My mother recently reminded me that whenever I got sick as a child, it would usually and inconveniently happen on the weekend. With the doctor's office closed, we would have to go to the emergency. Kai takes after me in that way.
Last night (Saturday going on Sunday) he woke up at 3 am crying that his leg hurt. The only thing that calmed him down was a dose of oxycodone and ibuprofen. This felt like a big setback since we'd happily been off pain medications for the past week.
Again, it feels as if we have celebrated his recovery too soon. Everything did seem too good to be true. Maybe it is nothing to worry about. Previously underutilized arteries may just be getting used to the new blood flow (after all, he did recently say that he felt blood in his tummy and on his bones). Maybe he overexerted himself on the playground, trying to walk up the slide too many times. The doctors said that children are pretty good at moderating their own activity level and maybe he's still testing out the new parameters.
Then the thought occurs that all of the children we met at the hospital had multiple heart surgeries and that this may not be the closed chapter we have come to imagine after everything went so well, so quickly.
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