Sometimes I can feel it in the air. There is something inside of me, some kind of innate mommy detector that goes off. I know that the storm is coming.
It may not be a big storm, or one that lasts for days. However it will be there. Just like when the fog rolls in and ruins the great hair do that you worked so hard on. Boom. There it is.
Sometimes it is just a small inconvenience, a bump in the road. But you just can’t help but question “Why are there so many bumps in the road?” And “When the heck are we going to get some fresh pavement?”
The dreaded ER visit. Always at the most inconvenient times. The middle of the night, the end of a long day, or better yet first day of vacation.
We pack all of our stuff. The iPads, the iPad chargers, a book that we will never read, some good snacks because the ER vending machine has nothing anyone wants to eat and the cafeteria is somehow always closed when we go to the ER. A change of pajamas, a pillow and a blankie. And then of course the suitcase because likely we are not going to be going home. We pack like we are going on vacation, yet we are going to the hospital. Why? Because why not have at least some of the comforts of home. Who cares what people say?
We are professional waiters at this point. We wait in the doctor’s office. We wait during and after procedures. We wait in the ER. Then we wait for the doctors to come for rounds when we get admitted upstairs.
I don’t know when my life turned into having to be on edge pretty much everyday. Having to live waiting for the other shoe to drop so to speak. Sometimes it is even hard to enjoy just a simple moment of happiness because you just don’t know what lies around the next corner.
So everyday I try my hardest to find the joy in the little things. To be content in my new normal. Do I succeed every time? No, not really. I will be the first to admit that I over analyze every little change I see in my children’s faces, attitudes and activity levels. I frequently replay bad moments in my head, times where my kids were their sickest and I could not do anything but stand by watching. I play the sad songs on the way to work so my kids don’t see me cry. I am after all human.
Then after my sad moments are over I pick myself up, and remember I need to keep breathing …keep fighting for my children. If I fall apart who will catch the next thing that lies around the corner.
There is this poem by Stephen King that I absolutely love. It speaks volumes to me. It is pretty much the chronic life. I hope it speaks to you to.
“We did not ask for this room or this music. We were invited in. Therefore, because Darkness surrounds us let us turn our faces to the Light. Let us endure hardship to be grateful for plenty. We have been given pain to be astounded by joy. We have been given life to deny death. We did not ask for this room or this music. But because we are here, Let us Dance.”
Remember keep breathing, keep fighting, and dance.