It’s 7:45. I lie in bed still and take shallow breaths. My eyes remain closed. I’m not ready to start the day. Movement forces me to acknowledge the pain that’s hovering, waiting for me to feel it. The kids will be up any minute. I swear the little one is able to hear me blinking from her bedroom across the hall. Once the baby is up, everyone else is up too, starting their day, all demanding my time and energy. I’ll have to smile and be pleasant and pretend that I’m not completely exhausted, completely overwhelmed. The big one will want to know what we have planned for today after school. She doesn’t know that I have six dollars in my checking account because I wasn’t able to work much last week. She doesn’t know that I barely slept two hours last night as the pain had me tossing and turning, again. Nor should she know.
(thoughts and statistics on why I probably won’t touch your cell phone)
We’re all taught from a young age (or so I hope) to wash our hands to remove the harmful bacteria that can make us sick. Signs line the bathroom walls in the restaurants we bring our families, reminding the individuals that handle our food to wash their hands. Us moms carry hand sanitizer as we carte our sweet little germ balls to school and ballet. We wash our dishes and wipe our counters clean and maintain proper hygiene all in an attempt to keep healthy and prevent the spread of germs and disease.
You are sick. Probably sicker than you have ever been. Now you are being told that you are going to have Picc line inserted. It’s going to be there for a matter of weeks and you are responsible for some of the care and maintenance of this medical device. What now?