It’s a bit after noon, and we are home from the hospital with Max. It is so strange to make these brief forays into “sickness” because the minute you wheel a little boy in pajamas carrying a stuffed animal and a blanket in and out of a hospital, you realize that this is not something that everyone has to do.
Having done it so many times and knowing many others who do it for the same reasons and a few for much worse reasons, it seems almost normal. Friends of ours with disabled kids do stuff like this all the time. They talk in therapy- speak, share medication stories and equipment reviews and trade info on the most popular doctors like it is insider trading on Wall Street.
But, then, I realize, most people don’t. Most people have kids in school today, reading and writing and playing on the playground. My son had morphine and an IV-drip. It reminds me of when Max was in nursery school and his friend Brian ran in one morning and said,
” Hey Max, look at me, I got a haircut!” To which Max responded with a perfectly reasonable attempt at competition, ” Hey, I got an X-Ray!”