Spica Cast
Surprisingly, I felt somewhat relieved after we talked to the surgeon. He told us it wouldn't be 6 but 4 weeks in the cast, and also that the cast would only come to half of his left leg, it wouldn't be two full leg casts. For some reason that took a giant load off of me. Although I guess the normal thing to do is to freak out when your child is about to be put on general anesthesia, I felt so relieved. I knew he wouldn't feel any pain for at least some minutes and that the surgeon would make things better for him.
Time finally sped up... soon we were back in the room watching our tiny boy sleep, still connected to way too many machines but this time not wincing in pain. He spent the rest of the day mostly sleeping, which I greatly appreciated. More sleep meant less time with him dealing with his pain. At this point Joe and I had slept maybe a combination of 4 hours in the last 30, so we were both collapsing, thank God we live close to family. My mom was of course there bright and early, Lau and Kevin came a few hours later with much needed food and objects, and Vince and Joanna also showed up to offer great moral support. It was nice knowing the absolute worse was behind us... but I was still terrified.
I felt like the dad in that typical sports movie, where the son gets hurt in a game and can't be the football star anymore. The dad only knew how to connect with his son through the sport so now he feels alienated, he can't look at his son. I've always hated the dad, how could he be so selfish? How could he leave his son alone at such a dire time? But now I understood this character.
There is so much shame in seeing your child so hurt, such a helpless shame in knowing you couldn't protect them and that there is nothing you can do to make them better instantly. As much as I (and everyone else) kept telling me it wasn't my fault, he would be fine, kids jump right back, it's only a few weeks... I kept wanting to run away. I desperately wanted to turn around in my bed, open my eyes and tell Joe about the horrible dream I'd just had.
The first couple of days were as miserable as I thought they would be. We aren't used to hearing Mateo complain or cry (we are spoiled, I know) but that just made it more difficult to see him so frustrated at not being able to move. Joe is thankfully the best dad in the universe and took off a week from work. For the first days he also took over diaper duty, entertainment duty, and making sure Mateo was smiling whenever I saw him. For some reason it was harder on me. I couldn't stop missing my moving baby, my smiling, proud of himself for standing and cruising, baby. I think over the past months I've come to know him as a baby that loves to move over everything else, a baby that is ahead of his age physically... It was so hard to look at him without crying. 5 days in it's still not that easy to be honest, but it's getting there.
Time finally sped up... soon we were back in the room watching our tiny boy sleep, still connected to way too many machines but this time not wincing in pain. He spent the rest of the day mostly sleeping, which I greatly appreciated. More sleep meant less time with him dealing with his pain. At this point Joe and I had slept maybe a combination of 4 hours in the last 30, so we were both collapsing, thank God we live close to family. My mom was of course there bright and early, Lau and Kevin came a few hours later with much needed food and objects, and Vince and Joanna also showed up to offer great moral support. It was nice knowing the absolute worse was behind us... but I was still terrified.
I felt like the dad in that typical sports movie, where the son gets hurt in a game and can't be the football star anymore. The dad only knew how to connect with his son through the sport so now he feels alienated, he can't look at his son. I've always hated the dad, how could he be so selfish? How could he leave his son alone at such a dire time? But now I understood this character.
There is so much shame in seeing your child so hurt, such a helpless shame in knowing you couldn't protect them and that there is nothing you can do to make them better instantly. As much as I (and everyone else) kept telling me it wasn't my fault, he would be fine, kids jump right back, it's only a few weeks... I kept wanting to run away. I desperately wanted to turn around in my bed, open my eyes and tell Joe about the horrible dream I'd just had.
The first couple of days were as miserable as I thought they would be. We aren't used to hearing Mateo complain or cry (we are spoiled, I know) but that just made it more difficult to see him so frustrated at not being able to move. Joe is thankfully the best dad in the universe and took off a week from work. For the first days he also took over diaper duty, entertainment duty, and making sure Mateo was smiling whenever I saw him. For some reason it was harder on me. I couldn't stop missing my moving baby, my smiling, proud of himself for standing and cruising, baby. I think over the past months I've come to know him as a baby that loves to move over everything else, a baby that is ahead of his age physically... It was so hard to look at him without crying. 5 days in it's still not that easy to be honest, but it's getting there.
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