Today I am crumbling.
Today, was like someone hit reverse on my life and despite knowing it was going to happen; it still slapped me in tears and left me breathless.
This blog has well documented my families rather on going relationship with the NHS. Today my youngest baby recemented her ties with our healthcare institution.
I know tomorrow I’ll remember to count my blessings, and find a positive spin. But today, I think I need a moment to howl at the moon, to scream about it being my kids, once again, dealing with health problems that little people shouldn’t have to deal with.
Whilst I know it’s not bad luck and it could be incredibly worse – it is still wank (professionally speaking)
The little one (now 12 – but still my bambino) was born with hip dysplasia, she underwent surgery after it was identified late at 18 months.
It was intense, it was hard, it was all done with the hope of sorting her hips for life.
It didn’t work.
For the last year, she has limped, whimpered, complained of pain and once again gone for investigations under anesthetic.
I am now at the point where I can’t remember how many times I’ve watched my kids have a general anesthetic – I’m going to hazard a guess around 22/24 times. It doesn’t get easier.
And we will have one more to add in the next month.
The last year, medical conditions have been loud in our house – Anorexia has been a bitch, and Type 1 Diabetes has been louder than usual in its joy of having an eating disorder to play with.
But it’s on the mend.
And life with it’s cruel irony, sees fit to throw another curve ball into my brood.
And yet I remain annoyingly healthy – watching my kids go to war again.
The irrational guilt of somehow causing this as their mum weighs heavy. Why couldn’t I grow strong healthy hips, ears and pancreas’s!
And these conditions that are so needy, are so consuming – I’m a mum, but I’m also the breadwinner. I need to be carer and I also need to bring home the bacon.
It’s harder than a brick wall reinforced with metal rods at times.
That guilt. It screams in my ears – I want my career, I want to not be by a hospital bed. I don’t even want to be writing this post – I genuinely wish I dealt with this stuff better and not in such a pitying fashion.
The plan.
Surgery in 3 weeks (hopefully), to rebuild the hip (again).
12 weeks of recovery, significant time off school. A wheelchair and crutches moving into our home.
No running, no jumping, no swimming.
And only a 70% chance of success.
Or we are looking at a full hip replacement in 12 months.
Today we were also given certainty that a hip replacement regardless is in her none too distance future.
For my 12 year old baby.
Who rather than moaning to the internet, as I am, she is currently googling how to bling up her crutches.
I should really learn to be more Libby.
But I’m crumbling…
As life again becomes a series of appointments, physios, watching my child artificially sleep. Of juggling work around a kid in pain.
For now the dark is swirling around me. It is just for today.
Because tomorrow I will force myself to look for the sunshine.
Which is waiting for me, in Cornwall where we go for one last hurrah before creating another new normal.
Come tomorrow, it’s time to stop the crumbling