On the road to recovery…I hope

After five nights and six days in the hospital, Charlie may get to come home today. Psychologically, he’s more than ready. As he started to breathe easier and become more interested in playing, the semi-private hospital room with one large crib and two chairs (no space to crawl, pull up or roll around) became more and more frustrating for him, especially since he’s used to going at full speed and getting outside everyday. (Yesterday, I took him to the window at the end of the hall. When he saw the sky and cars and buildings, he jumped and fidgeted and pressed his head to the glass. I think he was trying to tell me something.) Thankfully there was a playroom on the pediatrics floor–though it was only open four hours a day and much of that time he was either napping, having treatments, or eating.

I’m going to hold off on my stories, of which there are plenty, until Charlie is finally home. (The most frustrating: the American health care system as exemplified by intrusive nurses; the oddest: my husband and I receiving an Armenian translator from the hospital administration–two days after we were admitted; it’s a good thing we’re not really Armenian.) The one thing I will say now is that the outpouring of love and well wishes we’ve received from friends and family has meant so much. Friends from all over the country have called and emailed; Charlie’s wonderful daycare teachers called several times to check on his progress (I love that they care about him so much); and my mom and sister took time off to fly all the way from GA to help us do laundry, get some sleep and take shifts at the hospital. Thank you, everyone. Your thoughtfulness means more than you can know.

Keep your fingers crossed that the news we hear today is good. I’m ready for my baby to come home.


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