I think I’m living on the brink of a nervous breakdown. Is that even a thing anymore?
The last few weeks have been a roller coaster of highs and lows. What was supposed to be a simple surgery has turned into one of my worst nightmares. Okay, maybe not THE WORST. Through it all, I have been pretty sure we weren’t a life-threatening situation, but having a child in tremendous pain without knowing what to do about it is about the most horrible feeling I can possibly imagine.
Every time we think we see the light at the end of the tunnel, we are plummeted back into a dark hole of pain and the unknown.
I feel like I’m constantly on the delicate precipice of losing my hold on sanity. I keep it together because someone has to. And just when I think I can let my guard down and breathe, something else happens to drag me back into the nightmare.
During the calmer moments, I type and post and share and write and do — just keep moving, doing, carrying on as if I can will our lives back to the normal that seems so long ago, so surreal.
During the crazy moments, I affect a facade of calm while my brain is running 110 miles an hour with what to do and who to call and how to help.
We make plans only to cancel and reschedule.
We keep thinking that in a few days, this will be but a memory, but it’s very much our reality.
We keep saying this will soon seem like a dream, but it never ends.
My own medical issues are on hold until I have time to focus on myself. I can’t even run to relieve the stress.
Meanwhile the other kids need help with their homework, need to be shuttled to and from music lessons and picked up from after-school rehearsals. We try to keep a semblance of normalcy, a wan smile plastered on my face lest they see a chink in the armor and worry. I assure and reassure, yes, everything is going to be okay.
People ask me how we’re doing and I say, “It’s going to be alright.”
And I believe it is. I just wish I knew when.