12/52

"A portrait of my children, once a week, every week, in 2013." Che and Fidel.

Cohen: Four year olds. They have the ability to make you laugh while simultaneously throwing your hands in the air in frustration. Despite excitedly wearing his new costume before his friends pirate party, he refused to wear it to the party, later asking if we could go to another party so he could now wear the costume...

Emerson: She has learnt to climb. Lounge, chairs, bed, bedside tables. She is quite pleased with her new found skill and practices it diligently, despite the accompanying bruises.

This week has had it's share of difficulties, including four hours at the hospital in eye casualty. It's been an emotional week I will admit. But I am blessed to have dear family and friends. From phone calls and messages, frozen meals and potted plants, baby sitting and driving, others have given so much of their time and their selves since the operations. Never before as an adult have I felt quite so dependent or so loved. I'm not sure how to adequately thank them, my beautiful husband and sister especially.

Mothering is made more difficult when you are not well. Pain amplifies normal everyday frustrations. Patience is the first casualty. Cabin fever is rife after two weeks, for all three of us. Compounded by two months of chaos. Each day that I have felt a little better and taken on a little more again, I have felt a little more the weight of all I have yet to catch up on. It is easy to feel overwhelmed, even if this to-do list is partly of my own devising. Each day I have been reminding myself to just stop and play with my children. To listen. Put myself in their shoes. Let them lead. Breathe them in. Watch them play. Despite the trying times, there are so many precious memories from this period that I want to hold tight to.

- the way Cohen hides each time he hears a car arrive, or a knock at the door, then giggles and yells surprise!

- his earnest face as he informed me this week at the library that, "This is my favourite place in the whole world."
- Emerson in the stage before walking, pushing the yellow wooden cart I learnt to walk with, up and down the hallway, before climbing inside of it and waiting for someone to push her

- laying in bed beside Cohen at bedtime and being asked to stay forever

- being told he loves me "thissss much!" as he flings his arms out wide and the way he waits for me to do the same.The way he squeals and giggles, half in delight and half in mock fear, if I pretend I only love his "this much," my hands only a little apart 

- dramatic baby kisses, complete with "mwah!" sound effects and bright eyes
- the contented sigh Emerson gives as she feeds to sleep

- his first taste of school this week at a Prep morning play, where next years Preppies visit the classrooms and meet the teachers. As he sat at the tables with the other children I really could not deny that he is growing up

Here's to a week filled with simple joys and the ability to recognise them.

10/52

"A portrait of my children, once a week, every week, in 2013." Che and Fidel.

Cohen: They went quiet, so I went to investigate. 

Emerson: She is standing unsupported for longer and longer now.

It's been a week of quiet here. A week of bed rest. A schedule of pain medication and eye drops. A week of listening to the children play, the rain fall and life continue without my help. I was overly optimistic in my last post, hoping to be back in a couple of days. It was not to be. Surgery did not go as smoothly this time. The first anesthetic block didn't work fully and I could feel the instruments at work on my eye. The second block did not alleviate the pain either. It was the stuff of nightmares, being operated on without pain relief. Eventually I was given a general anesthetic. I woke up to the advice that I could not breastfeed for twenty-four hours. I had to fight my instincts that night as my husband and my sister tried to settle my screaming, teething daughter. It was heartbreaking. 

The worst is behind us now thankfully. My eye is healing, swollen shut as it is. My right eye tires easily, but there is time for cuddles, a cup of tea, a little crochet, or a little reading (large print) with rests in between. 

I hope to be back in this space more fully again soon. In the meantime be well and hold those you love near.

Suddenly

Knitting in the waiting room

In one moment your life can change dramatically. One unexpected moment. And as you will be reminded it could always have been worse, and it will get better. Statements which both comfort and frustrate. Though I am grateful. There is still the shock of it, the why me moments, the acceptance of it, the plan of treatment. The questions, concerns, hypotheticals. Quite simply, the retina has detached in both my eyes and they require surgery within a month of each other. (Those readers who are less squeamish may be inclined to watch this You tube clip of a Scleral Buckle.)

I noticed on the weekend that when I closed my right eye the vision in my left eye was blurry. I'd had floaters for quite some time, but this was not uncommon for me and I always mentioned it at my yearly optometrist appointments. Monday morning I rang the optometrist and couldn't get an appointment until Thursday afternoon. At my appointment I was diagnosed immediately with retinal displacement of my left eye. Within minutes the optometrist was on the phone to the hospital, inquiring whether they could operate on me that night. It was frighteningly sudden. In the end, I was expected at the hospital first thing this morning, with the possibility of surgery today.

I spent much of today in the waiting room at eye casualty, my sister beside me. Six pairs of eyes peered in to mine and it was confirmed that both eyes were affected and required surgery. The right being less damaged needed repairing first to ensure it torn no further. The left, the damage being done, will be improved by surgery, but will never be the same again, I will have permanent vision loss. The first surgery is now booked for Monday morning.

From Monday I will be stepping away from the blog for an undetermined length of time. (I have portraits to post on Sunday.) My vision is not expected to return to normal for up to six weeks. (No knitting!?!) So dear readers let me ask of you, if you have floaters in your eyes, or flashes of light (whether your eyes are open or closed), or see grey curtains across your vision please see an optometrist and mention them when you book your appointment. I will check in when I can to update you, here or via Facebook and Instagram.