Night is Lonely

Night is lonely.  Waiting for the proper time to give Ilse her feeding or medicine, when the house is silent, the husband is dozing on the couch, and refrigerator seems extra loud.... Yes.  Lonely is exactly what it's like.  It reminds me of being up at the hospital for hours and hours just waiting.  It reminds me of suppers from vending machines eaten alone.

Maybe only other parents of kids with "special needs" would understand.  There are so many things that dictate how long I will be up waiting.  When Ilse is stirring I can't start her food.  She would wake up and barf.  When Ilse is stirring or awake I can't give administer her ultra important antibiotic.

Here shortly I will get from the fridge the last bottle of the blend I made this morning.  I will water it down a bit and slowly syringe it into her extension because it has been messing up in the bag all day. If I syringe it too fast, she will wake up.  If I syringe it too slow, I will end up shifting too much and making noise and she will wake up.  If I don't walk just carefully enough my feet will catch on the carpet and make a noise, and she will wake up.  If I can manage to give her the food without waking her up, then I can also give her the antibiotic.  Then, if she is absolutely dead asleep, I can get my shower and go to bed.  If she is stirring, I can't go shower because she might barf and there isn't anyone to hear her but me.

This nighttime routine is like carrying six fifty-pound bags on a quarter inch thick piece of ice and hoping you don't fall through.

I know I am not the only one doing the nighttime waiting.  I know I am not the only one who thinks it is lonely.

May we all find a bit of comfort tonight.