Visiting hours

I felt guilty.  Christopher and I had been caught up in a whirlwind of chaos, and I hadn't seen Michael and Ryan in several days.  I had spoken to them on the phone a few times, but it wasn't enough.  My guilt said that I was neglecting them.  I had abandoned them.  What must their little minds be thinking?

Ryan, "Chrisipher," and Michael

I knew that they were safe and in good hands.  They were at Auntie's house again.  When I had spoken to the boys on the phone, they were happy to talk to me, but they were "busy" having fun.  Michael seemed to be handling the situation better than Ryan.  Michael was about 4years old and had decided to make the best of it, just have fun at Auntie's house playing with his cousins.  He wanted to know if Christopher was okay, if he could come to the hospital to visit him, and when we were all going to get to go home.  It didn't take much of an answer to satisfy his questions because he was just too busy having a good time.   He kept telling me that he had to go and get back to playing...oh, and that he loved me.  Basically, he was concerned, but he was having such a good time that he would just put those worries on "the back burner" for now.  It wasn't such a bad strategy for a 4 year old who happened to find himself in a less than desirable situation.   I was glad he was distracted.  Maybe I could learn something from him.

Ryan, on the other hand, was only 2 years old and definitely a "mommas boy."  When we talked on the phone  I talked, and he "whined."  He wasn't much of a master conversationalist anyway at the tender age of two.  His vocabulary was small, like him.  In his best whine/talk, toddler voice he told me he loved me and wanted us to go home.  In his two year old wisdom it seemed perfectly okay to just leave Christopher at the hospital, or at the mall, or in Timbuktu for that matter.  He didn't care.  He just wanted "his momma," and he wanted to go home!  There's not a whole lot you can say to a two year old to convince him that his logic has some holes in it.  Toddlers are who they are.  The world revolves around them, and in Ryan's case "his momma."  I did the next best thing.  I tried to use a little distraction.  Why not?  It seemed to work great for Michael.  I reminded him that he was having a fun time with his cousins, and that Auntie was going to bring him and Michael to the hospital for a visit.  That seemed to satisfy him.  We exchanged "I love yous" and hung up.

Auntie did bring the boys up for a visit, but she told me later the "back story" on it.  Every time she brought them up they were so excited.  She would always explain to them that they were just going for a visit, and then they would go back to her house. She told them that mommy and Christopher had to stay at the hospital for awhile.  Michael seemed okay with it, but Ryan always seemed to think that he was going to stay with me no matter how many times she explained it to him.  His two year old brain just kept telling him that he wanted his momma!   Not surprisingly then, after each visit there was a lot of crying, and crying, and crying...maybe a little kicking and screaming too. 

Knowing what was to come, Auntie braved the inevitable toddler tantrum and brought the boys up for a visit.  They had been up to see there little brother a few times, but this time I was a little more concerned.  Christopher was dangerously thin and very sick.  He was hooked up to so much "stuff."  He had tubes and cords everywhere.  The whole seen was scary looking even to me, so I was worried that it might really be unsettling for them.

When they arrived we had lots of hugs and kisses.  Then I tried to prepare them for what their little eyes were going to see.  I explained about all the tubes and monitors.  They shook their little heads like they understood what I was talking about, but I knew they had no idea.  They just kept asking...can we go see "Chrisipher" yet?  That's what they both called him. 

Ryan, Michael, and "Chrisipher"

When we entered "Chrisipher's" room it wasn't all the tubes and cords that bothered them.  It was the fact that he looked PURPLE that scared them.  I had forgotten to warn them about that.  I tried to explain about the medicine, but they both seemed pretty skeptical about that answer.  Tubes and cords...maybe...but babies aren't supposed to be purple!  Still, they said the sweetest "hellos" to him,  gave him the most tender hugs and kisses, and then headed for the "play room."



There was a "play room" on the pediatric floor for patients and their younger visitors.  The boys loved all the toys and games in there (talk about a great distraction).  We played together for quite some time.  They told me all they had been doing at Auntie's house and asked me lots of questions about "Chrisipher

I tried to reassure myself with thoughts like...they are going to be okay.  They have a good time at Auntie's house, and she takes great care of them.  They get to play with their cousins.  They will be back for a visit soon.  No matter how hard I tried to think positive, I still couldn't help but feel guilt and remorse.  After all, I wasn't sure how long it would be until I would see them again.  I wasn't sure when we would all get to go home.  In fact, I wasn't sure about anything.  I did know one thing though.  Auntie must be some kind of a saint for stepping up to manage the (now sadly) "two ring circus."

If you have never accepted Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior, you can pray like this:

More tomorrow...