Tonight's picture was taken on August 8, 2009. It is hard to believe that a month later, Mattie died. While home from the hospital, Mattie requested that Peter put up his big camping tent in the living room. We inflated two aero mattresses in the tent, and this was where Mattie and I slept that week. What you can't see, was the IV pole right outside the tent on the left hand side, or the pain pump attached to Mattie. Given all of Mattie's needs and physical limitations, there was no way he could sleep without supervision. I will never forget that moment in time, my sheer exhaustion and lack of control. My current situation reminds me a lot of this time (but of course in different ways). Mattie always wanted to go on a camping trip. He was so excited to be joining his school's cub scout troop, and Peter was going to be one of the leaders. Unfortunately, Mattie was diagnosed with cancer and he never made it to first grade, cub scouts, and so many other things. None of this was meant to be.
Quote of the day: She was gone, definitely, finally gone. Until now he had half unconsciously cherished the hope deep in his heart that some day she would need him and send for him. ~ F. Scott Fitzgerald
This morning, I had to take my parents to appointments with their rehab medicine doctor. The last time I interfaced with this doctor, my dad was in the hospital, recovering from an emergency admission due to kidney stones blocking both ureters. My dad was in the hospital for four days in the beginning of August. When they wanted to discharge him, the issue became what to do with him? I wanted him to go to the hospital's acute rehab and the hospital wanted him to go to a nursing home for rehabilitation. I fought this decision very hard, but lost. So against the hospital's recommendation, I brought my dad home.
When the doctor walked into the exam room today, he knew he was going to be dealing with me. He understood from our last interaction that I was NOT HAPPY with his decision. I literally gave it to him and told him I did not know how he could assess what was best for my dad without even getting him out of his hospital bed to see his physical capabilities. He started to pipe in and I stopped him. I then told him that both he and my dad are just lucky that I am alive and could take my dad home and manage his care. Because in a nursing home, he would have floundered and most likely would have suffered an early death. The doctor couldn't argue with me.
Once we got passed those issues, he examined my parents. He agreed that the black and blue on my dad's lower spine was most likely received by bumping into a wall. However, he was happy with how well it was healing, that I was giving him a heating pad, Tylenol, and by day I put an icy hot patch on it. He has prescribed both of my parents in home physical therapy, which helps. As they can do this for a few months, take a pause, and then can be re-certified for more session a few months later. Then he turned his attention to my mom. My mom has significant issues with balance, posture, and neck and leg pain. He finally convinced her to try a shot of saline, cortisone, and lidocaine in her neck muscles today. While holding her hands, she did three shots. So we shall see how this goes, but she is already reporting less pain!
We were living in Washington, DC. Peter was at work in Northern Virginia. I happened to have the TV on and what I saw unfolding at Twin Towers was shocking, devastating, changed our world forever, and the lives of all those impacted by loss will never be the same. When I say we must always remember, to me they aren't just words. As I know full well what it takes to nurture the memory of a person who has died. The hole left behind is permanent and never gets filled.
Of course living in the Nation's capital in 2001, I was concerned about safety. I was worried about how Peter was going to get home, and what we should do. I remember Peter recalling how eerie it was to be driving into the city on 9/11. All the other cars were desperately leaving the city, he was one of the few returning back over the bridge. Of course he could see the smoke from the Pentagon in the distance. It was a feeling of great panic, uncertainty, and at the same time I was scared being pregnant through all of this. At the end of the day, I always felt better knowing that I had Peter. That Peter was there for me, we were there for each other.
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