My sleep has been interrupted and lost for hours on end every night for the past 12 nights as Baby A struggled first with an infection and later with an allergic reaction to the antibiotic prescribed to treat that infection.
My nipples throb from the abuse he’s given them in his desperate attempts to comfort himself and return to sleep.
I’ve missed work and am hopelessly behind, meaning I have to work (hard) this weekend.
My stomach and GI tract have been a train wreck – sleep deprivation and stress wreak havoc on them.
I look and feel like crap.
Baby A looks as though he just emerged from the burn unit. The hives are gone but in their wake lies a bed of leathery, angry red scales and mottled flesh threatening to blister. It is painful to look at, eerie to touch. Even though the ER Doctor warned me this could happen it feels macabre and unnerving.
Despite all of that I lie awake this morning feeling deeply grateful. I fought long and hard to bring this boy home. I kept fighting to get him diagnosed accurately and treated appropriately this past week.
For the opportunity to do so – for his very existence and for him not being stolen from me now – I am grateful. In ways I cannot articulate.
Sometimes there are no words. Or none beyond “thank you”.
Thank you for this child surviving. In June 2015. And now.
Thank you for not giving life to my worst fears. Again.
Thank you for the compassion, caring and kindness of my blogging friends. My non blogging friends. The family who have chosen to share our journey and care about us. The colleagues who did not pass judgment and expressed genuine concern (there are never many in my field. Sadly.)
Thank you Baby A. For all the trouble I have the fortune of encountering with you. And for all the rest. The smiles. The hugs in which you pat my back as you’ve felt and seen your daddy do. All the love.
I am grateful.