The Circus Is Here

We were able to get surgery scheduled for Levi yesterday, so the two of us arrived at the hospital at 6:00 in the morning. Okay, it was 6:10. But nobody yelled at us about the ten minutes. Everything started right on time, and the surgery was in fact shorter than anticipated. In addition to another pin, there’s now a screw in there. Let us hope this does the trick.

Levi actually usually enjoys his time in the hospital. Where else do you get to lie in bed and eat pizza while watching cartoons? And order as many slushies as you can drink? And there’s always a supply of nurses to stop by and tell you how cute you are. (Oddly, this last service does not extend to me.)

The staff wanted Levi to have eaten something and kept it down before we took off, and to make sure the oral pain meds were working before we took off. That was all accomplished late in the evening, and we got to go home to sleep.

I wasn’t thinking, and had packed a pullover sweatshirt as Levi’s coat. That wasn’t going to work with the splint, but Papa is an innovator.

When we got home, Paul said he’d stay up and get everybody settled in bed, so I kissed them all and went to sleep. I woke up ten hours later. I don’t even remember the last time I did that. I felt like a new woman.

We had a family Thanksgiving/Christmas celebration tonight. Thanks to my sister-in-law Ruth, I didn’t have to cook anything (she took over my food assignment as well as her own), and thanks to my sister, The Incredible Auntie, I didn’t have to wrap any presents.

I don’t know if I believe that we are given trials for a specific purpose – I think sometimes bad things happen and there’s just really no good reason. But I do believe we have a choice about how we respond, and how we allow them to change us.

I realized yesterday that I think I am losing my arrogance. I tried to think of a nicer word there, but I think arrogance is the most accurate. I’ve spent a good deal of my life refusing to accept help because I was too proud to admit that I needed any. I’ve been ashamed to admit that I couldn’t, in fact, do it all, and that some things were going to slide. I’ve been reluctant to accept favors because I couldn’t stand to think that I owed anyone anything. Even gratitude.

In the last year, though, I have accepted help for things both mundane and huge, and said “yes please” and “thank you” and been grateful to the depth of my soul. I absolutely cannot do this life thing by myself, and I’m so thankful for people who are willing to help.

I’m kind of a slow learner. Maybe I’ll finally get this one, though. Here’s hopin’!

The boys and I loaded up and went up to the hospital again this morning for more x-rays on Levi’s arm. I think the right side of his body is going to be glowing soon.

The news was not good. The doctor has never been thrilled with the rate at which the bone is healing, so it’s not a total surprise, but still unwelcome. Rather than knitting together, the bone actually seems to be drifting apart again. They’ll have to open it back up and see what needs to be done. Maybe a screw, maybe a pin. Maybe both. Maybe they’ll bake four-and-twenty blackbirds in there.

My attitude leaves much to be desired. I know that we have much to be grateful for, and many people are in much worse situations. I know that my two most important senses – perspective and humor – will snap back into place soon, and I will organize a babysitter for Elias and make a packing list and start cracking wise. It will all be fine. Levi will be fine. I will be fine.

But for now, I am just frustrated, and angry, and sad. The doctor (late 50s? early 60s?) said he’s never had a break like this not heal; he’s never had one that he’d already operated on and had to open back up. I know there’s no point asking why us (and could I possibly be more whiny?), but I can’t help feeling like we keep drawing the short straw. I mean, really. One? In his entire career? And it has to be Levi? Because it’s not like he doesn’t have to put up with enough garbage.

It’ll probably be scheduled for Friday, and I’m sure by then I will have pulled myself together. For now, I feel like this:

I am not getting my way, and I don’t like it.

So. I’m having a pity party. You’re welcome to join me. Please bring a pint of Ben and Jerry’s. Or a burger from Swenson’s. I’m not picky.

Still chewing his pancake (“Close your mouth when you chew, sweetie” is the refrain of my life right now), Levi asked, “Hey Mama, whose belly was I in again?” This is a conversation we’ve had often, and he knows the answer. I think he just likes to be reassured that it hasn’t changed. So I answered him again. And this time he had follow-up question.

“Can I see a picture of her?”

I met Paul’s eyes across the breakfast table, and I knew he was feeling the same way I was. A little bit like I’d taken a gut punch. Because the answer is no. I can’t show Levi a picture of his birthmom.

I think I can understand why she made that choice, not to give us a picture. I don’t know what that experience was like for her, carrying a child in her body for so long, and knowing she would not raise him. Meeting the people who would, and hoping against hope that they really are okay. Not crazy, not mean. Not too strict, maybe. (Oops?) But not being able to bear glimpses of that future life, even if they were on offer. Because how painful would THAT be? I don’t know, but I think I can imagine a little bit. And it might feel a little weird to have a picture out there without being able to “see” him back. So this is not a complaint about Levi’s birthmom, and I don’t want anybody to think so, especially Levi, should he ever read this.

It’s just me saying ouch. It hurt a little to tell him no. He was disappointed. And there will be more little disappointments in the future, as he has more questions and not so many more answers. And that’s hard to understand, even for grownups. I’m afraid that those little disappointments will roll up into one big ache that I can’t fix, no matter what I do.

But I told him what I can. She is shorter than me, like this (hand held about at my eyes). She has hair about the same color as Miss Beth’s hair* but curlier. She loves you very, very much, and she always will. Just like me.

I hope it is enough.

*Hey, Beth? You might get some questions about that. Just so you know.