Friday, September 12, 2008

The Family Stone, version 137

OK, so I haven't written about all versions of my family's propensity for forming kidney stones (it would take volumes), but today it's time again.

My baby. Alone. In a strange town. 110 miles away. No family doctor - until now. And though he wouldn't ever admit it... scared to death. I first heard the shakey uncertainty in his voice yesterday when he called about the blood and the tender, achy "brother." (What, you didn't know those two little things down there are called brothers?) First the blood, then the pain, then the SCATHING PAIN, the doctor, the barf-in-the-biohazard-bag, the CT $can, the drugs....oh my, what's a mother to do? I called too often. I heard about the worst of it after the fact, and I prayed. Oh, did I pray. Like a...


For 36 hours.
Thank you, my God, for Your answer!

KT said she felt in her heart it wasn't really serious, that her gut said he was going to be fine, but Moms don't think that way and the nurse brain totally loses reason and critical thinking when your baby's involved. But after gallons of Crystal Light, a shot in the butt, a trip to the pharmacy, and a subsequent drug-induced coma, I think the worst is over. Or seems to be. And I so wanted to be there, to do something, to, yes, baby him. He is and always will be, after all, my baby.

The worst part of this, really? Now that it's over? Now that I know he's ok?

::: He really didn't need me after all :::

Selfish, selfish me.
Tea tonight: Harney & Sons Green with citrus & ginko