Anger, loss, and the constant struggle to be ok with it

In general, there have always been 2 things in life that have come easy for me- being positive and staying calm in the face of most given situations. In college, I was definitely that annoying roommate who cheerfully pranced around the apartment, chirping along with the birds early in the morning, smiling because being nice is fun. And that, my friends, was before I discovered coffee. Just thinking about that makes me want to slap myself, and call all my old roommates just to say sorry for the early morning cheers.

So I have to confess that though many of you may think otherwise based on what you're reading on my blog, I wanted to be transparent and admit that, positivity, what used to come so naturally to me, has been an intentional and conscious effort for me recently, especially in the past week.

Though my hubby has been sleeping at the hospital every night, yesterday I sent him home to sleep in a bed and recharge. I took over the evening and night shift with N. Around late afternoon, I started to notice that N was markedly more quiet. We did puzzles and played card games, and during that time, I noticed again that he would have brief moments of just sort of staring. Every time I asked, "Are you ok?" He looked at me and said, "I'm just so tired." Tiredness is expected. Tiredness is a perfectly logical explanation. But things started to go wrong. His face started twitching oddly. He was staring more, quiet more, and then his face started losing control of his muscles. In a matter of seconds, nurses came charging in and took control as we waited for doctors. Was he having a seizure? Was he conscious? Was he able to breath? So many things to check for.. his mind was perfectly alert. Perfectly aware of what was going on. I had to stare into the eyes of a terrified 8 year old wondering, "What is happening, mommy?" After 3 doctors, they figured out that he must be having a reaction to one of the anti-nausea meds. They said Benadryl was the antidote, and immediately injected that into his line. Within minutes his muscles started to relax.

I don't want to descriptively go into details about what N looked like during that time, but I will say that I lost all control of myself seeing him in that state. I never knew it was possible to panic so much to the point of blacking out. As I helplessly watched him lose control of his muscles, starting in his face and slowly moving down to his shoulders and arms, I felt the blood drain from my head and the nurses walked me over to the couch. I kept saying to myself, "Get a hold of yourself." The last thing I wanted was to be apart from N in that moment, and more importantly to take attention away from him. Had I let myself, I honestly think I could have passed out. I lost my calm. I lost control of the situation, of my body, of my emotions, of absolutely everything.

After we could see that the Benadryl was indeed working, relief washed over me. One by one, as everyone started to leave the room and eventually left me in the room next to an exhausted and sleeping N, I sat in total and utter anger. How could this be happening to a child? MY child? Why is my 8 year old laying in bed, staring at the ceiling quietly muttering, "Why does life have to be this way?" And this is the beginning?! Are you kidding me? I was livid.

But ultimately, though my anger was raw and real, I knew in the deepest part of my heart that fairness is distorted on our human level of understanding. And so I have to keep moving. I have to dust it off and get back up and be ok with not understanding why, but to simply do the best with what we have been dealt. Because if I give up, if I let fear, panic and anxiety take control over me, it does NOTHING for my little boy who has his eyes fixed on me asking, "Why?"