The Beast has broken his leg and is, as I type, on his way to a specialist in another city. He may (or may not) have a rare bone disease. disorder. condition. something.
My poor, youngest baby, is doped up on morphine and in an ambulance speeding away from me (with B. he isn't alone. I would never leave him alone). I've never spent a single night away from him. Until now.
I'm not going to get into my feelings about the lack of anything actually happening during the 10ish hours they spent at the local hospital. X-rays and an MRI. And a lot of waiting.
Needless to say, I am not alright.
I've had three panic attacks today. Nearly hyperventilated twice. I feel terrible and I'm still not 100% sure about what is going on with my youngest. I can only hope that tomorrow (Sunday. technically today. it's after midnight) there is good news. I'd like his surgeon to be brilliant and talented. I'd like the Beast to have the best case scenario of all of this. And then I want him home with me again.
By order of B I need to take my sleep medication (melatonin) and attempt to rest now.