grief
I'd put it at the shape of a cinder block. The weight is heavy enough to sit me down through most of the day, and start my sleeping at seven at night. It's pulling down these arms, which would lift heavy weights and now have trouble pausing midair. I am slow and far away, and this started some time around that moment when the floor buckled and the furniture swayed in the pediatric intensive care unit where my son was staying.
We encourage you to be your son's advocate, Mrs. Scheer, but we also want you to be able to rest while your child is ill, and be a mom.
Giving him a shot right now could cause cerebral hemorrhaging, so we'll need to do a drip.
HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY! Thank you Mom for holding back my hair while I vomit.
There is guilt when talking about one's self when it's the child who was sick. But he's fine, Theo is doing great, and I'm not. It could be anything, I know; but I want to say, and I want you to understand, that grief can sit inside bones and muscles, and the ribcage.
When I gave birth to my first son, the pain changed me. I did not know that such a level of suffering existed. I didn't know, and from that point, I had to find a way to live in a world where this potential exists.
Before last Wednesday, I didn't know that diabetic ketoacidosis can come on in the blink of an eye, or overnight, as Theo sleeps. I thought if we stayed on top of checking for ketones in his urine, which we do, DKA wouldn't come near us.
I didn't know. And now I have to live in this world. While Theo resumes daily life with no visible interruption, I--my body--can't cope.
When the floor buckled, Theo's nurse sat me on a stool and ordered another nurse to find a soda. She took the paper off of a small cup of peanut butter, and the cellophane off a few pairs of saltines. She found a plastic knife. Efficiently, she covered a cracker and handed it to me. I ate it and she was ready with the next. She sat with me until I felt ready to stand, or said I did.
Because the stool itself was not steady; it had wheels. The ground can never be stable with diabetes. Parenthood itself will shake you. As I stood, I saw the floor move again, but I didn't bother to say.
We encourage you to be your son's advocate, Mrs. Scheer, but we also want you to be able to rest while your child is ill, and be a mom.
Giving him a shot right now could cause cerebral hemorrhaging, so we'll need to do a drip.
HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY! Thank you Mom for holding back my hair while I vomit.
There is guilt when talking about one's self when it's the child who was sick. But he's fine, Theo is doing great, and I'm not. It could be anything, I know; but I want to say, and I want you to understand, that grief can sit inside bones and muscles, and the ribcage.
When I gave birth to my first son, the pain changed me. I did not know that such a level of suffering existed. I didn't know, and from that point, I had to find a way to live in a world where this potential exists.
Before last Wednesday, I didn't know that diabetic ketoacidosis can come on in the blink of an eye, or overnight, as Theo sleeps. I thought if we stayed on top of checking for ketones in his urine, which we do, DKA wouldn't come near us.
I didn't know. And now I have to live in this world. While Theo resumes daily life with no visible interruption, I--my body--can't cope.
When the floor buckled, Theo's nurse sat me on a stool and ordered another nurse to find a soda. She took the paper off of a small cup of peanut butter, and the cellophane off a few pairs of saltines. She found a plastic knife. Efficiently, she covered a cracker and handed it to me. I ate it and she was ready with the next. She sat with me until I felt ready to stand, or said I did.
Because the stool itself was not steady; it had wheels. The ground can never be stable with diabetes. Parenthood itself will shake you. As I stood, I saw the floor move again, but I didn't bother to say.
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