“Blimey mum, has Libby always been this loud.” quipped my son within two minutes of having a bright red aid placed in his ear.
The answer was yes.
“Blimey mum, is my voice always this booming?” was his next comment.
Surprisingly, my answer was again, yes.
The last few hours have been a sensation of audio thrills for Owen. To be honest I didn’t realise how much he has not been hearing until he got some of his hearing back.
But with an improved hearing, also comes a lingering sadness. For two years we have tried everything to improve Owens’ ears, to avoid having artificial aids.
Nothing has worked. In fact his left ear has over 50% hearing loss, but has also had an raging infection for almost five months. A hearing aid is not going to help the left ear, instead he faces major surgery, which requires a fortnight recuperation at home, before he has hope of hearing ‘normally.’
More time in hospitals, more time spent wringing my hands whilst one of my babies goes under a surgeon’s knife. More follow up appointments, more worry.
Have we not had enough?
I used to joke that our medical baggage kept this blog running, now I am struggle to see the funny side.
I just need a day to get my head around it all. Then I can plaster on a smile and resume life as usual.
It is just a bit exhausting. I have birthed three amazing independent, gorgeous children. Each has a hint of uniqueness and a medical badge of honour. None of them are sickly, in fact they are robust little beggars. Yet we find ourselves in hospital playrooms almost twice a month.
Between them they have 14 fixed appointments a year in a hospital wing. These are ongoing until they reach adulthood. The reality is they go far more often and often I find myself reading in a waiting room twice a week.
I know I should be grateful that it is not worse, and god knows we see some sick kids on our travels, and I know some wonderful, poorly adults.
I am grateful, but still, just a little pissed off.
I used to have a job I loved. It seems like a bridge too far to ever imagine being able to go back with the time I need to spend dating the NHS.
Over three years I have learnt a host of new medical skills, how to administer rectal diazepam for seizures, how to change nappies in a spicy cast, how to administer insulin through needles and a pump. I can change cannulas with ease, perform physio on hips and ankles.
I am a walking first aid box.
Now I can care for a hearing aid (it is pretty easy). Soon I will be adding post surgery skills of the inner ear to my repertoire.
Most days I can count my blessings and smile and laugh it all away. But on others, I am simply sick of all this crap and enjoy the selfish longing for my life before I started spending all my family time with the NHS.
Today is one of those days.
Tomorrow will be better.