The Cerebral Mum

Well, Mum had been here for more than half of her holiday so it was looking like she’d be gone before Caspar had his surgery. All the information I had been given about a date was that I would be notified 3 weeks prior.

And then the phone rang.

Eleven days.

The surgery was scheduled for the 17th. They would send out a letter with the details.

“So that has all the information I need, like what to bring with me to the hospital?” I asked.

“Um. It just has general information,” says the faceless, knowledgeless one. And that was it.

When I hung up the phone, in spite of having been waiting eagerly for the date to be set, in spite of not being the least bit squeamish or worried about the operation and in spite of having kicked up a bit of a stink to get it scheduled as soon as possible after being dicked me around with my ENT appointments, every last cell in my body was trembling.

Eleven days.

With Mum here, there has been little time to dwell, or work myself up into a high-strung mess but it hasn’t been far from my mind. There is just this senseless restlessness, a kind of squirmy, uncomfortable anticipation. This gnawing feeling that there was something that I should be doing.

Of course, there was nothing that I actually could do. All I could do was wait.

I did keep wondering about what on earth I needed to pack. The last time I was in hospital was when Caspar was born and it was all strictly BYO. Bring your own formula, bring your own feeding equipment, bring your own nappies etc. Did I need to bring everything a baby needs for a five day stay? Formula and nappies are not so hard, but Caspar is eating three solid meals. How much fridge space would I have for his food? And what the hell could he eat after the surgery anyway? How much appetite would he have?

The documentation I received from the Cleft Clinics way back when said that he would need to be eating off a spoon and drinking from a cup but when I asked the surgeons to clarify that I was told not to worry about it. Should I be worried about it? Caspar has long since passed the spoonfeeding stage and is very much attached to feeding himself toast soldiers or steamed carrot sticks, and in spite of trying several different styles of baby cups, cups have proven to be a very efficient way to create more laundry for myself and a not very efficient way to provide sustenance.

So I called the hospital and was told that food, feeding equipment, nappies and bedding would all be supplied. I was also told that if I decided to stay (Huh? The CleftClinic told me that I would definitely be staying!) they would provide me with a sheet. A sheet! What does that mean? Do I sleep on a chair for five days, or something? So calling has left me with more questions and I have packed a ridiculous amount of clothes, toy, books etc.

And unpacked.

And repacked.

Twice.

But at least tomorrow, I will actually be doing something, and this nervous energy will have somewhere to go.