I found the driver in baggage claim as instructed. I was super excited to get to the summit and meet all the other mom bloggers! “Yahoo!”, I was thinking, as we left the airport. Watching the bright, summer urban landscape slide by as we headed for the Four Seasons, I could already envision the comfy bed and a night or two of actual sleep. Well, that is if I don’t stay up late gabbing. And drinking wine. And eating chocolate. All appealing choices to be sure. What I most look forward to is meeting the amazing women who write for this group. I count myself fortunate to be part of it. I reflected on the California terrain I had seen changing from summer brown, to fall/winter flat, to spring mountainous and green during the short flight, and I dozed off . . .
The Yahoo! signature ‘purple’ carpet arrival and the sleek black limousine were the first indicators of a classy ‘do’. Since the birth of my triplets two and a half years ago, I have learned to keep an open mind and adjustable expectations. I was just happy to have a break. But this was already exceeding anything I could have imagined. Connecting with other mom bloggers, we all grinned passing through the Yahoo! guard gate. The amount of treats, sweets and snacks we found inside at our disposal, was overwhelming. Not to mention the free espressos and lattes. Holy caffeinated conference!
Panels of Yahoo! directors and the Motherboard creators imparted much wisdom and provided inspiration for attendees on marketing, monetizing, online safety – you name it. So much information, that everyone needed a drink, or three, later at dinner. Pitchers of hurricanes dotted the dinner table, which naturally led to strawberry ginger mojitos, pool side chats, and of course, karaoke. Twitter was ablaze with energy since none of us could keep it to ourselves.
The most revered treats were the cupcakes. Mmmm. Cream cheese frosting, fancy decorations, and plenty of them. The lasting effect influenced some of the gals to watch a cupcake show long after the festivities ended. The Four Seasons has a reputation for luxury, and they did not disappoint. Soft pillows, fluffy bedspreads, deep bathtubs, and TVs in the bathroom. I’d never leave my bathroom if I had that at home. Wait, yes I would. I don’t like bathrooms that much. But I digress. The ‘stitch and bitch’ after party was laden with candy and wine and cute flower crafts to make. If only life were always this . . .
. . . BEEP! . . . BEEP! . . . BEEP! . . . what the hell IS that? I awoke slowly, wondering if that annoying sound was generated by the airplane. Then I panicked about it, and quickly looked around hoping I hadn’t drooled on my seat mate until I realized my surroundings looked nothing like a plane.
I was I in a hospital room, lying on a bench/bed, next to a crib in which my son lay recovering from his 11th brain surgery. I shook my head and took a deep breath. Ohhhh geez. It all came back to me in a rush. The vomiting, the screaming, the CT scan, the ER. His wails as they poked him with a needle to start the IV. Getting moved to the Pediatric floor at 3 a.m., and surgery at 8 a.m. to repair his yet again failed VP shunt. This was the fourth such incident in six months. When does this kid get a break? I looked over at him and he smiled his flirty little smile and said, “Hi Mommy!” in his impossibly high voice. I melted and wanted to cry at the same time from relief.
Though disappointed to miss the YMB Summit, the irony lies in that my son is the reason I was even invited in the first place. I am a mom. There is no way anything is more important than him. Commonplace as these hospital visits have become to us, diminished is not the fact that it is indeed, brain surgery. While I would have loved to frolic, drink and learn (not necessarily in that order), a higher purpose was at stake. And I have high hopes.
I hope that my son does not have to endure this again for a very long time. I hope that I can keep being strong for my son and my family when they need me. I hope that I can be the mom he needs. I hope that I can sleep in my own bed (if not a fluffy hotel bed), and not a hospital couch. It might not have been the Four Seasons, but one is enough for me - Spring. Spring is the season of hope. And hope springs eternal.