Our three weeks in PICU have been the most intense stress I have ever had to deal with.
We have so may people in our lives that care and want to help. So many people willing for Harry to get better in their own special brand of faith, whether it's prayer or positives thoughts.
And I hope and pray for many things, but one thing I sincerely hope is that no-one ever has to experience what we are at this moment. Most of the time I find it very difficult to explain how I am feeling, what we are going through. The thoughts we are having. But if I share some, maybe its an insight into a world that I hope you never have to live through.
I want to share some reflections on how the 'Mum' in me feels. Disclaimer: I do not aim to discriminate against Dads, or any version of carers, with these thoughts. The love you have to give is not based on the position you hold in someone's heart. These are just my thoughts.
Mumming
There is so little Mumming to do in PICU.
Us Mums are used to being relied on almost 100% of the time in some way. We are so used to it that a lot of the time we resent it. 'Why can't they bloody just learn to do their own buttons?' 'Whyyyyyy wont they potty train so I don't have to change another fricken nappy?' 'Does it always have to be me who has to hold them while they find sleep?'
'Why do I have to do everything.'
For me the questions are similar, but I have additional. 'Why is it that no one else can give his medicine right?' 'Why is it I'm the only one who knows how to execute the OTs instructions?'. I had moments where I resented being the one who knew Harry. Knew how to keep him alive, knew what he liked, what he didn’t and that no one else could quite care for him the same as me. This was not a reflection on anyone else (my husband is the best father and husband you will find in any land), just of the situation we had been thrown into. It’s a powerful thing, the magic of being a Mum. But it's a power that I have to admit at times I begrudged.
I now want it back. I want him to need me again. I want to be the one with the magic to make it right, the way only a Mum knows how. I want to know, in an obvious and tangible way, that I am contributing to his wellbeing and survival. Holding his hand and sitting, using my made-up magic to try and heal him through pure willpower, is not doing the justice to the Mum in me. The nurses and doctors insist that us being there, hearing our voices, holding his hand, is all helping. And I have no doubt it is. But not at the level that us Mums are used to making a difference.
Today, I forgot to bring a blanket in. And I couldn’t decide if I didn’t care because it would just get dirty anyway and I might as well use the free ones at the hospital, then atleast it doesn’t matter if they go missing. Or if I felt devastated that I didn’t look after him in the only way I can.
I hope that I remember I missed the power, I hope that in times when I resent the level of care that Harry needs that I can remember the time when I couldn’t provide any and enjoy being needed again.
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