| Nov. 28th, 2007 @ 11:07 pm So much stress ... so little time |
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Current Mood:  moody
I can't sleep. It's after 23.00, Boy's at my in-law's & Hubbie's working until late tomorrow morn. I should be dead asleep. Especially after the last three weeks. But I can't escape the thoughts tumbling in my head. Writing usually helps sort it all out but I can't find my journal. Boy must've been rearranging the books again. So fine . . . I'll try sorting it out here & see if that's enough to help me sleep.
What first?
Maybe Dawn. The boss lady wants to get together to start planning the new season. It's a good idea as I'm usually the one chomping at the bit to get started. But this time, all I can think about is Dawn. How can we have a festival season without her? I've repeatedly said over the years that all of us are indispensable. That the boss lady's the only one really necessary & the rest of us can easily be replaced. I was wrong. I don't think I can do it without her. I don't know if I want to do it without her.
Then there's Grandma. Maybe it's the suddenness of Grandma's diagnosis that has me thinking so much about Dawn these days. For years upon years we heard her doc say her stomach troubles were nothing. Now, she goes in for a broken ankle & finds out she's got final stage pancreatic cancer? It's like a bad soap opera plot. At least we've got more time with her than Dawn's family had after HER diagnosis. Still - the time isn't unlimited; we're counting in months. Maybe weeks. First the docs said maybe 'til Thanksgiving. Now they say maybe until the New Year. It's great to be able to see her in her own home and to celebrate Thanksgiving with her. Except for the knowledge that this was her last. And that Christmas will be her last. And her birthday - if she makes it that long.
What's worse - everything ending suddenly or the long, drawn out goodbye? They both suck but I can't decide which sucks more.
I recently had two very close relationships in my life change directions. In both cases, it was for good reasons. One in particular I'm finding hitting me very hard. My rational brain knows I should be happy for what has caused the changes. My selfish brain dwells on the fact that right now it's the last thing I need.
Husband's been working nonstop since the end of last month. I like routine; I like when things are predictable and the hours of a sound engineer are anything but. I never really know who's picking the Boy up from daycare or whether it's just two for dinner or anything. I hate it. And I'm so raw that I wind up spending the little time we have together reminding him how much I hate it. As if he didn't know. I could probably write out the script for the conversations we've had on it; it hasn't really changed over the last ten years.
I'm just stretched so thin. I can't help but snap and bite. I have to save any tiny bit of patience & joy that I have left for the Boy. And it really is a tiny bit. I should be worried that I'm letting him stay at the in-law's tonight while he's still got a cold but instead I'm simply relived that for a few hours more I don't have to pretend to be calm & cheery & patient.
The Boy. That's probably the biggest strain. I still can't believe that specialist thinks it might be autism. Or PDD. How could my little boy be autistic? (Which, spell check has just informed me, I don't know how to spell. Sure, add insult to injury.)
He's affectionate & loving & he doesn't mind being touched. He voluntarily gives me hugs & kisses; I didn't think autistic children did that. They were just supposed to tell us what we were doing wrong. I figured I'd go in & after a few minutes the doc would say, "Hey, if you'd just do x, he'd be talking by now. What kind of a parent are you?" I just wanted to learn why he wasn't talking yet. And now I'm trying to wade my way through enrolling him in EIP & coordinating with his pediatrician & the neurological pediatrician's office & talking to dozens of strangers about every little facet of his short little life.
Who knew that so many little things are actually considered "problems"? Apparently his "adoption" of a catapult and a bag of chips was no different than the cars he often carries around - a symptom. They tell me autistic children like to have objects to hold. That it comforts them. And the way he's able to so easily solve advanced puzzles and amuse himself in his own little world - also signs of autism. I hate that these stupid "symptoms" put my views of my child in a whole new light. I want to keep seeing him the same way I always have - as a sweet, slightly quirky, VERY energetic, loving little boy. But no, it's like they've gotten into my head & I keep hearing the specialists' voices now, whenever I look at him.
I'm hoping that the additional evaluations they'll be doing will demonstrate that the initial diagnosis was wrong. If he needs speech therapy & behaviour therapy to help him catch up with others his age then fine. I'll make sure he gets whatever he needs! But I don't want him to have this label. He's happy. I know he is. So why does he need this label thrust on him that's going to colour the way folks see him for the rest of his life?
I really hope the evaluators decide the preliminary diagnosis was wrong. I hope my grandmother continues to remain pain free. I hope I manage to get my head together soon. And I hope this was enough mental purging to let me get some sleep! The gods know, I really could use it. And if it wasn't then I hope it was enough coffee liqueur at least. |
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