Showing posts with label bad day. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bad day. Show all posts

Monday, January 21

Monday blues

I don't like Mondays. If Monday sets the tone of the week, frankly I am done with this week already. 

Today we had our appointment with the respiratory paed. We missed our own paed, but got the other senior consultant who is also pretty good and on the same page largely as our doctor. The appointment was by and large, productive. Wriggles had a lovely time playing with the toy truck (future mechanic?) and all hell only broke loose when she needed to be weighed. Unfortunately she must associate side rooms with nurses as synonymous with blood tests and fear, as in seconds, my chirpy little bean was a screaming, rigid, limpet who needed peeling off me. She was so distressed she was stiff as a board and still crying to be measured, so the nurse wrote down "uncooperative with height". I bit my tongue. FFS, she's fucking terrified, not being naughty! She is 2 and has been through more procedures than many do in a lifetime! I know she only meant it in a jokey way but it really made me bristle.

The actual appointment was very thorough. The immune results are not back but will be chased with a letter to the GP confirming if they request a booster vaccine and if so which one, the feeding they are happy for me to manage with help of the dietitians ("and keep hoping"), her tonsil size was checked and we went over her list of medications and checked dosages. We discussed her sleep study and went over sleep history and patterns and they notes even static in the daytime, Wriggles is a noisy breather. This had got a lot better during the autumn but has slowly crept back more and more. The consultant confirmed he thought it would be beneficial to removed tonsils and adenoids. The tonsils are a moderate size and the adenoids are quite large, and we are not yet at 'peak growth' period. He added it may possibly help the night refluxing, as she sucks in her stomach muscles to help breathe when the adenoids narrow her nasal passages, and the extra abdominal work put pressure on the stomach which combined with a lax stomach valve and tummy full of night feeds can aggravate reflux happening. So whilst it is far from a guarantee, it is a bit of hope. I have also read other parents with food aversive children relating that tonsils being removed helped with food consumption and swallowing difficulties. Again, a sliver but hope but sometimes a sliver is all you need to keep going. I have all the usual concerns about having a general anaesthetic and surgery, but a tonsillectomy/adenoidectomy is a pretty common and standard op and aside from GA the only real risks are infection which in our case is heightened as she will not be allowed oral fluids to help the healing site. But as the consultant said, "I have only regretted not sending some children for a T&A, in 15 years I have never made a referral for one I have regretted or has had negative results." That sells it for me.

The thing which did deflate me was another mention of fundoplication; surgery to essentially wind the stomach top around itself to form a wrap to keep contents from refluxing up. This surgery has been discussed on and off since the summer when aspiration was really taken seriously and the feeding tube placed. If the surgery was simple, I would happily sign on the dotted line yesterday. Control reflux? Eliminate vomiting? Be my guest! However, unlike the T&A this is not so simple. It is more major surgery and there is a higher risk attached. Side effects are far more common and the recovery period can be fraught. It is one I have read up on over and over, and whilst I do see the positives and know it has improved things for many, it is not one that sits comfortably with me. That said, we are running out of things to control it. This decision is one that does not have to be made imminently; the doctors are still undecided on whether it would suit us so we have so time to hope either the T&A, diet, maturity or something magical help to control or better still improve things. We had a chest X-Ray to check for aspiration during the latest reflux flare-up so need to to wait the results now in the post. Letterbox, you will become my new friend.

Talking of letterboxes, one letter plopped through this afternoon. A surprise letter about the previous MRI-which had been a disaster and one I was told there were no results from that would be any use and would need repeating. So to receive some results, was a shock. There must have been an image generated that the neurodisability paediatrician could read. It did cross my mind that there was a mix up, but we have not had an MRI before, only the two cranial ultrasounds performed in NICU. The letter read "surprisingly, there are no structural abnormalities. We will discuss further in clinic". It makes me a little nervous that even our development consultant was "surprised". He was clearly expecting something, I was expecting something, pretty much all the doctors we have seen over the last nearly 18 months have expected that something would show up. So I should, in theory, be dancing on the ceiling. No bleeds, no PVL, no lesions. All in all, pretty excellent. But all I can think is, so what the bleeding hell is causing/caused cerebral palsy? Where, are my promised answers? So many things have been chalked up to something we will never know, is this yet, another? Her history frankly suggests that at some point there has been brain trauma. It doesn't help there is no existing antenatal records, but birth and subsequent events are a hotbed for being able to pick things and say, maybe that. An MRI was going to tell me. To pinpoint. To flag up. To answer my questions. It has just generated more. For CP and spasticity there is something somewhere. But not on this MRI. 10-16% of children with CP have normal MRI findings. Maybe I just have to accept that this is us. An MRI reflects the structure of the brain, not function. I just can't help feeling a bit cheated and full of questions to ask. Does this affect the prognosis, the treatment, the diagnosis? Does this warrant extra tests? Do we need to look at genetics, blood tests, anything else? I have a month until clinic. By NHS standards, a month is not too bad. But it is going to be a long month.

So tonight I feel exhausted. It feels a full on day. I am fed up with dealing with things on my own. Sometimes, just sometimes, I wish someone would make me a cup of  wine  coffee and hold me while I toss and turn all night and tell me it will all be ok. 

I am really fed up of seeing my beautiful mischievous daughter love life with all open arms and for life to not always love her back but deal card after card of yet another thing. It seems relentless. 

Less than two hours until Tuesday. Let it be a more uplifting day.

Thursday, September 6

Tantrum

Today was a Bad Day. Nothing drastic, preemie or feeding related for once, just for being a toddler. I remember reading somewhere a description of the "lovable appallingness" that is toddlers, which today was spot on but missing a little bit of the lovability. Wriggles had a horrifically tantrum filled day. She has started to have some, notably on hearing the word "no", but today was of epic proportions. I think there was a maximum of half an hour, often far less between tantrums. Nearly every one ended with her pinching me which invariably made things worse.

They were about:
  •  I wanted to change her nappy
  • I needed to button up her shirt
  • The lid of the felt tip pen wouldn't come off quickly enough
  • It wasn't the colour she wanted
  • SHE wanted to colour in the hedgehog picture, despite having given me the pen and picture and having crawled off with Christmas Hedgehog
  • The cardboard box I keep felt tips in wouldn't close
  • The cardboard box I keep felt tips in then did close
  • I wouldn't let her sabotage my radio
  • I couldn't guess first time which book she wanted by a vague point at the bookshelf
  • She wanted her ride-on and it wasn't right there but halfway across a small room
  • I was too close
  • I was too far away
  • I wanted to join in her game
  • I was busy doing something else
  • I told her off for pinching me
  • Mouse was still in the cot, not the living room
  • She got bored of The Gruffalo halfway through
  • I wanted to put her socks on
  • She wouldn't get off a chair
  • The physio wanted her to put her shoes on
  • She wanted to climb on the windowsill
  • She still wanted to climb on the windowsill
  • She really wanted to climb on the windowsill
  • I needed to go and get some groceries (and have a breath of fresh air from the flat)
  • The magazine didn't tear up easily
  • She couldn't launch herself head first off the sofa
  • She got told off for pinching
  • She wanted to watch Driver Dan's Storytrain sat on her ride-on, not the floor
  • Her favourite book wasn't where she wanted it to be
  • I wouldn't let her stab herself in the eye with my fork
  • She poked herself in the eye with a breadstick
  • I wanted to put her pyjamas on

And on that note, I am making a very strongly caffeinated beverage and possibly digging for the bottle of rum gathering dust. I have eaten a lump of cheese and may emigrate in the middle of the night leaving Christmas Hedgehog and his younger toy hedgehog friend Noodle in charge. If you would like to arrange a child swap of a gentle and well behaved angelic soul, please contact me.

Monday, July 16

Tether

One of the cruellest things about parenting and responsibility is the accompanying guilt.

Why aren't I doing it right?

Why is [insert anyone from baby group] so good at this and I am not?

Why do the creatures we love so much try us?

Why do they press our buttons when we just want the best for them?

Why can't I do this?

When can I run away?

What is wrong with me?

Some days it is relentless in it's let up of internal criticism. Some days I just want to walk out the door and I run and run until my feet fall off. Some days I want someone 'proper' to take over.

Of course I don't.

The furthest I've ever run to is my bedroom; just metres if that. I won't even lock myself in the bathroom.


Some days I don't know if it is being "just a mum" or if it is a throw back to the days of NICU and the accompanying uphill struggle that has been oral aversion, recurrent admissions and a scary unknown future. I can't forget. I wish I could. But the pain is still there in the background, lurking. Waiting around the corner. Waiting for the light of my life to close her sleepy eyes when the grief will pounce and smother me until I can fight no more.

I thought I had this depression, this rememberance, these experiences under control. Somehow, behind my back they have broken free of their shackles and crept up to tap me on the shoulder.

I am so tired.

Today it was all I could do but to curl up in ball on the floor while Wriggles pulled everything off the bookshelf half-watching In the Night Garden.

I have no idea what Iggle Piggle did with Upsy Dasiy. My eyes were closed. My brain was numb. I felt nothing, saw nothing, heard nothing. I should have been awake, alive. I should have been playing with my precious child. But I couldn't. I selfishly couldn't find the strength to even sit up or mumble through The Very Hungry Caterpillar.

Why is it all so hard?

When can I move on?

When can I get it right?

When can I have happy moments all day and everyday?

If not for me, then for Wriggles. Please. She deserves it.



Thursday, February 16

Grump

Today is a fed up day. One of those where there is no apparent rhyme or reason why but you just feel a bit pants. And that is me now.

Partly I feel a bit deflated after my family left after a weekend visit, and a little bit horrified at myself that within hours the place looked a tip again and I was lacking any energy or motivation to do pretty much anything. I had a nap on the rug next to Wriggles who battered my ear with a toy tambourine. She is very much trying to be on the move and has developed a system of pushing herself backwards on all fours and then sitting up, swivelling on her bottom and reaching for things before going backwards and getting stuck under the sofa/bookcase/dining chair again. It is lovely but a little bit of me misses having a baby happy to have cuddles and play all day together. I think as much of this is I simply do not know what to do with myself when she is blatantly happy amusing herself.

Partly I am a bit miffed that an attempt to try and come off/cut down on anti-depressants has ended with a huge fail and a big blunt realisation that if I want to be a good mummy, an interested daughter and friend, an attentive worker and a human being then they are my one option for the time being. I am lucky in that they suit me with no side effects and importantly, work, but part of me resents that without them I just can't function day after day. I become a big heap of bluuuuurggghggmf that can't sleep, eat or muster up any interest in anything whatsoever. Some days, that includes my daughter, and that breaks my heart.

Partly I am beginning (for the millionth time) to get naffed off with questions about dear Wriggles' development and effects of prematurity. It's a constant barrage of 
"Is she crawling/walking/talking/eating yet?" to which to answer is NO. Well apart from crawling; that is very nearly because she is very very clever. When I have to explain we have commitments to go to physio and still have regular consultant input as well as other services, people look at me as if I am mad. I am not an over anxious mother, I want to scream at them. I fully believe she will "get there in her own time" but the fact remains, there are some lumps and bumps to be smoothed out and the medical services believe they should be involved. Do you think I LIKE spending time in outpatients? Do you think I find it FUN? Do you think we go to things JUST BECAUSE? And how exactly do you know it will be alright in the end? Do you have a crystal ball? If so, please give it to me to give me some respite from a little bit of worry. It may all look easy peasy but nothing is straight forward. Our beloved childminder is retiring in the summer and I am looking at nurseries which has turned into a bit of an exciting game as Wriggles' comes under some "additional needs" due to not eating solids, having physiotherapy for gross motor skills and we are awaiting a referral for speech and language input also. She is being fitted for gaiters to help her legs and hips and will be assessed to see if her left leg may need a splint as it is a bit all over the place. Sometimes I feel like life is just waiting as I know the consultants have not ruled anything in or out regarding movement but I do know they are keen to book her for an MRI scan around her second birthday. And what a treat that will be. Now some time has elapsed people forget and say things that niggle me; preconceptions about prematurity, disability, mothering skills. Stereotypes about single parents on low incomes and their abilities to bring children up; "oh but we don't mean you". 

Partly, I am just grumpy today.

Saturday, February 11

Don't they know?

My parents have come up to visit. It's lovely, it really is. And yet, I feel so weighed down by their "helpful" comments. It makes me feel like I'm doing it All Wrong.
Do you have any bleach? That [insert name of object] has seen better days.
Hand me a cloth, I just have to clean this/that/everything.
Don't you think it would be easier if you took rubbish out with carrier bags every day?
You don't want to be doing that.
I think it would better this way.

I'm doing my best, I want to scream. I know my home is a bit fuzzy round the edges, I know I could do better, I know I need to do some things differently, but I'm trying. I'm really really trying.
I've been really depressed the last six months or so. Some days, it is all I can do to make sure I eat. Or get up. Or move. Or talk to someone-anyone. I can care for Wriggles by the back of my hand but me? Me who? I'd stopped caring. Me just didn't feature. Anything outside of Wriggles directly simply didn't feature. I could barely sleep, feed or think. I had no concentration, no feelings about anything. No sense of pride, dignity, cleanliness. I did what I could and hid the rest. It was shit. I felt a failure. Don't you know how debilitating it is? It's not just a word or excuse, it's anything but flippant. It's a weight that drags you down. 
I'm getting better now, I am. But it still lingers. And even on good days, I'm still making up time and tidying up from the mess, literal and metaphorical, I slid into. I'm still trying to claw back everything. I'm still trying to find an image other than fear of loosing my daughter and desperately trying to prove I'm capable.
That is why the washing up waits.
Don't you understand?
I struggled. I was ill and a mummy and working. I carried on even when I wanted to hide away. I did it on my own because I had too.
Giving my daughter a cuddle is a more important. For both of us. Possibly more me. She saves me and takes me back to life.

Please give me a break. 
I know you care, I just need to learn how to myself again.

Friday, February 10

Unawares

Only this week, I began to write about how I have been suffering, and beating (I hope) depression since giving birth. It isn't gone away but it has been much more manageable over the last month. The sneaky thing about depression though, is you never quite know when it's going to tackle you back down. 

Yesterday I woke up and it was as if I was waking within a dream. And not a nice one. Adrenaline coarsed through my veins, my body poised on the edge of a panic attack and I simply felt nothing. It was as if I was looking down on my life; it felt like I was no longer living it. That girl going about her daily business and taking care of the baby-it didn't seem to be me. I felt drained, ambivalent and for no explicable or rational reason, a failure. It was if a naughty cricket was living on my shoulder whispering things in my ear. I couldn't barely summon the energy to engage with my beautiful girl who happily dismantled a once (vaguely) tidy living room into chaos and leafed through all the noisiest books. I wanted to hold out and press her tightly to me, to laugh and play and sing. I wanted to curl up and hide from everyone and everything and not to have to think anymore.

Today is a much better day. I woke up and auto-pilot lifted the squalling baby trying to crawl through the cot bars, and headed into the living room. As everyday, I switched the radio and kettle on, poured milk for Wriggles and coffee for me. I showered, and dressed us both and we even got the bus on time for our weekly hydrotherapy session. It has been much better than yesterday. I've been in the moment, still tired, but manageably. I sang and laughed and played horses and tickled and kissed and bathed.

I just wish this blasted feelings would go away for good.