The Disability Diaries : The Tsunami of Emotion

Yesterday was one of those days I hate.  A day where fear catches up with me and washes over my mind like a powerful tsunami. 

There is no out running it.

There is no swimming away from it.

There is no rescue helicopter coming for me.

It was one of those days I have to submit to, in the hope that if I let it ravage me, then like a dog with a rag doll, when it is bored it will toss me aside and if I am lucky I have the strength to pick myself and crawl to safety. 

The safety of another day.

I thought it would help if I wrote down all the things that scare me.  All the things that must be seeping out of me, like blood, to attract the shark.  To try and dispel of them.  Or just to get them back into Pandora's Box so I can get along perfectly well for, well, however long the lock will hold.

What was it that set me off?  What rumble at my core set the trigger for that tidal wave?

It was something as simple as changing J1's socks.  I noticed that his right ankle looked quite misshapen.  I looked again, and yes, the ankle bone is sitting next to a lump.  And the foot was very hard, almost solid.  I remembered sitting rubbing an ankle and foot like that before.  My nan's.  When she got very poorly and could no longer get mobile.  Whether it be water retention or whatever, I am not sure, I rubbed and rubbed and that is when I got caught.

The thought of operations entered my head.  Will he need operations on his ankles and feet, for the same reasons as he has had to have the horrendous operations on his hip - if they are not used and do not weight-bear they start to grow out of form?  The words 'operation' and 'surgery' start to scream in my ears. 

Moving on, my mind moves up his legs and hips, already resembling a patchwork quilt of crass needle and thread marks.  I wonder if that wince when I was changing his pad earlier in the day is frequent enough to worry that, yes, he has had rapid growth spurts and, yes, he will need the same surgery again? 

Operation.  Surgery. 

His spine, I try to gage as he attempts to sit holding his head, only partially winning, is it curving more now than four months ago?

Operation. Surgery.  Spine.

I am struggling to breathe mentally, as the fear starts to take over and win.  Mind in overdrive.  School keep asking me about his history with epilepsy.  It hasn't been something I have had to think about much of late, we were lucky and the epileptic activity that J1 once demonstrated seemed to vanish, but they are not so sure that he hasn't been having some absences at school. 

When they told me I was calm, I believe they are over-reacting, but now, I study him every pause, every quiet moment, is it an absence?  One of the things I have counted as a blessing, that he does not suffer with epilepsy, is it coming for us? 

Operation.  Surgery.  Spine.  Epilepsy. 

Now I am struggling to breathe physically.  I need some oxygen.

I went snorkelling once but I spent most of the session attempting to put my head in the water and panicking, coming up and thrashing for air.  Stay calm, the leader signalled.  Take it slow, just breath in and out through your mouth.  It took all my control and discipline and the mantra 'Just breath through your mouth.  Just breath through your mouth.' to be able to concentrate enough on doing so.

Just breath through your mouth.  That is what I am silently repeating to myself now.  Then a little voice breaks into my thoughts.  The voice of J1.

'What time is The Chase on?' he asks.  A life-raft breaking through the rough white foam of the wave.  My link to reality.  What is the reality?  Yes, all those questions are there, waiting to be answered.  But day to day life goes on and he needs me there, not floating desolate in a deep vast sea that I can not control. 

So, I do what I do best, and care for J1 so that we don't have to answer those questions yet.  We do everything we can to keep them as far away from him as possible.  He must never see that tidal wave of fear.  I am his sphere in which he sits, oblivious, dry and content, like a child playing in one of those hamster balls on a swimming pool.

And I acknowledge, just occasionally I must get wet and then merely dry myself off.