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Chronic illness: the parts we don't talk about


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Where’s the line?

This blog is supposed to be my story: what it’s really like, living with chronic illness.
It’s my view as a “patient” myself and my view as a parent to a chronically ill child.
When I write as a parent, where is the line between my story and Fs story?
When things happen to her, they affect the whole family, they happen to us too.

Yet, they happen to her first.
So am I telling her story or mine?

That’s the question on my mind lately. It’s also why I’ve not been blogging so much lately.
Did I drift away from my story to hers? Admittedly, it is so much easier to talk about her pain than my own. That may sound strange; a mother normally feels the pain of her children keenly. And that’s true: when she hurts, I hurt. But there is nothing more sharp than our own pain.
For while we feel bad when they fall and scape their knees, it is only when we fall and scrape our knees that we realise that it burns like a b*tch.

So where’s the line? Oh yeah, back there. Got it.


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Tough love

for those who know me on FB you know that Fs Mickey button exploded. Again.

She’s still traumatized from the first time that happened. And from the last time the nurse changed (when the nurse had to push it through her abs of steel).

So my dear daughter, when I heard what happened at school on Monday I knew that it was going to be another really hard day for you.

You walked in knowing what was going to happen (it’s at these times that I wish you weren’t so smart).

I held you as you cried your heart out. Told you it was going to be ok, both of us knowing that there was a bump in the road to “ok” that you needed to face first.

I wish I could have held you until your fears disappeared. But we had 30 mins to get to the hospital and get a new mickey in place before the nurse left for the day.

So I put on my firm, tough mama voice and made you come with me. You were literally sick with anxiety. I wiped your mouth and then we had to keep moving.

We needed your cooperation: when you tense, your abs create a solid wall where it’s almost impossible to insert a new mickey into that hole in your stomach.

So we practiced at home, in the car, on the hospital table. And somehow you managed to scream and relax your abs at the same time (holey moley batman, how did you do that?)

I’m sorry I had to make you choose. Choose between admission to hospital and a potassium IV (that burns people, it burns your veins) or let us change the Mickey.

Im sorry. I hope you believed when I said I wished it could be different.

I wish that your smile on receiving the cuddly monkey toy from the nurse went all the way in, to your soul. I wish that it could heal the scar on the inside as quickly as it changed your expression.

I wish I could have held you until your fears were gone.

And I hope that one day you will understand that I was doing my best for you: making the tough decisions.

Tough love. Sometimes it sucks to be a mum.


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I love you, but I don’t always like you

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Parenting is supposed to provide unconditional love: you for your children and from your children to you. And it does.

That’s a parenting truth.

Here’s another parenting truth: your kids won’t like you all the time.

They go through stages where they prefer daddy over mummy, and sometimes, mummy over daddy.

Then they hit puberty and don’t like either of you.

I can see you nodding, Can I get an Amen?

What people don’t talk about is how sometimes you, wonderful parent that you are, don’t like your kids.

So I’ll fess up here and tell you my truth:

Sometimes I don’t like my kids

In fact this last week I have seriously disliked my kids.

  1. Is it because they don’t listen at bedtime and are messing about the whole time?
  2. Is it because they are testing the limits on food requests? Taking advantage of their eating issues to just pick their favourite food?
  3. Is it because I haven’t had enough me time to recharge my batteries?

Yes. Yes to all of them. But mostly it’s No.2

F does have quite major issues with food and it’s still really hard to have food available for her that she will actually eat. I’ve written about it many times and our patience and encouragement is working and she is eating more and more. Did I mention that she ate roasted butternut squash? Voluntarily. And she keeps asking for it. Isn’t that fantastic?

Yes!

Except for when it isn’t. Except for when she can’t face it anymore.

You see, with her condition, her electrolytes can go all over the place, she ends up feeling nauseous and then it becomes hard for her to eat. Her appetite disappears. Food smells and tastes funny to her.

So you never know when she is going to stop eating. Because of her condition.

And then she’s a kid. All kids do their utmost to create the most perfect life for themselves (go kids!).

  • They want to wear their favourite clothes all the time.
  • They only want to eat their favourite food.
  • They want to watch their favourite tv programs.

So, is the sudden difficulty with eating a result of her condition or has she¬†decided she doesn’t fancy it anymore?

Well, I don’t know either. But my gut tells me that she has been playing me lately. Playing me. And I don’t like it.

I got frustrated. It showed. So I told her my suspicion. I asked her outright:

Are you only eating things that you absolutely love and fancy eating?

Yes, she replied.

Mo’fo’!

I’m going nuts trying to feed her. And S? She doesn’t have these issues but she’s a smart girl. She sees the pattern and copies it, uses it to her advantage.

So we had a talk about it. We have called a truce.

But here’s another truth:

The dislike is temporary. The love is permanent.

p.s. her growth has stagnated and her neph says she needs to gain weight. Hmm, I wonder how much this has got to do with my tension? Probably more than it should.

 

This story was also published on Youshare so follow the link and like it there please.


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Why I hate Frozen

If you are a mum like me, you do this:

run and hide in the bathroom when the kids are driving you nuts.

Well, my sweet, smart and cheeky S just destroyed for me.

Today, while I was trying to find my sanity she came up to the bathroom door and sang “do you want to build a snowman?”

then she sang through the lock and then under the door.

how could I not open the door?

so thanks Frozen. I have lost my refuge.

It was incredibly cute though. I’m still smiling.


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I don’t know what this means, but I bet you’ve thought it too

On monday night we were all sitting together at the dinner table chatting.

The girls are fascinated by age and love to play this game “when I’m x, how old will you be?”

J went big on this. “When A is 80, F, you will be 74 and S will be 70”. The kids loved it!

I watched their happy faces and tried to imagine them sitting together having fun, at those ripe old ages.

And I could. Except for F. This little thought fluttered through my head so fast that it was almost imperceptible.

“Will F reach 74?”

I didn’t have this thought about the other two.

Now, you never know what the future will bring and I don’t know what it means, that I can picture S and A in their 70s and 80s but draw a blank when it comes to F.

I don’t even want to try and interpret it.

But I just bet that all of you out there, with kids with a chronic illness, will have that same fluttering thought if you play this game.

You might even have that thought about yourself.

Is life just so much closer to the edge when you are sick?


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What’s different about chronic illness No.5: always sicker

Soemtimes it feels like the only reason we have school holidays is so that F can fit in her “get sick” time and not miss school.

Every holiday contains some days of sickness. Every one.

This December was no exception, except that it started with S. She got 5th disease, otherwise known as slapped cheek syndrome.

S was a bit itchy, achy, cried more easily but otherwise was actually kind of okay. I would describe her as being a bit off for a few days.

Then F got it. It just hid her harder. Because she is actually ill almost all the time, any other illness can really put her out of action.

She had to take to her bed, couldn’t keep on playing.

THEN she got impetigo on top. How cruddy is that? (pun intended).

My heart ached and I didn’t know what to say as she cried in bed, not understanding why S only got a bit of a rash but she, F, was sick in bed, with painful, itchy, sores all over her face.

You see, she knows. She sees the difference. She does always get sicker than her little sister. Than anyone else.

And she knows that it means that she has to miss out on fun, playing and parties. Not her brother, Not her sister. Only she misses out.

My heart still aches and I still don’t know what to say to that.

Do you?

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p.s. she didn’t scratch her impetigo sores, not once. She had them all over her lip and chin, really like a beard. And she didn’t scratch them once. She is my hero.