It's Complicated

 Life is complicated. Everyday processes are changed by circumstances to become onerous challenges. Deadlines are shifted by emergencies that turn plans on their ears. Expectations are thwarted, requiring spur-of-the-moment choices that may or may not work out.

 It seems that all of these things have happened to me in the last week.

 I mentioned in my last post that I had broken my left wrist in a fall on Sunday. On Tuesday, I got a lovely pink camo cast and a surgical referral. On Wednesday, my youngest, Victoria, called to say that she was being admitted to the hospital because her blood pressure had skyrocketed, and they wanted to deliver the baby for everyone’s safety.

 That meant our grandson AJ would need supervision and housing. The family lives in San Angelo, Texas, about a six-hour drive from home. So on Thursday we got in the car and took off for San Angelo on a rescue mission. We arrived at 4:30 p.m. to discover that Victoria had just been wheeled into surgery.

 Her partner was waiting for us to take charge of AJ so he could be at the delivery with her. After checking into our hotel, we took AJ back to the hospital to see his mom. We couldn’t see the new baby—officially Tori Ava’eh—that night, but promises were made for the morning.

 Michael and I were allowed into the NICU after quite a bit of paperwork and thorough handwashing instructions. Baby Tori’s nurse brought us to a tiny incubator draped with a sweet little quilt. When she turned back the quilt, we saw a miniature infant nested in blankets, monitors, and tubes. Her feet weren’t an inch long, but she had all her toes.

 Born at 33 weeks, Tori weighed all of 3 pounds 6 ounces. I stared at her perfectly formed, beautiful little body, smaller than a baby doll, with wonder. I’m not ashamed to have cried. Because of her mother’s preeclampsia, this wee thing is facing the world woefully unprepared.

 And speaking of unprepared, we are not in our wheelhouse with a hefty, rambunctious four-year-old boy. AJ is in the 99^th percentile on all of his measurements, a child so solid and tall that even Michael struggles to lift him. I don’t even try. Add to that his extremely rigid and limited diet—yes; he’s one of those Avoidant/Restrictive Food Intake kids.

 When we left San Angelo, his mother told me he would eat chicken fries, French fries, Cinnamon Toast Crunch cereal (no milk), cheddar/sour cream potato chips, plain ramen, and peanut butter crackers. Since we arrived home Friday, that list has diminished to chicken fries, peanut butter crackers, and ramen. Oh, and any sweet drink that isn’t milk or water. I feel massive guilt every time I feed him!

 I think we’ll have AJ for another two weeks. He’s rough-and-tumble, loud, and ill-mannered—everything you’d expect from a child who just turned four two weeks ago. Michael and I are as flexible and permissive as you’d expect from two elderly people on the other side of 75. It’s been a little rough on everyone, with lots of kisses, hugs, and I-love-yous dotted across the landscape.

 The final complication in this terribly confusing and difficult week announced itself today, when I met with the hand surgeon. She convinced me, based not only on my current fracture but also on a surgery from years ago on the same hand that has gone south, that I need an extensive rebuild of my thumb and wrist. I can’t even talk about it at the moment because I’m still processing the bad news.

 There are upsides to all this. Tori Ava’eh is doing well for a 33-week preemie. Victoria is recovering from her surgery and is out of danger from preeclampsia. We are taking AJ home before the surgery. And I have an excellent chance of healing before it is time for us to leave for Vienna.

 I prefer weeks when this blog considers interesting topics and explores striking ideas. But some weeks, a hefty dose of reality is all I’ve got to offer.

 What has reality heaped on you this week? Do you see any upsides? I hope so.

 Ciao