a construction zone
building us a new normal
with noise and plastic

The equipment is here, the supplies are on their way. Thankfully, the nurses at the hospital helped us stockpile a bunch of stuff to help cut costs. It's all tucked stealthily away in the closet under the stairs; the Harry Potters of suction catheters and artificial noses.

We are trying to get organized, but we can barely hear each other over the noise of the air compressor for the trach collar. That's nothing compared to the suction pump, though. The suction pump is so loud, I expect to see plumes of black smoke rise from its coal-powered steam engine as it putters off the table on its way to Promontory Point.

For real.

Imagining the suction pump chugging off to Utah makes me wish I had some maker skills. Can you imagine how BAD ASS a steampunk trach care set would be? Steampunk air compressor and humidifier? Steampunk suction pump? Steampunk emergency oxygen? Someone could even turn the ambu bag into an airship. Aaaaawesome.

Just think. If Mal had a trach on Firefly, what would the accutrements look like? Serious bad assery, folks.

Even the tubing on the trach collar lends itself to a certain steampunk sensibility. Kind of Karl Kroenen Hellboy-esque (except he didn't actually have any tubing, so I guess kind of not).

Anyway.

The stuff is here. It's weird to be home from the hospital and still have all this equipment, but at least we're familiar with how it works for the most part. We are all going to go deaf and I am going to turn into officially the nerdiest mom of a trach baby ever, but, really, neither one of those things are a surprise at all.

Anyone know how to brass-i-fy an air compressor? How cool would it look if you lifted the outer casing and inside there were all of these shiny gears and parts and buffed mahogany doodads running the machine? And maybe a real steam engine on the suction pump would make it quieter. Though I hazard a guess it would be considerably less child-friendly.

One day the wee one will be old enough to do this. I can say, "Wee one! Steampunk this breast pump for me!" And he will roll his eyes, write a mental note for his upcoming memoir about what a nutjob mom he has, and get to work. Of course by then I won't need a breast pump, or hopefully a house full of air compressors and suction devices, but a girl can dream can't she?

Sure she can.