Parents of a child with a chronic illness go through a really fast track of learning to cope with medical emergencies.
They know the drill: we have done this so often, and honestly, we expect it. We know what the likely outcome will be, and are generally badasses at coping with the stress.
Until the “healthy” kid gets sick.
So today, I’m in a bit of a state. My stomach is in knots and I really don’t know what to do with myself.
S, the one without Bartters syndrome, had an accident today at school and needs surgery on her thumb. It’s serious. And I don’t know how to cope.
And those chocolate cookies have done nothing to help.
I want to be at the hospital. This may seem normal to you, but with F, I’m ok with just J, her dad, being there. Because we have always taken turns, tag teaming hospital duty like olympic athletes.
But with little S, I want to be there. But I can’t. F has spent so much time in hospital and treatment that she actually has PTSD from it and a Phobia of medical treatment. So she is too scared to go.
So I am at home. Letting out my trembles and fears in this post. Cooking a dinner that will most likely churn in my stomach for hours.