It's like" Groundhog Day", but without the piano lessons or snow

I haven’t thought about it until this very moment, but that is really a very good analogy. I could be living my own version of the movie “Groundhog Day”.

It’s been my mom and Alan and me living in this one room at the RMH for 8 days, give or take.

We have:
2 queen size beds facing each other from opposite walls
2 nightstands.
One chest of drawers.
One portable play/pen crib.
One wicked wicker rocking chair. You get a limited number of rocks before it travels itself all the way to the wall.
One highchair
One minifridge
One full-size closet.
One long counter, with one sink, and two tiny, shallow drawers.

Alan cannot be around crowds while he is so fresh out from transplant, so we keep him in the room 95% of the time. That means at least one of us, and usually both, are in the room…. 95% of the time.

We have gotten permission to eat in the room, which is nice, because before we were taking turns eating alone in the dining area. Not fun. Now we take turns going and filling a take-out box or two and hauling it back to the room, hoping nobody notices, since that is clearly against the rules. I feel like wearing a sign - “I’m feeding the baby in isolation.”

RMH has wireless internet, but for some reason it doesn’t reach down our little hallway, so no getting online from our room. Where we spend 95% of our time. There is a little “Adult Living Room” just across the hall from our pod of rooms/bathrooms where we escape to get an internet fix. And just so you know, apparently some people consider watching tv “living” while doing stuff on your computer doesn’t count. Which would mean those people think that people doing stuff on their computer should clear out of the “Adult TV Room” so other people can watch TV. Ummmm… no. The sign clearly says “Living Room”, not “TV Room.” Oh anyway. Ignore my issues with other RMH residents.

Back to our days….

We find plenty to stay busy and pass the time. Diapers. Morning meds. Breakfast. Playing. Cleaning house. A nap for Alan, if we’re lucky. Lunch. More diapers. More meds. More playing. A nap for Alan, if we’re lucky. Diaper. Supper. Play. Diapers. Meds. Trytrytrytrytry to get Alan to go to sleep for the night. Fall into bed exhausted. Wake up with Alan every 1-3 hours. Get up and start over again the next day.

We mix in a little computer time. Read a magazine. Meet a parent of another sick kid.

Yep. Groundhog Day. Over and over again. Hey! The real G-hog day is just a few days away! Instead of waiting for a rodent to predict the duration of winter, I think we’ll just send Alan out. If he sees his shadow… well…. I guess I’ll get started on those piano lessons!