I'm in the middle of a trial.
And it's hard.
I'm not dying.
I'm just really tired.
Andrew's surgery on Friday went well. He is super fussy at times and in pain, but it's all fairly manageable with medicine and a lot of patience. We're doing round-the-clock meds every three hours for a week. Even in the middle of the night. Ugh. We're usually still up at 11:00, Matthew does the 2:00, and I do the 5:00. It works out well.
Oh, my poor, sweet baby.
He's not doing too well.
And it's wearing on all of us.
We're still trying to get him unconstipated so he'll eat and drink.
Tomorrow he goes for his first appt w/the pulmonologist and then the GI doctor wants an x-ray so he can see just how much poop there is in his little system.
He isn't drinking much of the Pediasure, especially as the day progresses.
Sometimes he'll eat food, but usually he screams bloody murder (w/thrashing and huge tears streaming down his cheeks) if you come near him w/food.
Except sometimes he'll eat dry Cheerios.
He likes Multi-grain.
I can't really blame him; they're tasty.
And the medicine he's on is making him not feel good. He's out of it. He's dizzy and sometimes falls over. (All normal side-effects of the meds.) He "only" has to take it for another 10 days. Three times a day. And he hates the taste.
I feel like a drug store.
I have a spreadsheet (thanks, Babe!) taped to my cabinet so I can keep track of both boys' medicines. They're each on three. Different doses, different times, you name it.
It's manageable I suppose.
I am just tired of having to try new things for life to be manageable.
Lowering my standards for what is acceptable in life.
Not that I really have a choice.
I love these boys more than life itself and I'll go to the ends of the earth for them.
That's just a lot of walking.
And I'm really, really tired.