If you watch my Instagram stories you will know that half term a week or so ago was a bit of a wash out. Little Lady came home from nursery on the Tuesday with a high temperature and in the days following got more and more poorly. She had no energy, no appetite and had no smiles. I have health anxiety surrounding the kids so I often have to check that I’m not overreacting but by Friday morning my gut told me something wasn’t right. After 47 calls to our GP I finally got her an appointment that evening.
If I’m honest I thought I would be told she has a virus, it will pass and that would be that. Isn’t that what they always say?! However in the last two and half years I have spoken to a lot of medical professionals and I know how they behave when they are concerned. The GP was textbook with her concerned behaviour and I knew before she told me that we would be off to hospital. Lo and behold that’s exactly what did happen.
By 7pm we were in the car on the way to the childrens department of our local hospital. The hospital where my girls were born. The hospital which Little Lady spend the first 9 weeks of her life. I wasn’t ready for the emotions that took hold of me. From the outside I was a smiling, together Mother holding her toddler down for medicine and nasal prongs to be put in. I was lighthearted with the nurses about how much of a madam she could be. I smiled at her encouragingly while she stood for a chest x-ray. Inside me was a totally different story. I was scared, I had been there before. I had seen her on oxygen before, I had heard the beeping of the SATS monitor before (I knew what each beep meant, I knew what her numbers should be), I had held her little hand unable to make it better for her. I had done it all before.
As I lay on the bed with her settling her down for a night in hospital tears suddenly over took me. That hospital had been where we bonded as Mother and Daughter, we had made our first few weeks as family of five there together. But not only that, it was the only place I had been with Heidi, the only place I had cuddled her, the place I had said hello to her and the place I had said goodbye to her. The emotions were overwhelming.
Little Lady had 3 nights in hospital fighting a nasty chest infection and fight it she did, just as she had fought many things there previously. I was so proud of her resilience. I was proud of me too for facing my fears of being in that hospital again. I wasn’t prepared for how I felt but I don’t think I was surprised either. Standing in the Costa queue bought back memories, walking past NICU made me feel like I’d been punched and having my kids split up again broke my heart.
What happened that weekend are my worst fears; I am anxious about the kids getting poorly a lot and it is one of my goals to try and overcome that in my CBT sessions but I did it, we did it and it was okay.
Sometimes the anxiety, the anticipation and the worry can be worse than the actual event.
Little Lady is back to 100% now and fighting fit. She’s completely over her hospital stay, it might just take me a bit longer.