My head hurts.
You know when you get to an age that hangovers last for three days and you are forced to adjust your boozing behaviours accordingly. A hospital hangover feels very much the same. Dehydration, exhaustion, nausea, dizziness and difficulty stringing a sentence together. There is also the added sense of injustice that all of this isn’t because you had an awesome night out but instead is a result of a tortuous, sleepless, stressful 48 hours.
Despite the fact that we live in a constant state of vigilance when it comes to Mojo’s health it is all too easy to lapse into complacency. Particularly as we head away from winter and with a reasonable stretch of good days under our belt. So it was something of a shock to feel the resignation which accompanies the realisation that a midnight A&E trip is on the cards. I was sitting on the floor by Mojo’s bed watching her writhe in pain, completely helpless to do anything more to help. If there is anything worse in the world than being unable to help your children when they are suffering then I hope to God I am spared it. It feels like torture and even in my most pragmatic frame of mind, behind the fear and the worry is a seething anger that she has go through this again.
When she gets like this I find myself mirroring her as if by doing so she will feel less alone, less scared. When she loses her breath, I hold mine, when she arches in pain, I do the same. I breathe deeply with my hand on her chest as though I can get the air from my lungs into hers by touch alone. I stroke and soothe her even when she is beyond soothing.
Her feelings are so transparent that I think we are both aware that the ‘fun adventure’ to the hospital pretense is more for my sake than hers. Everything feels worse in the middle of the night.
After four hours in A&E tests and observation we arrived on the ward just as the sun was rising, which was, in equal measures, pretty depressing and completely beautiful. I wanted to feel sorry for myself and I was close to tears with tiredness but it’s exceptionally difficult to feel bad watching the sun rise. I thought of the day I chose the name for this blog and rolled my eyes at my own sanctimony biting me on the ass.
While, thankfully, the actual experience of the hospital was mercifully brief and uneventful this time around, the hospital hangover has been spectacular. Maybe it’s because I wasn’t expecting it, maybe it’s because these days there isn’t any opportunity to recoup because ‘mummy is knackered darling’ doesn’t really wash with an energetic toddler in the prime of her boundary pushing years. Either way I’ve been staggered by how difficult I have found it to shake this one.
While I’ve been trudging through treacle to get through the day Mojo has bounced back with her usual style. It never fails to amaze me how, once the worst is over, she is back to herself within a day or two.
Needless to say all of this week’s drama has been entirely my own fault.
‘Things are pretty rosy at the minute’ I wrote merely a week ago.
Oh really, overhear the germs….right’o.
Will. I. Never. Learn!!
There follows some shameless self-promotion…
I am completely thrilled to have been shortlisted for the MAD Blog Award for Best Preschool Blog 2016. If you enjoy reading about Mojo’s adventures and would like to vote for The Sun Will Come Up I would be very very chuffed if you took 5 seconds to follow this lovely link and voted Click here for voting form THANK YOU