Personal hell

Hier ist die Stelle wo ich sterblich bin.
This is the spot where I am mortal.
~ Johann Christoph Friedrich von Schiller

Been a long week. One I am happy to see pass into the annals of time.

I've been haunted this week -- by images, by lack of control, by elements outside my control, by loneliness and old demons and renewed fears. Seriously -- if I could, I'd throw a Get the Hell Out of Here party for this week.

Family issues and broken air conditioners aside (Goodness knows, I hate to be hot when I don't have to be. My idea of camping is no room service. I own my diva-ish-ness proudly.) it's Will and his health that have consumed me. The seizure and breathing issues of last weekend. Not an image that erases quickly in the slideshow of my mind. He is feeling better -- the antibiotic seems to have done the trick and my sweet, singing, funny boy has re-emerged. We just need to get to Friday and his ear tube surgery without any more nonsense.

You'd think that would be enough to assuage my nerves. But what was probably intended as an empathetic comment from someone at Will's school hasn't let me rest. When I shared the details of his medical emergency, she commented that she understood, as she lost a student once in a similar situation.

Yeah.

We've had brushes with Will's mortality before. When he was about two weeks old, constant seizure activity and other issues led to us having a "we may be out of options" conversation with his NICU doctors. Can't tell you how horrible that was. Word still fail me. And yes, with a kiddo that sports such health issues as Will does, that mortality thing always plays in the back of my mind, distantly and vaguely.

But now, with the seizure and breathing issues, coupled with that offhand comment -- thought of his mortality have consumed me. My dreams. My subconscious. My waking hours.

I know Will thinks I'm nuts, going and checking on him constantly when he's resting or sleeping. "Weave me awone. Cwose the door. Bye bye." has been said more than once when he's been chilling on his bed, listening to music or drifting off to sleep. Yes, Mama's a pest. But a well-meaning one.

I bear my responsibility as Will's mama heavily, more so because I am chief cook, bottle washer, chauffeur and care giver during the week when the Mister is on the road for work. This can wreck havoc on a control-freak such as myself. My head tells me if I can just keep an eye on Will at all times, I can prevent and pre-empt any issues.

But I'm driving myself crazy in the process. Making myself sick. Sucking the joie de vivre out of my soul.

I've isolated myself this week -- pulled away from friends and family. Who wants to be around someone like me in the throes of a situation like this? I'm weird -- ok, quirky -- enough as it is without this nonsense. People don't need to deal with anything extra when they have their own issues afoot.

I know I have so many things to be thankful for -- and I truly am. Our household is employed, we have a wonderful child and a roof over our heads. But right now, I'm mired in the emotional quicksand of fear and helplessness and loneliness. Scary horrid place to be -- just me and my whack-a-doo thoughts and emotions.

Gotta get out. Can't do this anymore. Not right now.

I must be content with the knowledge that I take care of Will the very very best way I can. And that his life -- and mine -- are in God's hands, as I believe it. I just need to go with that and rest in it.

So hello new week. New perspective. New outlook.

How's that for trying to think positively?

It's a start.