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Wishing it could all end well.
Knowing that it won't.
Not for everyone.
Watching the new parents desparate to hold their baby.
Praying that they'll breathe on their own.
And eat on their own.
Suck, swallow, suck, swallow.
Come on, you can do it.
That the brain scan will be fine.
The fits will be under control.
That they can take their baby home.
Show them off.
Start their life together.
Face the challenges ahead.
I am priviliged to have been there and lucky to have brought my baby home.
This post isn't about 'losing Monkey' but 'losing monkey'. We went to the doctors today to sort out Pickle's hayfever medicine and to have booster Hep A injections. To be brave Pickle wanted to wear his medal (which he got when he ran a mile) and Wotsit wanted to take monkey (Wotsit's not attached to any particularly cuddly toy, he just happened to choose monkey).
Lower case 'monkey' was bought at Cape Point by Monkey's Aunt and Uncle when he was 11 months old and we visited them when they were living in South Africa for a year. He has arms that get longer as his legs get shorter and vice versa and velcro so you can attach him to things. So, whilst Monkey may not necessarily have been attached to monkey, monkey was often attached to him. He was always in Monkey's bed and came to hospital when Monkey was poorly. When Monkey died, Sherbet (a purple zebra) and Goodnight Bear were tucked up in his coffin but I couldn't let monkey go.
So, the hayfever appointment was first - all sorted - and we rushed to the post office to post Grandma's birthday card and buy sweets just in case the injections were traumatic. On the way, we realised we'd left monkey with the nurse. 'Not to worry' I said, 'we'll pick him up when we get back'. I wasn't overly worried. However I don't think I appreciated quite how attached I was to monkey.
The surgery was busy when we got back and we didn't get a chance to ask anyone about monkey. And I started to get anxious. I thought we'd left him with the nurse but what if we'd dropped him on the way to the post office? By the time we got to our appointment I think the nurse (a different one) thought I was terrified of injections (I'm not), I was so close to tears. Anyway, she was lovely. We told her about monkey and she promised to look for him when she'd done the injections. I don't think she could have made the link between monkey and the surgery computer system that says 'death of son' - but she really was lovely and I relaxed.
Wotsit went first - he is the bravest. His injection record remains unblemished; he has never cried, in fact never so much as flinched. Pickle was next and he wriggled and squirmed and whined a fraction but, when the needle went in, there were no tears. I was also very brave.
Then the nurse went off to find monkey. I'm ashamed to say that when she returned him, whilst Wotist reached for him, I intercepted him and whilst she went to get bravery stickers, I gave monkey an enormous hug.
