The migraines are new. This time they hung around for a week like a wet cough that refuses to run its course. Pounding, right in the middle of her forehead. The pain so intense that while I couldn’t feel them for myself, I could see the effects of them on her face, in her mannerisms, in the way that she just wanted to lie down in our guest room with the blackout curtains drawn and the lights out. She didn’t even want to look at her iPad, her technology she calls it, because the blue-light was just too much to bear. A week without it. Like a self-imposed punishment befitting a teenage girl. I would slink into the room every hour just to make sure she was all right. I’ve gotten used to doing that, a mother’s habit. I slink in, make sure she’s still breathing, placing my hand on her forehead to make sure she’s not feverish, checking the water bottle on the bedside table. It’s the habits that help keep me sane when she’s not herself. Her eyes are so dark. Like someone has taken a permanent marker and drawn in crescents under each socket. It scares me to see them this way. Reminds me of horrible memories from years past, horrific flashbacks of swirling red lights and excruciatingly loud sirens. There was always that one car who would try to outrun the rapidly approaching ambulance, would burn right through a left turn, forcing the ambulance driver to slow down and forcing me to scream and throw my middle fingers up in the air at the utter jackassery of the dickhead driver who forced an emergency vehicle with a seizing child in the back to slow down just so they could make the light. Yeah. We’re all in a hurry, aren’t we asshole? And I’m so sure that you’re on your way to something way more important than the fuc*ing emergency room. God works in mysterious ways, but so does Karma, and you my friend are due for a visit from the latter.
She finally slept last night. A great sign. She thought that her dad visited her in the darkened guest room a couple of days ago. Said that she sensed his presence in the room. That scared me since she wasn’t talking about my husband, who she also calls dad. But since she was talking about her biological father, who died a week before Christmas 10 years ago. I don’t want her getting visits from dead relatives when she’s so sick, or ever. But especially when I’m so worried that the headaches could be indicative of something more serious than migraines. I actually walked out of the room and told ‘her dad’ that I was perfectly capable of dealing with my kid, and that he could politely and quietly go away now. NOW. GO. I got this…k, bye.
Today she woke up and felt better. On day 7, when we were preparing to call the doctor to have her admitted to the hospital. I’d asked for prayers, had prayed over her myself. I felt a calm wash over me and over the room, and today…she’s better. I’m better.
It seems like such a small thing, a prayer. But, when fear is taking hold, and the only thing you have left is hope and an emergency plan, I figure that lifting up a prayer really doesn’t hurt. Hope is such a funny thing to me. It used to be just a word, a sort of tossed around phrase, like when people use the #blessed about their morning bagel. Hope, and for that matter, blessed, have taken on a new meaning for me.
This morning, her eyes were brighter than they’d been in days. She smiled at me when I gave her a flurry of forehead kisses this morning. She knows she’s loved. I know I’m blessed.
We’ll start this weekend with a quiet calm. No brain on fire, no sharpie’d undereye, and an episode or two of Gilmore Girls.
“Mom, would you be upset if I eloped?”
“I wouldn’t be thrilled. I mean, I’d want to be there to support you and share that moment with you.”
“What about if I got pregnant?”
“Oh, uhm. Nope. One crisis at a time, love.”
“Nothing. Just…nothing. I’m glad you’re feeling better.”
#hope #blessed #passtheexcedrin