Tonight, my husband and I abandon May for the night. The entire night. He is taking me away to a surprise location for the evening. May will stay in the loving and spoiling arms of her Nana in Wales.
I made out a ridiculously long list of instructions for my MIL. It was so long, I had to apologize as I handed it over. “It’s not that I don’t think you know how to do all these things,” I sputtered.
The list sounded much like any paranoid mother’s list. If I summed it up, it would read, “Feed her and she will sleep.” Instead, it was a single-spaced, small font, volume of dribble.
One unlikely item halfway down the page, embedded between obvious statements such as “Will probably fall asleep taking a warm bottle” and “LOVES bananas” was the heading “In case of seizure…”
May hasn’t had a seizure since her first week in the hospital. But, even writing “seizure” made me queasy. I remember very clearly how she looked, how helpless and how pained.
With any luck, those days are long behind us. In that first week, I thought we’d be chained to our flat, imprisoned simply by the amount of equipment necessary to take May anywhere. Certainly, the idea that my husband and I could shoot off for the night was a total fantasy.
A fantasy come reality. Where is he taking me?