Man... what a frigging day and night. This is one of the myriad reasons that being a cancer parent sucks. Don't get me wrong; I love my boys, and I love The Boy deeper and more passionately than words can express. I'm just frigging irritated and have been for 36 hours now.
My family hasn't been helping. I've received a nice helping of crap sandwich from both ends of the United States this week, as the "ask for help when you need it" has nicely backfired into the "we're not going to be around until you call us." That's great, except for the fact that I've been sick, my wife's been sick, and we've have two kids in the hospital. Doesn't give us a lot of time to pick up the telephone, particularly when said family tends to have the absolute worst timing when they call (like, right when someone is about to actually sleep). Passive aggressive political games are not helpful.
The Boy started spiking a fever last night for some reason, which hasn't helped his mood. My opinion is that it's related to pain issues from the surgery - when I had a minor bit of surgery, I was given 30 percoset. He's had nothing since his. Although, tonight, he's had a continually running nose, so he might have really caught my cold from last week. He was sleeping poorly, waking regularly all night long; that helped my rest considerably, as you'd imagine.
Factor that in with today's debacle. His IV line in his left hand clotted up amd had to be removed. A butcher of a resident came in to try to reinstall the IV.
Folks, NEVER let a resident touch your child, particularly without the supervision of an adult. (Meaning, THEIR mommy or daddy.) They're stupid and unskilled. After this butcher (who would not wash her hands in my room, did it in the hallway - while still touching the doorknob, natch) got through, we needed a change in bed linen because of the blood that had spattered everywhere. The only thing it accomplished was traumatizing The Boy.
He ate a little bit, then a new group - this time with an adult - started in. The choices were: find a new vein on the left hand; try his right hand, which means no thumb; or do the foot, which means no walking or standing until Wednesday. Long story short, the second group screwed the pooch on the left hand. The third group - with a competent person - finally put the IV in his foot.
Great - active two-year-old, can't walk, can't stand. If he does, the line will fall out, and we'll have another two hours of pain and suffering until the new line is put in.
This was TWO HOURS of having my son on my lap, screaming in fear and pain and terror and agony, writhing as he was jabbed again and again by these "professionals." Literally, screaming until he pooped himself. After which, of course, he puked up his medicines. Not a banner evening for the pediatric unit at St. Barnabas.
I'm grumpy. I'm not feeling well. I'm severely under-slept, and I'm really resentful of what I feel is an utter lack of support from the family. F everything.