Well, the trach doll and the g-tube button doll showed up in Garrin’s room today, and surgery has been scheduled for Friday.
Sh*t is getting real.
Other than to snap a couple photos of the two dolls, I have barely been able to look at them.
The respiratory therapists and nurses have offered to go over the basics with me, but I couldn’t do it. Not today. All my attention was on my sweet little boy.
I’d be lying if I said that today was a “take on the world” kind of day. It wasn’t.
The dolls made me cry.
Watching my baby be rolled off to his upper GI exam made me cry.
Listening to my baby’s sweet coos and watching him play made me cry.
The doctor was candid with me in rounds: Even after surgery, it will seem worse before it gets better. That also made me cry.
The thought of watching Garrin recover from three different procedures, while his immature immune system tries to ward off infection, is enough to make me vomit.
The nurses keep telling me that babies with trachs thrive, trying to help me come to grips with what’s about to happen. They’re happy, they play, and they can move around, they’ve said. The thing is that Garrin is already happy, he loves playing with his toys, and I have him up and out of his bed every single day.
Today was a rough day. It was overwhelming, and I couldn’t get that pesky “this sucks” list to take a hike.