I mean, there’s really no other way to explain it. I’ve thought my limits were reached once or twice before, but this time was it. Reaching my breaking point was something that was going to happen inevitably. There’s only so much stress that a person can take before they have a heart attack, a mental breakdown, or they just crack. That’s what happened to me like four or five days ago. With that said, I wasn’t allowed to crack for very long. Then I had to get back to business, and get through the days to come.
One day last week (I believe it was Saturday), the stress overcame my body in such a way that the only thing I could do was leave. I had to run, and I had to go alone. Well, I had to at least bring the baby with me. As I pulled out of the driveway and took off, I was mad. Right now I can’t even remember exactly what it was that tipped me over the proverbial edge, but I fell off the cliff even thought I had been standing strong on that mountain for months. Years even. I was angry. Angrier than I had been in a very long time.
Once I was driving along these windy and busy Boston roads, the tears just fell out of my eyes. I was free. It felt so good in that moment to be free, yet I was really quite sad. I felt bad for myself, my husband, my children, my sick son. This is tough. Isolation life is almost unbearable at times. I walked into Staples to pick up my personal copy of my Doula training manual that I had ordered, and I could not stop crying. The girl behind the counter looked at me with empathy and confusion. I just chalked it up to not sleeping, cracked a few jokes as I always manage to do, and hopped back in the car.
At this time I also told Lucas’ father that I wasn’t planning on coming back to The Boston House, and that he would have to figure out Lucas’ care. He told me I was being ridiculous, and I told him that I felt so incredibly overwhelmed and that I needed help. Good Help. After expressing to him that if I didn’t get the help I needed with Lucas, that I would peace out. He didn’t get it. He didn’t believe me at first. I sent him a few choice words, and ignored him. It was time for me to drive to Target, as I needed medicine for myself. I have to take allergy meds, and nasal spray daily to keep fluid out of my right ear. I have meniere’s disease which is wicked annoying, but I don’t have time to take care of myself. It just basically means that I get dizzy, fall down, and have minor hearing loss.
While I was out, Lucas calmed down and went for a walk with the Dad’s. He actually enjoyed himself over at the playground behind the school across from the Boston House. Which is great because he hasn’t been able to enjoy much lately. I felt like I was watching my son lose his mind. Seeing this picture of him on the swing melted my heart, and it helped to bring me back to reality. I have a very sick son. He’s doing well medically, but mentally he is suffering. He may have a brain tumor, which could be cancerous. Am I mental? I can’t really leave him behind. He needs me, and I need him.
Now of course, I was crying even more because I felt like a horrible mother for leaving and saying that I’d never come back. How could I leave without my laptop and xanax anyways, and where the hell would I go? NOBODY else can take care of him like I can. Nobody else knows him like I do. His medication regimen could be learned, as could his central line care. However, he has an incredible mind. At times I feel like Angry Grandpa is really just a lost boy. A boy who wonders so much, and yet can’t explore a damn thing. He can barely eat, and he’s scared to try new things. The last thing this kid needs is for his stable 1:1 to flake out. I need to be strong, but in order for that to happen he needs to not by psychotic. These outbursts, and craziness are just not him. He is not my son.
I had to go back, and I did. Even though I’m aware of the kind of break I actually deserve. Many other parents who go through transplant take breaks because they have to mentally. Well, I don’t get to because it’s not just the medical we deal with. It’s the behavioral. The wicked ugly truth is that my son is just not normal. He’s got ADHD, ODD, Anxiety Disorder, and probably ASD, but that has yet to be properly diagnosed. So I went back. This week has been tough. I’ve wanted to sit down and explain what we’ve been going through. Lucas has been so indecisive, anxious, mean, sad, angry, and his moods are just swinging. We have seen so much darkness. It’s so hard.
He is troubled. He has been drawing all sorts of evil things. As seen in the featured image WAY up above this blog post, he also drew all over his sheets. I made him do the laundry himself, and then Mike and I went out to the craft store and got him a few things to make him happy. He needs activities, and toys he will actually play with. We are trying. We are trying so very hard to keep this kid healthy, AND happy. That is very hard to do, because in order to make someone else happy, you must first be happy with yourself. How can I do that? I don’t even have time to go to the bathroom. Yesterday I tried to take a shower, and Lucas knocked everything over in the room, and started screaming.
… and just like that my peace is gone. Again.
Last night Chris and I were watching a silly youtube video with him and we were all laughing. Lucas wanted to change the video because his attention span doesn’t allow for much. When I tried to tell him to keep it on, he slapped me. No, he WHACKED me in the face. I cried, and stepped away again. This time, I just went in the next room.
Lucas is now angry and upset because his diaper was full this morning, and his shorts are wet. Those were going to be his “birthday pants”, and boy does he hate when things are wet. Today is Chris’ birthday. So we shall celebrate in whatever way we can.
I have to put everyone else’s needs before my own because I am not just a transplant Mom. I’m Lucas Thor’s Mom.