It’s hard to describe the emotions that flood through you when you get surgery dates for your kids.
It’s hard to explain why you are sad, worried, about an operation that isn’t life threatening.
It’s the knowledge that at an age when life should be all about sleepovers, playing out, and laughing your way through school. But instead the reality is more about pain, wheelchairs and endless days at home watching your mum make a living.
It’s the desire to scream feck it at the top of your voice, take a sabbatical from life and nurse your kid back to health – but the profound knowledge that life simply doesn’t stop when little ones fall ill.
And for me, it’s a deep rooted annoyance that this isn’t our first rodeo, we know what is coming. I’ve watched each of my children, numerous times, fall into an artificial sleep at the hand of a Doctor in a gown.
Any parent wants an incredible life for their child, and whilst my kids have the strength of ten women and men – I often wish they had not had to develop it with the cards they were dealt. To be fair, I wish this for all kids – life should be easy when you are in the growing up stage.
There is always someone worse off, but let’s not lose sight of the simple fact there are many better off. I really do feel we have played our part, took one for the team and all that jazz.
The feelings stretch to worrying about money when you need time off, I can’t sell my body to bring in extra funds, quite frankly its knackered and my brain is fried.
And it’s the simple fact that when one child needs you more, then the other two start to lack.
It’s the exhaustion of putting a brave face on it when you know everyone else must be bored to tears of your life. When your Mastermind Topic is NHS Ward names.
It’s the focusing on the positive but being terrified of the next thing. Because these things do seem to come along like buses – and sometimes they like to try and knock us down.
This cactus life is handing me, is bloody spikey – I am doing my best not to sit on it.
I wrote this blog this morning, when out walking my two beautiful dogs in Cornwall. I’ll be honest, I had enjoyed the delights of the alcohol juice the night before and was possibly feeling a little maudlin with my headache.
I debated on whether to post, because the words, although miserable in tone, are inherently true.
As I wrote the final lines, my phone started to tinkle and our surgeons voice greeted me with hesitation in his voice.
“The X-Ray from your pre-op appointment shows something we weren’t expecting. She appears to have a pelvic fracture…”
You genuinely couldn’t make this shit up….
The story continues…
I spent the afternoon removing the spikes from the cactus from my arse, and now I am posting the damn blog.