It’s been a while since I've felt real fear, sure there’s been the odd spider, no coffee in the house and a creak on the stairs. But it’s been a while since I felt my breath quicken, heart speed up, skin go clammy and tingly whilst I grasp for something to hold on to.
And then today happened, a day in which so many of my PTSD triggers are being hit that I’m at a loss as to how to cope.
My baby is ill, not just the snuffles ill, but an unknown, inconclusive test result, infection ill. He’s gone from being my loud and boisterous, ravenous and cuddly, up for an adventure little guy to a sad, whimpering slumbering boy who lacks energy to even stand. The change in him in just one day is amazing, and not in a good way.
Our children will always get ill, coping with childhood illnesses are part and parcel of being a parent, and in general I handle those. But this one has come out of nowhere and really upset the balance that makes up our days.
And whilst I realise that there are many children and parents out there going through far worse, I can’t help but be transported back to our time in PICU; standing over my baby as I count the tubes going in to him, willing the numbers on the machines he’s hooked up to to stay as they are, or go up a little bit until he’s back in a safe zone.
I realise that being a parent isn’t always fun and giggles, I just wish my experience of the lows didn’t always take me so low.