Chasing clocks

It’s been forever since I wrote in my blog. I usually write all of our updates on Facebook and in Elliot’s Army page, but this is a post of a different nature. One that I have been struggling with. I’m not even sure how to put it into words or how to accurately relay my feelings…but I have to try. I have to get this off my chest so I can try to find a sense of peace amongst the chaos.

We just returned home from another extended hospital stay. Number-I-lost-count-at-this-point. I use to know the number of days we spent inpatient over the past year, but I lost track around the 100-ish mark…which was several months ago.

And while each hospital stay is exhausting on every level…physically, emotionally, and mentally…the return home gets harder and harder each time, too. I count down the days until we are able to pack that tiny hospital room and say goodbye to that sorry excuse for a bed, but the reality is, I struggle the moment I walk through my front door. All around me are the reminders of what I missed. A lot changes in just a few weeks. And those weeks quickly start to add up. They rolled in to months and before I knew it, an entire year has just passed. And I know I can never get that time back.

This can be such a lonely place. Inside and outside of the hospital. Inside that tiny room I am alone with a sick child. No family. No friends. 6 hours away from the people who love us the most. Over the past year, we have had 4 visitors.

.4 total.

4 dear friends who packed up their lives for the day and traveled to see us, to give us some sort of normalcy. Do you have any idea how good it feels to just hug someone when you have been fighting for your child’s life…alone?

I do.

Outside of the hospital, a different type of loneliness sets it. It’s the loneliness of the reality of this life. One that not many people can understand or relate to, unless they have truly lived and breathed it.

And I don’t wish that upon anyone.

After returning from the hospital a few nights ago, I opened our bathroom cabinet to put something away, and it was a huge disaster. Nail polish, hair brushes, curling irons, toilet paper, bathroom supplies…spilled everywhere. And I lost it. I sat on that bathroom floor, staring at the cabinet, crying for an hour.

I couldn’t get up.

I couldn’t move.

I just sat there and cried. You see, I had just cleaned and organized that cabinet just a few days before we were abruptly admitted to the hospital. And here that cabinet was, in complete chaos again. I wasn’t crying because the cabinet was a mess…that’s how life goes with 4 kids…I broke down because I felt like that cabinet at that very moment. Everything put together and calm one minute and the next, it’s ripped apart again and I’m scrambling to put it all back together.

So I am left with 2 options…either frantically try to pick up the pieces of what I missed, or accept that it’s gone. See the thing is, you quickly realize that life went on without you. Everyone has gone on living their life while you were away. You are plucked from your life in an instant and dropped back in to it weeks later. You try like hell to catch up, but it becomes more and more impossible with each hospital stay.

I am forever chasing the clock. And in turn, it forever chases me. Because the moment we leave that hospital floor, I know the countdown begins to when we will return again.

I am learning that all I can do is try to live in the moment. Enjoy the things and people who make me the most happy…and hold on to faith that this will not be our life forever.