Tuesday was the first time in a long time that I waited for Sam to
get home from an activity with Sonzee's sister, so I could take little bear
over to the ER. It had been so long, but the motions were so routine it
was as if this was part of our daily schedule. The same wave of feelings
crashed over me, which was basically a contradiction in and of itself; a slow
motion out of body experience of not wanting to go, paired with the rush of
having to get there before the stranger somewhere else in the Valley who was
inevitably racing to beat me, so we could both "beat the rush".
I have learned over the past 2 years and 8 months that it doesn't matter how
long it has been since we have been to an ER, stayed in patient, gone for a
routine appointment, the emotions and memories within won't ever go away.
You can literally see the top
lights of the children's hospital from our street as you pull out of the
driveway. The drive itself is at most 10 minutes covering 4.9
miles. Our house backs up to the freeway, so it only involves the street
lights to get on and off, other than that it is a straight drive, 4
exits. There is no thinking involved, except for the
thoughts that inevitably push their way to the front of my mind. The
thoughts that bring the cloud of tears that I spend a good majority of my time
pretending don't exist. The thoughts that tear at my heart and remind me
that our life won't ever resemble typical.
It was how I scarfed down
dinner and three children gave us both hugs and kisses goodnight, while one
asked in a blunt manner if Sonzee would be coming home. How none of them
were phased by this event. How I got to the second set of lights prior to
turning into the hospital and I had a complete breakdown of fear wondering how
this was going to work with a brand-new baby in just a few more weeks.
All these thoughts compounded with the worry of whether going was the best
decision and what could possibly be causing one of her first fevers that
wouldn't settle even with alternating Tylenol and Motrin.
It was a bombardment of
thoughts that wouldn't let up, the ones that don't give you a second to catch
your breath, the ones that are far enough away on a daily basis that you don't
feel their constant weight sitting on your chest, thankfully because it allows
you to breathe. In a simple moment you realize they never really went
away, they were just hidden in a compartment to keep you sane and
functioning. It doesn't matter how much time passes or how "good
things may be going", they are there like a swift punch
to the gut to bring you back to the reality of the special
needs life you are part of, the one that no matter what, you won't ever be able
to escape.
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