“He who is certain he knows the ending of things when he is only beginning them is either extremely wise or extremely foolish; no matter which is true, he is certainly an unhappy man, for he has put a knife in the heart of wonder.” Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn

I drafted this a week ago…little did I know that life would throw up complications and we’d be looking at a minimum of fours weeks in isolation.

Today marks the end of two weeks of isolation leading up to Miss 2’s surgery. She spends the night in my bed (she’s refused to sleep in hers since we were rushed to hospital by ambulance for Mother’s Day) and is awake all day with it just the two of us. There is a distinct lack of personal space and it’s challenging for both of us. The only time that I have to myself is an hour or so in the evening, after finishing up cleaning the house, before collapsing into bed beside her.

Week 1 was a particularly vicious head cold with rivers of snot that covered her face no matter how often I wiped it away. Her facial dermatitis was miserable, her already swollen airways blocked up, and she’d give up on sleep entirely somewhere between 2am and 4am when the fluid build-up got too much (and she needed to be upright to have it drain away). Being awake around the clock was beyond exhausting, I got sick too, I dragged myself through each day, I was grateful whenever she was willing to listen to audio stories that might give me a break for twenty minutes.

She hit rock bottom after about 7 days and then slowly started to improve. Her doctor advised that with her surgery so close we were best to spend another week away from playgroups, Sunday School, gatherings of kids, and, well, anywhere germy, to try and prevent her from catching a secondary infection. Historically. her compromised immune system has meant a rolling series of viral infections for weeks at a time.

She missed her friends. She missed her rountines. She stomped around the house (literally) telling me, “I’m a grumpy old troll! I’m ANGRY! I want (insert names of friends)”. I’m proud of her emotional recognition and expression; I’m glad that teaching her to stomp (as opposed to kick, hit, bite, or throw) as a healthy way of venting her feelings seems to be helping. It’s exhausting and it sucks for both of us.

It’s been a mental challenge each day trying to work out where we can for the morning that ideally doesn’t cost money, will interest her, doesn’t involve kids, and can’t be an indoor playground / attraction (because let’s face it those things hardly ever get disinfected!). Oh, and it’s winter, cold, and rain keeps threatening on the weather forecast.

Each day I have to try and be cheerful, positive, and zen. Some days I do better than others. Some days I’ve burst into tears in public toilets while she just keeps tantruming and I can’t even have 30 seconds to pee in quiet (not alone, just peacefully). Some days it feels overwhelming that not only do we have to get to the surgery but then we’re still going to need to be careful about post-op infection. Some days the logistics of our upcoming hospital stay, needing to take all our food with us, needing to look after her alone (and just physically carrying everything!) seems overwhelming.

So I’ve tried to find the beauty in each day for us. She delights in the small details – the differing colours and shapes of leaves, throwing seed cones into the ocean and watching them bob like boats, stopping to listen to birds sing.

We’ve walked through parks of imported oak trees with their beautiful autumn leaves still covering the ground like snow.

We’ve spent hours exploring Botanic Gardens admiring the hidden mazes and the surprise of colourful roses even though it’s winter.

We had one morning that saw me teaching her chess in the library while the wind and rain swirled outside, only for it to suddenly be replaced by a little beachside microcosm of warm blue skies and sunshine. We walked on the sand, splashed in the waves, and drew pictures in the sand creating beach art.

Being isolated was anything but splendid (although it makes for a catchier title) but looking for the beauty in each day and seeking a positive focus made it more bearable. We can’t always change our circumstances, we can only change how we choose to view our circumstances and how we react within them.