when it rains...

it pours.

Four weeks ago my sweet great-grandmother was diagnosed with Pancreatic cancer and was given six months to live. As hard as it was to accept the fact that she had a "time frame" on her life, we were at least thankful because we felt like we had enough time to spend some "quality" time with her, most importantly, Claire would be able to meet her great, great-grandma, Nanny.

Last Tuesday, my father-in-law had a double knee replacement surgery. He's in a tremendous about of pain (as you would expect) but is working hard in physical therapy each day. 

The following day, Wednesday, Matt found out that he was going to have to go under the knife again because his elbow replacement was not fitting properly.  Another orthopedic surgeon would be replacing his replacement. Ugh. He was doing so well. Going to therapy twice a week and was finally able to do a lot of things he hadn't been able to do since his accident five and a half weeks ago.

Two days later, Friday, we got a late night call from my sister explaining that my Nanny had officially stopped eating and how the home health nurse said that, typically, a patient will stop drinking shortly after they stop eating. She told me that she will most likely only have a couple of weeks, rather than than the months we thought she had. I so desperately want her to meet Claire, but she's just not ready for a two and a half hour trip (each way). Not to mention that she really shouldn't be out and about at only one week old. I have been having a really hard time with this. I've tried to call her but she's hooked up to morphine to keep her pain at ease and to help her sleep.

This past weekend I ended up with mastitis. I felt like hell. Thankfully Claire slept for 5 hours straight the night I was most sick. I woke up with a 101.7 fever on Sunday morning and was in bed the entire day, only getting up to feed the babe. I called maternity and the on-call ob ordered me an antibiotic.

As of now, 11:15 Tuesday morning, Matt's already in and out of surgery and I'm feeling better, praise God. Matty's recovery starts all over again. He won't even start physical therapy for two weeks. I feel bad because all he wants to do is pick up his little girl, he wants to be able to comfort her when she's crying while I'm in the shower or going to the bathroom, and believe it or not, he wants to be able to change her dirty, stinky diapers (yes, this is the truth). Ohh the things we take for granted.

For now, we have to work on getting him better.

here's claire this morning. her and mommy are staying in our pjs today!

please excuse the dirty diaper rolled up in the back!