Tomorrow’s the day.
We are tucked in our beds. Savannah’s suitcase has been re-packed with EEG-friendly clothes. We have reached the food prohibition time. Now, I am waiting for her to fall asleep so I can hide the snacks and water and everyday clothes. Then I can pull out the toys I’ve snuck along, just for a hospital surprise, in the hopes she’ll play with them.
The rational part of me wishes she would go to sleep. Midnight has passed, my body is tired, and the shuttle leaves bright and early. The realist part of me knows that even if Savannah was asleep and the food was hidden and the toys were packed, I would still be lying here awake. I would be waiting for tomorrow. Waiting for the shuttle, the anesthesiologist, the insurance approval.
There’s too much to wait for to sleep.
Tag Archives: regressive
There’s no way to know what to expect. There could be a melt down or an aggressive episode or a potty accident. On the other hand, there’s no way to know what to expect. There may be stares, judgements or ignorant words that hurt nonverbal feelings.
Every outting is a gamble. There’s no guarantee nor predictability. All I can do is consider if there’s a possibility Savannah may enjoy it and be prepared with an exit strategy.
Last night we went bowling. Not Special Olympics Bowling. Not bowling with the expectation of disabilities. Not bowling with a safety net. We went bowling. Ordinary bowling alley with ordinary kids on an ordinary Tuesday. . . Well, it was suppose to be an ordinary Tuesday. Instead, it became the Tuesday we went bowling.
Savannah’s brother is a Cub Scout, and all families were invited to bowling. All families. All parents. All siblings. And so we went.
At first Savannah was overwhelmed by the noise. We lingered in the entry way, enjoying the rubber duck collection in an arcade game. And then in happened, her brother’s den leader came over to say hi to Savannah. She visited and admired the ducks with Savannah before returning to the boys. Then the assistant troop leader came over and said hi to Savannah while trading in her shoes.
Once Savannah saw the bowling shoes, she was ready. Once her shoes were on, we cut through the noise and crowd and to the Scout lanes. She only bowled three frames before she was ready to leave with a large proud smile, but while there, with each throw, the Scout parents cheered. It may have only been three frames, but they were three successful frames. Three frames that taught me, we could bowl again.
There’s no way to know what to expect. There can be smiles and bravery and bowling. On the other hand, there’s no way to know what to expect. There can be acceptance and cheers and hidden blessings.