Patient Plants, Pristine Spaces, and Bones

My home is in disarray. A pile of laundry waits to be folded, medical supply boxes are spread across the floor, blocking the front door — signs of my son’s most recent fort- building endeavor, —while withering plants on shelves vie for attention and a toothpaste cap on the floor begs to rejoin its home base: kids bubble gum flavored toothpaste.

None of this— the disorganization, my family’s inability to maintain a pristine space, or my prone-to-drama withering plants, bothered me yesterday. Yesterday little messes and household “to do’s” felt manageable. Of course, yesterday, things were different.  I felt more in control of my life and my family’s wellness, because the big important pieces, like health, felt orderly, predictable and hopeful.

And all I want, desperately and especially as I approach my third trimester of pregnancy, is orderliness and predictability.

I grab a pair of scissors and begin the process of opening and unloading medical supplies, knowing that if I could access a non-emotional response to yesterday — a rehabilitation clinic appointment for Nora — I would remind myself that the appointment was just about learning more information about Nora’s growth and the condition of her body. The appointment was a discussion regarding an x-ray of her hips — growth that has progressed well, until now. The x-ray revealed a shift, a gravitation of the bone away from its socket, something that could eventually grow into a slow hip dislocation and result in pain for Nora. All is the result of Nora not walking, standing, or developing as a typically growing child does.

And so, she was referred to a surgery consultation. And although I know consultations are not a reason to panic, this knowledge doesn’t stop my racing thoughts deep in the night, move the feeling of invisible sandbags off my shoulders, or lesson my exhaustion in the morning, and it certainly doesn’t help me embrace my suddenly chaotic household environment. It doesn’t change the reality that a 7-year-old hip going askew feels deeply unfair.

I begin the process of organizing Nora’s medical supplies, knowing I don’t have the full picture or recommendations for Nora’s hip, or know what it might be like for our family to navigate a surgery and healing possibly with a new baby, a son due to start kindergarten, and without consistent home health nursing support.

Yet, I know there will be a way forward, and when I’m ready, the first step will be this: relinquishing control. Until then, I’ll be here, fighting for orderliness by organizing medical supplies, retwisting toothpaste caps, and helping my son put away his forts. 

Oh, and watering my plants – right now, I’m going to go do that, water my plants.