The first scare

Yesterday I brought Brooklyn (and her brother) to visit their pediatrician.

Ethan's breathing has been problematic.
Brooklyn was having acute pain in her lower left abdomen, which made my mama instincts scream.

The doctor recommended we go to the hospital for xrays and an ultrasound.
We slowly walked out to the van, I buckled the kids in and shut the door.

My heart began to flutter.
I wanted to vomit.

Thank goodness for retired parents, as they (without hesitation) agreed to take E immediately so we could head to the hospital.

Now what?
What do I need to pack?
Who do I need to call?
How long will we be there?

We left the office and managed to get to my parents house within the half hour, with a stop at home and at the pharmacy in between the two. As I unbuckled E, the tears began streaming down his face.

He begged to go home.
He clutched my neck.
His entire body wrenched with heartache.

Guilt overcame me.
I could not comfort my son in his time of need.
I had to leave him behind, knowing he was struggling with great fear.

Will I tuck him in tonight?
Will I be home in my own bed tonight?

Brooklyn and I spent about six hours at our local hospital. I re-told Brooklyn's entire story from start to finish three separate times, each time feeling more and more anxiety. Brooklyn was so angry to be there, but thanks to some colouring supplies gifted to us during her illness she was distracted while I recounted hospital stays, pathology reports and the like.

I kept telling her it was going to be ok.
She was going to be ok.

Truth is, I had no freaking clue if I was right.
And that scared me to my core.

What if there was a pocket of infection left?
What if we needed to travel back to McMaster that night?

Then the list making...

I need gas, groceries for the boys, an overnight bag....

The spinning, circle of anxiety began.
Post traumatic stress and painful memories flooded my heart and mind.

-------

The good news is this:

Brooklyn has a couple of abdominal wall hematomas.
She is also thoroughly constipated.
Both are manageable, non-life threatening situations.

The bad news is this:

I can't stop crying.
I am so so sad.
My heart hurts full throttle again.

I cannot figure out a way to function today, other than to sing the song Brookie and I learned in family yoga class. Sung more than 100 times by now, this song is an invisible tie that will forever tether mother and daughter together.

Inhale (breath in).
Exhale (breath out).
I say thank you every day.

Inhale (breath in).
Exhale (breath out).
Namaste.

Sometimes we just need to honour our tears. <3