2 months ago exactly, The Youngest Boy got another trip to the ER.
This time it was different.
This time his status card moved from a Level 3 (reserved for such afflictions as the common cold and Nursemaid's Elbow) to a Level 1 (indicating something serious) in less than 10 minutes.
This time, he almost didn't get to come home.
But, in true The Youngest Boy-style, and a whole lotta good doctoring - He bounced back.
Parents - do yourselves a hugantic favor and learn the signs of an appendicitis. Err on the side of caution and take your kiddos in. My little guy wouldn't be on the couch crying every time he laughed if I had just listened to him. At some point in the 5 days of complaints of pain with fever, vomiting, and diarrhea his appendix swelled so largely that it burst and then became infected. That infection then filled his body and damn near killed him. After 5 days in the hospital, he came home on a picc line. Prior to the hospital trip, he couldn't stand, eat, or drink and looked like death. I've been scared in my life. I've been terrified in my life. Nothing I've ever been through has ever held a candle to this moment. The infection was very tough but my little The Youngest Boy is pretty tough too. He fought back while ordering every item on the room service menu and cracking hilarious jokes in an uncomfortable hospital bed. Making the best of every second and finding the joy in every moment.
Darling Husband and I were bedside for the first 48 hours. Then, the remaining days , it was just me. We did our best to calm fear, provide assurance, and comfort. We couldn't afford to both take time off, so Darling Husband had to go. The Youngest Boy remained in good spirits for most of it. Though, there was a lot of pain and a lot of uncomfortable procedures. I can't imagine a second away from him. I would have felt like a failure. Darling Husband and The Oldest held the fort down at home. They cared for The Middle Son and Mini-Me and did grocery shopping and managed a visit that lifted our spirits high. For Darling Husband, it was never a question. He came through and didn't let us down. Some incredible friends brought food and boredom busters. The Youngest Boy's class made him cards that his best friend brought over to him.
On the first morning of The Youngest Boy's' admittance, I did the legally obligated thing and I notified his "father" (a term I will permanently use loosely and with aversion and contempt). I tried his number. Of course, no answer. Texts to no fruition. Then, I messaged his niece. An hour later, he called back. I explained what all was going on.
"Well, keep me posted."
Seriously? Keep yourself posted, asshole. It's your son. Make the effort. But no. This is how he works. Always has been. It's someone else's fault that he can't be here. Everyone gets the blame but him. Usually me. And you know what? I WILL OWN IT. Damn straight we're divorced. Damn straight I wouldn't let him use me. Damn straight I wanted better for myself and my kids. And we got it.
I honestly don't care what his side is. He doesn't get one. The Youngest Boy is the only one who has a side in this. He was scared and things were touch and go for a while. And where was his "father"? 1,312 miles away. He only knows that he loves his daddy. He just knows that he wanted all of us next to him knowing that we care. He is just an innocent little boy that can only see the light and goodness in other people. He is so pure hearted and loving that he doesn't see what an astronomical piece of shit he is. He has called a few times to talk to The Youngest Boy and Mini-Me. He knows better than to ask for The Oldest or The Middle Son as they have felt the inevitable burn of his irresponsibility.
Yesterday, he finally was well enough to have the appendix removed. We spent another night in another hospital room and my little guy starts another recovery. Again, spirits high and jokes plentiful. He's currently watching another YouTube video and playing Minecraft with his little sister. And another night that the phone doesn't ring. This time, it went unnoticed.
At 8 years old, he has suffered so much monumental disappointment with his "father" that he didn't even ask for him. He didn't notice the omitted phone call. I just can't imagine being able to live with myself after letting this marvelous blonde haired, blue eyed cherub down in such a profound way. Let alone having the audacity of making my Facebook cover a photograph of myself with my abandoned children. And to have the grit to accept compliments on my parenthood skills?
Tonight, I got out the thesaurus - literally - to see if I could unearth the term for this unwordable word. Notwithstanding my diligence - I am left empty handed.
