I’m doing pretty well now, one full week post-op. My nausea is completely gone, and I have rejoined the world of eating. My pain quotient it very mild now, only sort of a stitch-in-the-side feeling when I inhale. My residual issues then are two fold 1) tiredness… I run out of steam incredibly easily and need to lie down again; and 2) I can’t pick up Isaac. If you’ve ever cared for an active two-year-old boy, you will understand how sweeping an impact these two seemingly minor concerns are having on my life at the moment. It boils to the fact that I really can’t be alone with him. Even NOT alone with him, I run into frustrating barriers all the time– I can’t pick him up! It means that I can’t COMPEL him to do anything. I have to PERSUADE him.
The other night Ben and I were about to sit down to dinner, when Isaac suddenly (the king of timing) pooped in his diapers and announced that he needed to be changed. Then he announced that “Only Mama” could do the honors. I thought I would try. He’s gotten used to the idea that I can’t carry him and so will hold my hand to walk upstairs. We gradually made our way step after step. On some occasions he insists that we stop in the middle of the climb to “watch for trucks.” (More about his overly zealous observance of traffic laws another time.) He also likes sitting down and relaxing for a while halfway up. Finally we reached the summit, and I was already feeling somewhat exasperated. If I could have just carried him, it would have taken no time. I asked him to lie down on his changing ottoman. He demurred. Instead, he wandered away into his room and began playing with a fire truck. Meanwhile, dinner was growing cold downstairs. I tried asking him nicely to come and get diapers changed. I tried telling him in a gruff and commanding voice. I tried bargaining, offering him untold wonders at dinner if we could only get there. But the reality was he was playing with his truck and I was standing there completely helpless. Finally I gave up. I stamped downstairs again and said to Ben, “You’ve got to handle this. I can’t do anything about it!” Ben got the task completed in minutes and brought the fresh and clean boy downstairs.
Arg! The frustration of it! The powerlessness!
One more week, I hope. I’m seeing the surgeon on Monday for a follow-up appt. and I’ll ask her then WHEN WHEN can I lift my 27-lb child? I never noticed how central, how critical a tool it is to be able to cart him from place to place. Now I do.