“Do you have a blog Mommy?”
“Is there somewhere I can follow you guys after you leave the hospital?”
“You know what you should do? You should blog about this!”
No, I don’t have a blog. Blogs are for attention-seeking weirdos and parents of chronically ill children.
Shit, I guess I need a blog.
Okay, so here’s the deal. Our life was turned upside down starting in December 2013, when we welcomed second son James to the world (explained here). Despite the encouragement of many friends, doctors, and nurses, I resisted starting this blog. We were busy fighting for our child’s life, becoming the ICU Mom that you will soon grow to know and maybe love, or at least tolerate. James survived. Now we’re in this for the long haul, and we need all the help and support we can get. This blog is about the fallout from the past six months, about recovery, about the highs and the lows, about coming to terms with (gulp) “special needs”.
Now a few ground rules:
1. If you are our actual family or friends, welcome. This site is for you. We’ve dropped off the face of the earth for the past six months because, despite the fact you are reading this on a public blog, we are inherently private people. It is difficult for us to share what has happened, but we must.
2. If you are a weirdo lurker / gawker / one of those people who can’t help reading blogs about sick kids, I get it. I’m also one of those people. A few short weeks ago I cried my eyes out beside my son’s hospital bed for a stranger’s 5 year old child who died of a brain tumor. I never expected to be the parent of a chronically ill child myself, but here we are, so who am I to tell you to get lost? Just try not to be a super super weirdo.
3. If you love God and need someone to pray for, by all means add James to your list. J literally needs all the help he can get. But if you’re thinking about taking it a step further and trying to convert us, go ahead and keep it to yourself. God and I have an uneasy relationship that we’ve been working on for 33 years. Nobody is going to change it, so don’t bother.
4. I swear like a sailor. I’m not sorry, and if you don’t like it this blog is not for you. I’ll try to limit and sensor because one of these days my boys will read this and I don’t want them to be (more) ashamed of me (than they already are). However, when you have spent 6 months watching children in intensive care dying all around you, and all you can think is “there but for the grace of God go we,” you really stop giving a fuck about that for which people may be judging you. (Yes, in addition to excessive profanity, I also enjoy good grammar. I’m a walking contradiction.)
That’s all for now. James is going into Columbia for bilateral eye surgery in the morning to correct his congenital glaucoma. Just another day in our life — welcome to the madness.