just myself how much I've grown since 2007. An no, I'm not referring to the fact that I dyed my hair brown, gained 80 pounds, or expanded my usage of vulgar language.

Yet now, here I am, 2:30am at Children's hospital, 7 years since my first post. I'd like to think I have learned something.

My sweet son is sleeping downstairs and my husband is enjoying his "breakfast beer" in front of the tv. As crappy as our situation is living at the hospital, I am happiest here.

There are a ton of things I want to forget. I wish I could forget this entire hospital situation; pretend we went home as a family after my recovery time, and that would be that.

But after reflecting on how much I enjoy reading my history and the road I've traveled, I've decided there are feelings I want to remember and reflect on someday, because SOMEDAY, I will be able to look back and think, "Wow, Jacee, you did it. You did what a lot of people probably couldn't do and you conquered the shit out of it!"

Someday.

But for now, there's today, and there's THAT day. I'd love to pretend it never happened but it did, and I want to remember it.

Cousin Tina called us at some time (as I keep saying, there is no such thing as time here, it could have been midnight or 3pm for all I know. There are more important things to keep track of.)

Son, I was so proud of you for making it through the 4th extubation, but your precious little body told us it wasn't quite ready for it. Tina called us because the doctors said, "You should call the parents."

Son, I watched you turn the most deathly shade of white possible. I squeezed Dan and Tina's hands and just cried. They rubbed my back but there's no comfort for that kind of fear. I thought at any point I was watching your last breath.

Son, I want you to know that your cousin Tina saved your life. She knew something was wrong before the nurse even acknowledged you.

Son, you better always be good to your cousin and thank her for every second that you are able to enjoy fresh air filling your lungs.

You WILL love the shit out of her.
You WILL send her flowers on her birthday.
You WILL make pretty drawings for her fridge and you WILL always hug and thank her for your life.