I can't believe it's been an entire year.
A year since my son got frighteningly sick with what was at first a mystery illness for several days. A year since he suddenly spiked a fever of 104f that wouldn't come down, and slept all day and all night with only brief periods where he would wake up and drink something.
Nearly a year since I rushed him into the hospital with sores all over his mouth, where I was told he could be dying; since I signed consent forms and we waited - for results, for answers, for some sign that he was going to be okay; since I walked around in a daze and prayed to an entity I don't fully believe in to please make this a bad dream and please - please - just wake me up.
Only a few days short of a year since I watched his eyes turn red, saw his swollen insides on an ultrasound screen, his blistered lips caked with scabs, his peeling hands and feet. Since we counted the symptoms: 1, 2, 3, 4 and a stubborn high fever, and realized this couldn't be anything but Kawasaki Disease, thank the Powers that Be, because the alternatives were far scarier and deadlier. We treated that night, and waited. It was the longest night of my life.
The next morning, he woke up from his listless state and looked at me. He ate some Doritoes - his first meal in days. He was pale, shaky, one of his eyes wasn't working properly. His heart was slightly enlarged from the disease and that made his prognosis worse, even with treatment. It would still be weeks before Kawasaki ran its full course and did any possible permanent damage. But he was okay: alive, breathing, here with us. And that meant I was okay, too.
Except I wasn't, and I wouldn't be for a long time. Spawnling's illness was the start of a downward slope for me that I didn't fully grasp until recently. It was a bumpy year to follow, which meant I didn't have time to fully process what had happened. I had to be strong, I had to try and keep it together for the things that were happening now: Gutsy's emotional state was deteriorating, our income dropped, a crazy (now ex-)friend faked cancer. So it sat in me and it festered for months. I didn't deal with it, I just pushed it back. Be strong, be happy, just be grateful he's here, I told myself.
But when I don't process stuff - go through the motions, have a few good cries, talk about it, maybe see a professional - I don't get better. There were signs, little and big. For one, I haven't blogged in nearly three weeks. I dare you to find another time in my blogging history when I went that long between posts. In the last couple of months, I started sleeping more, eating less (not necessarily a bad thing in my case, to be honest), avoiding people and situations because I just felt too overwhelmed to deal with life. And bam! just like that: depression.
Yep, it's true: Just as things are getting a lot better around here, I was getting worse. It's as if I was finally giving myself permission to deal with my own shit because I'm not dealing with everyone else's. I was feeling down, crying over nothing, finding little joy in watching my healthy kids run and play and do childhood things that should warm my heart as a mother.
Depression. Why didn't I see it sooner?
Last week, I hit my bottom. I felt completely crippled by the darkness. Once upon a time, I had postpartum depression. This felt similar. So, I did what my therapist at the time taught me to do: I talked to Geekster and a handful of friends and I admitted that I just wasn't okay. The support I was received was stellar, and I instantly started to feel a little better.
Then, Saturday morning, I packed a bag and jumped in a car with my sister and a friend and we took off to upstate New York for a shopping extravaganza. The timing couldn't have been better. For two whole days I had no parental responsibilities, a sizeable shopping budget (we had been saving all year) and a whole lot of belly laughs. The weekend was perfect from start to finish. It refreshed me, reset me, centered me. It was exactly what I needed.
More importantly, I bought a Coach purse. Now I'm trendy and centered.
When I got home, Spawnling ran up and threw his arms around me. He kissed me and stroked my hair, saying "I really missed you, Mommy." Frankly, I missed me, too. I missed the happy-go-lucky me. I missed enjoying life and the three little boys in it who need me to be in good form emotionally, mentally and physically. I feel like maybe I can start to give them that again. They deserve it.
Last year sucked - there's no way around that. August will probably be a challenging month for a while to come. But I won't let the darkness creep up on me again. I'll recognize it and do what I need to do to make it disappear. Next time, I'll beat it to death with my new purse.
They're guaranteed for life, you know.
A year since my son got frighteningly sick with what was at first a mystery illness for several days. A year since he suddenly spiked a fever of 104f that wouldn't come down, and slept all day and all night with only brief periods where he would wake up and drink something.
Nearly a year since I rushed him into the hospital with sores all over his mouth, where I was told he could be dying; since I signed consent forms and we waited - for results, for answers, for some sign that he was going to be okay; since I walked around in a daze and prayed to an entity I don't fully believe in to please make this a bad dream and please - please - just wake me up.
Only a few days short of a year since I watched his eyes turn red, saw his swollen insides on an ultrasound screen, his blistered lips caked with scabs, his peeling hands and feet. Since we counted the symptoms: 1, 2, 3, 4 and a stubborn high fever, and realized this couldn't be anything but Kawasaki Disease, thank the Powers that Be, because the alternatives were far scarier and deadlier. We treated that night, and waited. It was the longest night of my life.
The next morning, he woke up from his listless state and looked at me. He ate some Doritoes - his first meal in days. He was pale, shaky, one of his eyes wasn't working properly. His heart was slightly enlarged from the disease and that made his prognosis worse, even with treatment. It would still be weeks before Kawasaki ran its full course and did any possible permanent damage. But he was okay: alive, breathing, here with us. And that meant I was okay, too.
Except I wasn't, and I wouldn't be for a long time. Spawnling's illness was the start of a downward slope for me that I didn't fully grasp until recently. It was a bumpy year to follow, which meant I didn't have time to fully process what had happened. I had to be strong, I had to try and keep it together for the things that were happening now: Gutsy's emotional state was deteriorating, our income dropped, a crazy (now ex-)friend faked cancer. So it sat in me and it festered for months. I didn't deal with it, I just pushed it back. Be strong, be happy, just be grateful he's here, I told myself.
But when I don't process stuff - go through the motions, have a few good cries, talk about it, maybe see a professional - I don't get better. There were signs, little and big. For one, I haven't blogged in nearly three weeks. I dare you to find another time in my blogging history when I went that long between posts. In the last couple of months, I started sleeping more, eating less (not necessarily a bad thing in my case, to be honest), avoiding people and situations because I just felt too overwhelmed to deal with life. And bam! just like that: depression.
Yep, it's true: Just as things are getting a lot better around here, I was getting worse. It's as if I was finally giving myself permission to deal with my own shit because I'm not dealing with everyone else's. I was feeling down, crying over nothing, finding little joy in watching my healthy kids run and play and do childhood things that should warm my heart as a mother.
Depression. Why didn't I see it sooner?
Last week, I hit my bottom. I felt completely crippled by the darkness. Once upon a time, I had postpartum depression. This felt similar. So, I did what my therapist at the time taught me to do: I talked to Geekster and a handful of friends and I admitted that I just wasn't okay. The support I was received was stellar, and I instantly started to feel a little better.
Then, Saturday morning, I packed a bag and jumped in a car with my sister and a friend and we took off to upstate New York for a shopping extravaganza. The timing couldn't have been better. For two whole days I had no parental responsibilities, a sizeable shopping budget (we had been saving all year) and a whole lot of belly laughs. The weekend was perfect from start to finish. It refreshed me, reset me, centered me. It was exactly what I needed.
More importantly, I bought a Coach purse. Now I'm trendy and centered.
When I got home, Spawnling ran up and threw his arms around me. He kissed me and stroked my hair, saying "I really missed you, Mommy." Frankly, I missed me, too. I missed the happy-go-lucky me. I missed enjoying life and the three little boys in it who need me to be in good form emotionally, mentally and physically. I feel like maybe I can start to give them that again. They deserve it.
Last year sucked - there's no way around that. August will probably be a challenging month for a while to come. But I won't let the darkness creep up on me again. I'll recognize it and do what I need to do to make it disappear. Next time, I'll beat it to death with my new purse.
They're guaranteed for life, you know.