One last post on the bad. Then tomorrow I will post on our joys & blessings.

Day 1 was pure chaos. We were admitting, doing x-rays, tests, getting settled. Shipping off other kids. Packing things at home.

Angel, for her part, was having a great time. The hospital was her “new home”.  While she hated the IV, her mood was stellar. Cheerful. Excited.  She didn’t care she was stuck in one (decent sized) room. There were new people in the super nice nurses and staff. She got to play with an iPad (she kicked butt on puzzles) while they were running tests. There was a TV that was ALWAYS on her shows. Games JUST for her. SHE was the star.

Archie & I?? Before our first sleepless night we were exhausted. On the uncomfortable couch in the room. With a child that doesn’t like to sleep in normal situations – much less with all this going on. Vitals being taken every 4 hours. Not to mention a heating/cooling system that is wonky and either too hot or too cold.

Strong. Boy, was my girl ever strong and brave.  Faced almost every situation with a smile. Hated the IV – for about 12 hours, then didn’t care as long as you weren’t trying to take off the tape, or take out the IV. Hated the room that she was getting the PICC in…but then, don’t we all?  It’s darn scary.  Screamed in pain when they put in the anesthesia – but to be honest I might have a little when they put it in my hand – that stuff burns!!  She was brave and strong, and charming and disarming. Everyone loved her.

I was weak. I had to run from the room when she started screaming before the anesthesia even touched her hand. I had to leave the room, or call in the morale team whenever they took blood from her PICC because I couldn’t watch, or listen to her cry.

I wanted to beg the doctors to let her stay in the hospital. Because I was scared of the PICC. Of a relapse at my incapable hands. Of popping “The Bubble.”

I only cried once – the day they put in her PICC – and only for a few minutes.

Maybe that’s the problem.

I’m still so exhausted. So worn down.

So is Archie.

We feel like we’ll never “Catch up” on the sleep lost (if there is such a thing)…or if we’ll ever be able to sleep right again.

We knew it was coming.

I wanted the “first time” out of the way…but I NEVER wanted the “first time” out of the way.

I need to cry.

I need to sleep.

I need to be able to go back to a time when I could pretend it still wasn’t real.

But I can never get that fantasy back.