I haven't read much of what I wrote in those early days in the hospital back in November. I didn't want to think back to those days, when the future was bleak, and I could barely imagine what would be possible past the next day. Even though I was witness to two amazing miracles given my son during his two surgeries, and even more blessings given by family members, I somehow chose to ignore those happy parts. Yes, I talked about them, but at that time it was all I could do to breathe, and take care of Mason in his fragile state.
It's hard to describe what I felt; being so thankful for things, big and small, yet unable to make myself function to give proper thanks. Yet I still feel like that, unable to let myself do anything other than take Mason to doctor appointments, and come home. Anything past that is hard, therefore anything past that is unnecessary. I've closed myself off to the world, and chosen to only focus on things as they come. I've let a lot of things slip lately, and it's hard to know where to pick them back up. I'm not sure I even want to.
This week, I began letting myself read those things I wrote in the very beginning...and I can't believe it was me that wrote some of that stuff! It was hard to read what Mason and I have gone through, told in my own startlingly personal words. I felt my heart breaking all over again as I relived that morning before his first surgery, and had to remind myself to take deep breaths. Some of it still seems like it happened to some other mom; some other boy. Surely my sweet little boy didn't have to go through all that...right?
But in the end I know it's true, and he has gone through many hard things in just two months. It seems so long ago that we were in the hospital. It seemed like we were in there for months, yet I was honestly surprised to realize that it had only been two weeks. Two life-changing weeks.
Mason has been such a strong little boy these two months, and I am glad...but for selfish reasons. Because if he wasn't so strong, I'm not sure I would be able to help him at all. Like I said, I've closed myself off to the world, and sometimes that includes Mason. I feel terrible, but I know it's a survival instinct; one I am very good at bringing out.
Less feelings=less heartache. Survival 101.
I know this is all just a stage I'm going through; I've read everything there is to read about caregiver burnout, and I realize this morning that that's what this is. It doesn't happen when Mason needs something like going to an appointment, or needing a drink thickened. It's when he is perfectly happy and content, that it comes on, and I shut myself out. But someday I'll be able to feel again without being afraid of the next heartache, or the next medical scare.
I don't know where I was going with this, exactly. It started as a post about what I'm grateful for, and took a turn for the worst. Sometimes my hands take over and type what's truly in my mind. Sometimes I just need to type it all out and I feel better. We'll see.