Finding Pollyanna

I’m a horrible parent.

Before you say “don’t be silly” - hear me out.

I’ve always felt like a horrible parent.

I think it started when Kate was diagnosed. I felt like I could have or should have done something to prevent her Autism. I know that’s foolish. My head tells me it’s foolish. My heart – well my heart tells me something else.

It wasn’t until I had Liam that I had proof that I’m actually a pretty decent mom. Parenting a child with special needs and one with normal needs is a completely different experience. Doing both together….well….that’s why I’ve got grey hair.

After going through all of the medical emergencies that come with a child with Autism, Cerebral Palsy and Epilepsy a little blood or scrapes doesn’t even rate on the Louise-stress-o-meter.

So when Liam comes in with a huge scrape and bruise on his belly from flipping over the handle bars on his bike I am unflappable. I clean up the scrape and put a dressing on it, give him some chewable Motrin, rock him a bit and put him to bed.

Several times in the night I hear him get up to use the washroom – nothing new. But early in the morning I hear him being sick. When I go to see what’s happening I’m gob smacked by his pallor. He’s the colour of cold oatmeal.

“Damn, damn, damn” I think. “I should have brought him to Emerge to be checked last night, Rick would have insisted we get him checked last night. I check the clock – 0815 – emerge is open – let’s go.”

Katie is actually compliant to get washed and dressed – a novelty. Liam goes like he is in a grey tee and pirate jammie bottoms.

We get right in – no waiting. My stomach is tied in knots. The doctor orders blood work. Directly under his injury is his liver. They think it’s in trouble. The room grows fuzzy as tears spring into my eyes. This is my baby.

Blood work then x-rays. Kate is hungry and is starting to get antsy sitting around doing nothing. If this is going to take long or if they admit him – what am I supposed to do? I can’t leave him in the hospital alone and I can’t leave her either.

My mind spins. I pick up the phone and call my friend. She’s on her way. I look at my oatmeal coloured boy on the hospital gurney and try not to cry.

I wish Rick was here. I am so horrible in these situations. He’s the better parent. He’s the calm one. He’s the one who wouldn’t be standing here bawling in the middle of the triage area.

Just as my friend arrives we’re transferred from Oromocto to Fredericton. They’re aware we’re coming and the surgeon will meet us there. My heart sinks. A surgeon.

My friend takes one look at my face and decides to accompany us to Fredericton. For the billionth time I thank God for that French Course.

A rat maze of rooms and checking in leads us to the ultrasound area. Liam is crying as she moves the gel-covered wand over his belly. I let him play with my hair and I use the singsong shushing thing that used to work on him when he was a baby. My nerves are frayed as I search the alien like grey pictures for damage – as if I’d know if I saw it.

Kate dumps a red Gatorade onto the floor in the waiting area. She’s had enough and wants my attention. I can’t be in both places.

His liver is bruised but here appears to be no further damage. The surgeon gives us the green light to go home along with a warning, if he starts passing blood to bring him back immediately.

The drive home is a blur – I don’t know if I’ve ever felt such relief.

Relieved for his diagnosis. Relieved for the discharge. Relieved that I have a support system of friends that can and will help me in times of need.

Maybe this is my Pollyanna time.

Day 57.