Busy, Busy, Busy

Now that we know we are going to Hawaii… we got busy this week. 

Got to sell the house. 

Got to have surgery again for Joe. 

Ready… GO! 

We hired a handyman to fixed up a bunch of odds and ends things, like the slamming front window and the stuck vanity drawers. He whipped through my list in like an hour. An hour, ya'll. It may or may not have taken me three weeks and lots of youtube videos to try and do all of those things. And I may or may not have gone crazy first. So, hiring the handyman was well worth it to me.  

We also had the HVAC people come and service the furnace. 

We had a painter come out and give us an estimate for painting our kitchen cabinets. 

We had the stager come out and write up a list of things to do to sell our home. (It's five pages long…) 

And I replaced the flooring in the entryway. It looks spectacular. I'm breaking my arm patting myself on the back, and I might sigh ever-so-contentedly whenever I look at it. "Hi there, welcome to my home. Did you see my awesome new floor that I installed myself? Did I mention that I'm awesome?" 

P.S. Taking up the old linoleum was "easy". 

Taking up the adhesive residue was disgusting. 

Adhesive remover smells AWFUL. 

Mr. Graff also ripped out the bushes in front of our house. It looks like we actually have a house down there now that those two mammoth bushes are gone. Mr. Graff got to play in the dirt and remember the good ol' days when he worked groundskeeping in college. Then he hauled the branches and roots to the dump. 

Hubba hubba, ding ding. 

Ta da!

We use to rotate who got up with the baby, so that someone would get "enough" sleep. I'd take the weekdays and Mr. Graff would take the weekends. Now, though, Joe wakes up and screams for an hour every night. So, we rotate who has to get up with Joe and comfort him until he falls back asleep.  (Feeding the baby is for the person that needs more sleep.  Lucky them.)  Nobody sleeps well. 

I'm not entirely sure what is causing Joe to be in pain. It could be ear infections (oh, they are chronic and nasty). It could be the cyst in his mouth. (I think it bursts at night sometimes and grows back during the day.) It could be something else. Whatever it is, it's hard. 

I think a lot about the story of Jesus and the man born blind. "Who did sin, this man, or his parents, that he was born blind?" Did we cause Joe to have all of his troubles? It seems a very human question to ask. What did I do wrong? What could I have done so that Joe would not have to suffer? What am I doing now that would ease his troubles? Am I not doing something I should? 

Jesus replies, "Neither hath this man sinned, nor his parents: but that the works of God should be manifest in him"

I take great comfort in that. It's not that I have done or am doing something wrong, it part of Heavenly Father's plan for me and Joe and our family. I am coming to accept this. I am coming to know that the Lord loves us and helps us to feel after Him, particularly when we are weak. 

Then Jesus anoints the blind man's eyes, the man washes in the pool of Siloam, and he sees. 

He's healed. The hurt and wrong in this life are healed by the Savior's touch. I hang my hopes on the reality of the Resurrection. That someday, Joe will have a perfect body, and that even though this life isn't fair, it will be made right. I also hang my hopes on the Atonement, that we will be able to bear our burdens with ease. And that we can be grateful for them. 

Joe had a CT scan done at the hospital. It was of his neck and oral cavity so the ENT doctor can evaluate where the cyst in his mouth is originating and make plans for Joe's next surgery. I'm learning that when people ask me if this is Joe's last surgery that the best response is, "It's his last surgery until the next one." 

Joe could not eat or drink before the CT scan. The schedulers, however, did not make provision for a anesthesiologist to be there, so it took FOREVER (okay, three hours) for everyone to get coordinated and all the right people to be where they needed to be. We needed the anesthesiologist to be there to make sure that Joe's airway stayed clear because he has complicated airway issues. 

So, we played a lot. 

Joe was the official "greeter" for the Radiology department. He took his responsibilities seriously and stood in the doorway and checked credentials of everyone coming in or out. 

Joe liked the TV on a mechanical arm attached to the wall. Mostly, he liked that pushing buttons would do things. 

Child Life came and gave us a huge bag of toys and bubbles to play with. Joe had a brief flirtation with the (obnoxious, loud, bright) toy wand, but went back to his favorite friend… 

the light switch. 

The nurses first tried swaddling Joe to do the CT scan. The scan is only three minutes long, but for those few minutes, Joe has to be perfectly still. The swaddle they used had a material you see on wrestling mats lined with a blanket and straps like the seat belts on grocery carts every six inches or so. It was impressive looking. Like mental health lock down impressive. And, of course, that freaked Joe out. 

Bring on the drugs. 

Two doctors, me, and a couple nurses held down Joe while they put on the gas mask for general anesthesia. 

"Wow, he's strong," the doctors say.

"Especially for a kid with low muscle tone," I reply. 

"What? Wait. HE has low muscle tone??!" 

Sure does, but you wouldn't know it from the way he was fighting. And after a few minutes, his active resistance quits and Joe looks still and lifeless. I'm sure the anesthesiologist see this all the time, but it is a little freaky for me. I have to step out. 

I start reading The Magician's Nephew and only a few paragraphs in, they grab me and tell me that the scan is done. I follow as they wheel Joe down to recovery. 

Seeing Joe like this brings back a lot of memories. 

The nurse tells me that when he wakes up in a few minutes, he'll cough out the plastic thing in his mouth. I settle down to read my book and wait for Joe to wake up so we can blow this popsicle stand. 

A few pages into my book, Joe violently wakes up, sputtering and unable to get the stupid, plastic thing out of his mouth. I can't see the nurse and I don't have a call button and Joe is panicking. So, I reach in and grab the plastic thing. 

Voila. It's HUGE. 

The nurse comes back, a little thrown off because Joe is up and the plastic hook-of-huge-ness is gone. I tell her to get the IV out now or Joe will rip it out himself. 

"But, procedure…" 

"Just get it out now. He's ripped IVs out in his sleep." 

She takes out his IV and gives him apple juice. I sign discharge papers, and Joe fiercely guards all three of his apple juice containers all the way home. 

The only thing I appreciate about hospitals these days is that I know I will get to go home with Joe. Eventually, we will leave. 

I'm proud of Joe and all his accomplishments. He walked into church this week (I didn't have to carry him). He mounted an attack on a small incline near the playground, charging up and picking his way down over a dozen times, so he could figure out how to walk on an uneven surface. He's learned to pull open the measuring cup drawer, reach his little hands in and pull out cups to play with. He also pulls things out of the trash can. 

Not so proud of that one. 

And lastly, he's taken up the fine art of wall murals, a la dry erase marker. 

Progress, right? 

So, life is busy, busy, busy now. 

Some good things. Some necessary (though unpleasant) things. Some funny things.