Virginia's Diary Entries Diary Navigation: Choose A Diary Entry -------------------- Latest Entry: 10/23/02 -------------------- 10/3/02 9/6/02 8/3/02 7/1/02 5/12/02 4/20/02 3/14/02 2/28/02 2/12/02 8/4/01 4/12/01 1/1/01 -------------------- Virginia's Introduction

Introduction

“Ever told your child, we'll do it tomorrow?
And in your haste, not seen his sorrow?
Have you ever watched kids on a merry-go-round?
Or listened to the rain slapping on the ground?”

This is a little extract from a poem I stumble across a little while ago. This morning, while I was racing around getting ready for work, Annie was waving books in front of my face chanting, “Read me a book Mum! Read me a book, Mum!” over and over and over. Apart from being as irritating as a mozzie circling your face on a hot winters night and aside from the fact that the magic word, “please” was notably absent, I could not help but feel additional aggravation because I was being impeded from completing my hectic morning routine and subsequently whisking out the door leaving two pairs of bright eyes capped by lipstick marked foreheads gazing from the door as I disappeared into the distance. Sometimes I wish that I could rewind the events of a morning or even a day for that matter. Perhaps I should have made time to read Annie a story or maybe in doing so I would perpetuate her obnoxious demands for attention. Certainly working full time constantly makes you question the way in which you allocate your time. Time becomes the most precious resource you have. So much so, that if I find myself alone with an hour to spare I am thrown into a spin wondering how best to use the time. Should I have a bath? Should I do the ironing or, sort the photos or maybe read a magazine instead? Then again perhaps I should write a diary entry? (Now can you see why the entries are few and far between?) No wonder this poem made an impression on me. I am guilty of rushing through life and missing the important stuff – I guess every one is from time to time. Occasionally though, I do slow down and really watch Annie and Tom play. Rather than feigning interest when Annie is enthusiastically relaying a story, expelling generic reposes like, “really!” or “mmm!”, instead I crouch down to Annie’s level or sit down on the ground and really listen to what she is saying. I sometimes join Tom down on the floor and commute on all flours by his side, nuzzling him in the tummy with my nose (it is amazing how much dust you see at an alternate level – but that is not what I am trying to get at). Every now and then I jump into the bath with Annie and Tom, and initiate a game of splashing, creating tidal waves – not caring one little bit about what the frenzy of water expulsion is doing to the bathroom floor. These occasions are rare. Too rare. To quote yet another insightful phrase “Life is what happens when you are busy making other plans”. Now I know that I am delving into the depths of philosophy but sometimes you just have to reflect on life and what is important, which is one of the prime reasons I write this diary. As it is Friday and there is an entire weekend waiting to be harnessed, it is the perfect time to get my priorities in order. So with no further ado, I am going to take a break from writing, turn off the computer and go PLAY with my family!!

A bit over a week later:
I am back and unfortunately for those subjected to my diarised prattling, I am still in my deep mood. Annie had to have her tonsils out last Tuesday. She has been haunted by recurrent tonsillitis and it was beginning to effect her physical development. The ear nose and throat guy decided that they had to go. We had to be at the hospital at the very unreasonable time of 0630 AM. Regardless of my attempt to prepare Annie by playing doctors and nurses, she did not have a clue what lay ahead. Annie approached the procedure as if it were a great adventure. First of all we were out and about very early and she did not have to eat breakfast – she just loves to get out of the house. Whatsmore we were in Poppy’s car. Mum and Dad (aka Mamma and Poppy) had come down to help in the post-operative care. As Liza needed the car to transport Tom about, I borrowed Pop’s car. When we arrived at the hospital Annie was showered with attention from the nurses. She had her own little bed and it was a pretty cool bed. There was a button to make it go up, another to make it go down and a number of others, which did lots of other stuff. On top of that, Annie had her very own television and remote control. A hospital bracelet was popped on her wrist and another band on her ankle. She was given a tiny little hospital gown to wear. Not many can carry-off the backless gown look – but my Annie was one of those few. As she ran up the hospital hallways her little bottom was adorably exposed. Watching her excitedly playing with another unsuspecting child in the adjacent room, made me feel pangs of guilt. She was happy, healthy and completely well. Yet I was responsible for turning the laughter into crying and the enthusiasm into listlessness. I know, ultimately having her tonsils out was the right decision, but it still does not stop you from considering irrational thoughts.

By 0830 AM Annie was being wheeled to the operating theatre. “I am having a ride”, she exclaimed. On the way Annie was given a pre-operative drug to relax her. It was just a little cup of clear liquid, but boy was it effective. Within minutes, Annie’s face took on a dopey expression and she lay almost motionless with a tinny relaxed grin on her face, from which tiny droplets of drool escaped. “Can you buy this magical liquid over the counter at the pharmacy?”, I questioned. The nurse told me that she gets asked that a lot. It was just as well Annie had been given something to relax her, as the surgery room is a very intimidating place. I wish I had something to calm my nerves a little. The sterility, the lights, masked emotionless people robotically going about their jobs. Fortunately, the anaesthesiologist was very child-friendly. As soon as Annie was out, I was escorted out of the operating theatre and told to wait until I was called.

An hour later and I was ushered into the recovery room. Annie was just waking up. As expected the immense discomfort of her throat coupled with the disorientation resulting for the anaesthetic, made for one upset little girl. It took a great deal of physical restraint and immense emotional composure not to mention every mothering skill at my disposal, in order to calm Annie. Definitely one of the most distressing situations I have encountered as a mother to date. Fortunately it was not long before she surrendered to the aggravation and collapsed into slumber cradled in my arms. The following two hours I watch her sleep. I traced her perfect shell ear, touched the wisps of hair that lay on her brow. The sound of her breathing calmed the butterflies in my belly. I sat motionless so as not to disturb her, holding her tiny hand in mine. As she slept I gazed at her beautiful little face - I fell in love all over again.

Which was just as well – because the week to follow required every morsel of love that I could squeeze out of my being. Don’t get me wrong, I understand how much pain Annie must have endured and still is enduring for that matter. However, the constant need for attention, the temper tantrums, irritability, emotional outburst (predominantly at poor old Tom) and the whingeing little voice; can test the patience of the most unwearied mortal. I have however maintain composure and have not lost my temper once. I have demonstrated nothing but compassion. But I am not ashamed to say that I could not wait to return to work after a three-day absence. Having said all this, I must comment that Annie was incredibly brave. Immediately after the operation she was amazingly tolerant and very resilient to all the poking and prodding she received from the doctors and nurses. Besides her initial attempts to remove the drip, she accepted that she had to leave it alone and quickly adapted to modifying her movements to accommodate her attachment. It is almost a week flowing the operation and although the hospital identification band on her wrist is yet to be removed (I would not dare try – it actually came in handy when I lost her in target yesterday – but that is a whole other story), I am beginning to see a glimpse of the pre-tonsillectomy Annie. She does get very tired and still can be easily irritated but I think we are over the worst.