We now know the internally commissioned external investigation draft report* will arrive by courier on Saturday morning.  It’s good to know exactly when to expect it but this is an enormous thing to wait for.

So enormous, I’m not sure how we deal with it really.

Not your usual post that’s for sure. I doubt the courier will have any idea of the importance of what s/he is delivering. Of this carefully crafted set of words relating back to last summer and earlier. To when LB was alive. If I open the door maybe I’ll mention it in passing as I sign the receipt. Or maybe I’ll hide in bed. Gnawing on my knuckles until it’s signed for.  It’s tricky when you don’t have any reference points to make sense of ‘reading an investigation report into your child’s death in hospital’.

Then there are the decisions around how to read it. When to read it? Where to read it? Rip it open and devour every page on the spot? Make a cup of tea and settle down in a chosen space (based on what criteria?) Carefully read each word (when?) in an account that may (or may not) shed light on how what happened could possibly have happened.

That’s the biggy of course. We think we kind of know this already. Having read every written record relating to LB’s care for the last six months and the CQC report a couple of months later. It seems a bit bleeding obvious. But there may be further lurking horrors to discover? Nah. Surely not. There can’t be… Or the report may not resemble what we think it should or could.

We have no idea what a report like this looks like. How it’s framed. Will it be about LB? Our dude. The legend. (And self identified ‘pagan’ as his second to last school report noted). Or will it focus on ‘learning outcomes for the NHS/social care’? Will LB be consigned to the ‘lessons have been learned’ dustbin (or plastic yellow hazardous waste bag his clothes used to arrive back from nursery in)?  What will we do with the conclusions (if any) of the report?  What will any of this mean?

What will/can it feel like to read a report like this? 

The old sense making sensors are already on full alert. Tough times ahead.

Well there ain’t anything we can do about this. We just don’t know. The report will arrive on Saturday. We’ll read it. And Chunky Stan will be doubtlessly be in close contact. Providing unlimited furry comfort.

I’m thinking the advice from a lovely mate from earlier today is probably worth a punt; try and think about the report as a necessary step to get through in this (hideous) process. It’s a step forward.

In which case we should probably stock up on ice-cream and ginger beer. And have Keane lined up ready to blast out. Like old times. Creating our own reference points.

*The content of the report will, for now, remain confidential. And all that crap.

195 days on (in?) and the internally commissioned external investigation into LB’s death is due to be completed soon. 195 days. Iron cage stuff. Before these 195 days there were the 107 days. 107 days that LB was in the unit. 302 days. And the stuff before that.

Blimey. Numbers. I’m not a number person at all, but these numbers are important. They add up. An unspeakable, unimaginable experience over so many days.

This report will signal a moving along of the ‘process’.  A process that seems to operate largely to chew the insides out of ‘bereaved’ families (despite the best efforts of INQUEST.org and the INQUEST lawyers group). Next stage; the organisation/planning of the inquest.

Tomorrow will be 196 days. Or 303 days. And the stuff before that.