Hey, so remember how I posted that long thing about finally getting our Cincy dates for Ike-a-saurus and how I was all in a tizzy about it and blah blah [insert freak out post here]?
Well. I got a call this week that the surgeon is now unavailable for the July dates. I actually laughed when the scheduler told me this, because, of course the surgeon is unavailable. Isn't that what ALWAYS happens when you talk about something on your blog and tell all your friends and ask people to send good thoughts out into the ether?
You jinx the ever-loving shit out of things.
So even though I should have been all, "Oh, DAMN, WHAT?!" I was just, "Of course he's unavailable. Ha Ha. Sorry, my fault."
The thing is, though, they managed to get us rescheduled. For the first week of June.
This means we leave in FIVE WEEKS.
I spent much of yesterday panic attacking all over the place. Going up there in June means losing an entire month of weight gain, which is pretty critical. It means I have to start getting travel plans planned. It means the wee one will have to miss the last few days of school. It also means my husband and Ike and I will be out of town for the wee one's 8th birthday. Mom fail. We will also miss the kick ass Star Wars extravaganza that we bought tickets for ages ago. It's a surprise birthday present for the wee one. I'm sure the grandparents can take the kids to the Star Wars thing, and I know trachs trump live Star Wars concerts, but still. Sigh.
Five weeks. We could get there and have to turn around and come right home. Or we could get there and have epic surgery, get the trach out and then come home. Or one of a million other less desirable things could happen.
Plane tickets, hotel, unpaid leave, finishing a book manuscript, figuring out a plan for the wee one and the wee-er one, not FLIPPING OUT. Suddenly, everything has to happen now now now.