No, there are no cute Memorial Day photos of Eliza happily enjoying a barbecue. There is very little Eliza enjoyed about this weekend. The ill-fated trip to Toys R Us on Saturday resulted in a two our screaming, crying meltdown. Today's attempt to attend a barbecue was likewise not "well received." When she does have one of these meltdowns through her tears she says "don't cry," go figure. Actually Eliza was quite content to sit in the car in the driveway, but that seemed to defeat the purpose of attending a holiday function. While our hosts and other guests repeatedly told me they didn't "mind" the screaming and thrashing about, they were a bit nonplussed when I pointed out that neither I nor Eliza were enjoying this which was really why we were leaving. Protestations to the contrary I am sure they breathed a collective sigh of relief when we left early.
So what does the above number mean?
Nope, not the winning Take 4 number. Not the last four digits oif my social security number. A very respectable year of billing at a big law firm? Wrong again. It is the number of hours of therapy Eliza has attended since leaving the NICU almost 3 years ago. This does not include the number of hours spent getting evaluated by some therapaist or doctor, or the hours spent in a doctor's office.
What do we really have to show for this? Eliza can't eat any food more difficult or comlex than half an oreo (no cream). She is three and cannot navigate steps on her own. She can't remotely dress or undress herself. She can't attend any gathering with more than 3 people. She can't really say more than a few phrases (although bless her heart she knows the difference between an alpaca and a llama). Would she have been in the exact same spot but have been a happier kid without all of this?
That is the 3,640 dollar question, now isn't it?