Tomorrow morning I will make that familiar trek out to Westmead at the crack of dawn. We will shuffle in to the admissions department where we will line up with the other nervous parents holding pyjama clad children grumpy from the pre-op fast.
I am conflicted in my hatred of Westmead. I feel guilty for despising the very place that keeps my Ted alive. The place filled with amazing, selfless miracle-working nurses and doctors happens to be the place that makes me sick with anxiety. The place I really never want to see again. Every minute I am at that hospital I really want to be anywhere else.
Tomorrow Ted is back there for his tonsillectomy and adenoidectomy. While this sort of surgery is run of the mill it does carry more risk for Ted but all going well we are only looking at a few days in hospital. Irrationally those few days for me will feel like forever.
It’s not just the grubby facilities and the general communist feel you get when “computer says no” and people treat you like an inmate rather than the parent of a sick child… Westmead is the place I watched my baby fight for life, where bad news was delivered time and time again. It is the place where I made friends and then watched as their children lost their fight… For me it is mostly a place of anxiety but deep down I can admit it is also a place of hope.
So in the spirit of Easter hope I will show you a cute picture of my three sleepy bunnies up before the sun yesterday for their egg hunt. A cute photo is essential for ending a whiney post on a positive note is it not?