A broader perspective

[caption id="attachment_2050" align="alignleft" width="300" caption="Ben has a crazy moment...always pretend to be asleep in the face of "crazy". "][/caption]

Every once in awhile I feel  as if momentarily I can see a broader perspective.  After we discussed the possibility of Ellie having another resection (aka replacing the shunt or brain surgery), I was feeling bad bad bad. There is this part of me known as "Crazy Mamma" that comes out in these moments.  I envision her running around in circles waving her arms in the air screaming, "OMG! Ellie's going to die!  We can't do brain surgery once a year!!!  I can't handle this!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!"  

[caption id="attachment_2051" align="alignright" width="300" caption="The whole pretending to sleep thing did not work out, screaming is the next step."][/caption]

Then, suddenly, I had this moment where I just thought about how there are mothers all over the world whose children are not feeling well.  Many of these mothers may not have access to any of the amazing choices I do for their children.  I thought about how the hospital we go to today was at one point just a desire someone

[caption id="attachment_2052" align="alignleft" width="300" caption="Why do I not feel better?"][/caption]

had to treat children who were not feeling well.  That the hospital was created because there were people who had an idea that they wanted a place to take a child where they could do something to assist.  From that desire the hospital was born. 

There was a time in Chicago when going to the hospital was such a traumatic experience that on the way home I actually had a vivid moment of wanting to drive the car into the median.  Just couldn't take it any more.  Almost everything that would happen at the hospital was terrifying to Ellie from getting her blood

[caption id="attachment_2055" align="alignright" width="300" caption="At this point you may be wondering why I did not in fact put the camera down and respond to the upset at hand. I am wondering the same thing. The only thing I can think of is that we were on vacation and wanted to capture even the messy moments..."][/caption]

pressure checked (which they could not even measure because she was so upset) to getting her temperature taken, not to even mention trying to get a blood draw or an IV going....And there was a time when we lived in Chicago that Ellie felt nauseated almost all of the time.  It was unbearable.  The suggestions that were given were not exceedingly helpful--we could start chemotherapy (doesn't seem like a good anti-nausea treatment) or give her therapeutic steroids (which completely disrupted her sleep).  Leaving us feeling like we were at the end of the line with no good options being offered.  The point is that right now we had a fairly easy (it IS still brain surgery) straight forward option that looked as if it would solve the problem of Ellie throwing up and sleeping a lot.

Now going to the hospital has transformed into an experience that has some unpleasurable items, but for the most part, it feels like the hospital is filled with people that we know and love.   Not only is our hospital the absolute best in my opinion, but it is 10-15 minutes from our house.  AND we have spectacular health coverage.  From this perspective of feeling gratitude for the hospital and all that it has given us, I could no longer feel badly about going there.  Then I started thinking about how maybe our experiences are leading to a time when there will be no more brain tumors.  Wouldn't that be amazing? 

[caption id="attachment_2057" align="alignleft" width="300" caption="Ben in an unhappy airplane moment...."][/caption]

The new social worker came in to visit me while I was sitting with Ellie in the hospital.  Ellie was sleeping off the surgery and I was having a grabulous (great + fabulous) day sitting reading and responding to e-mails from people I love, working on a blog, and watching a documentary.  I must admit that it was a muchmore relaxing day than had I been at home.   When the social worker entered the room, she asked how was I hanging in there?  I kind of looked at her strangely.  It didn't feel as if there was anything I needed to "hang in there" about.  I realize if I really sat and thought about brain surgery or tumors or the saddest moment I could come up with something, but who would that help?  It

[caption id="attachment_2060" align="alignright" width="300" caption="A more content plane moment."][/caption]

reminded me of when Michael J. Fox (I know I know, MJF, again??)  couldn't comprehend "coping" because he was just having a great time LIVING his life.  In no way did I feel as if I were "hanging in there", I was having a terrific day.  I know it is hard to imagine and hard to know how to respond to this kind of reaction to one's daughter being hospitalized after surgery.  If I were you, I wouldn't even know what to say to me.  It's as if a whole new language needs to be developed.  If you come up with any ideas, leave me a comment.