It started with a day on the couch and ended with tears for a dead doctor. In between there were hazy days followed by a 911 call for Bee and a craft show that went well. To say last week was normal was anything but.
Sunday evening I started to feel unwell, Bee had been sick on Friday and Stephen had been sick too but for the most part they were okay. I decided to rest most of Sunday in hopes of squashing whatever bug seemed to be making its way around, but alas it did not work. Monday I felt like death. Stephen had to stay and watch Bee all day because I could not even function. I laid in bed all day. Tuesday was pretty much the same, expect I was able to drop Bee off at school since she was all better. I spent all of Tuesday in bed. Wednesday hit and Bee started to develop a fever. She had to stay home. Wednesday, Thursday and Friday were spent on the couch and we were introduced to the wonderful world of Frozen, which we've seen about 40 times this week (still not sick of it, I love that movie). But, my plans to get everything done and prepare for the show went out the window sine the flu hit us and hit us hard, Stephen then got worse again which made things even harder. We barely ate, we lived off of gatorade. There was no sleep. There were feelings of death and dying and a lot of tears. I can't tell you the last time I had the flu, the full blown flu but it is hell, pure hell. I never wish that shit upon anyone. Everything went out the window and we struggled trying to get better (and you know kids, they rarely have it as bad). I couldnt even manage to get everything together for the show on Thursday evening.
I went to bed Thursday night around 10, around 10:30 Bee woke up gasping for air. I stood there as I watched her, debating what to do. I called Stephen, he came in. We waited about 1 minute before I hit the call button, I had already typed 911. I barely manged to get the words out, my daughter is having trouble breathing. I can't tell you how long the wait for the ambulance was, probably no more than 5 minutes but it was the longest 5 minutes I've had to wait for. They assessed her and got her loaded into the ambulance. She started to get better on the way to the hospital (side note, riding in an ambulance, not for the motion sick, nearly tossed my cookies) and by the time we reached triage her breathing had returned to normal. She had spiked a high fever and was pretty unresponsive at home but as soon as she got some meds and her heart rate slowed back down, she was her normal perky, I'm fine at the hospital self. We sat there for two hours in triage waiting to be seen. At the two hour mark they let us know that it would be approximately another 8 hour wait to be seen (some people before us had already waited 6 hours and decided to leave). We were informed that in all of London (over 380,000) there is only one pediatric emergency doctor in the entire city (given we only have two er's to begin with) but they did not have beds. Knowing it would take another 8 hours, we had Bee reassessed and decided to go home and would attend a walk in clinic in the morning, full well knowing we'd be back if the breathing problems arose again.
We slept until 9:30 and upon waking I called my beloved Walk in Clinic with doctor C. He was my preferred doctor for everything. He was kind, compassionate, caring. He actually listened. He listened, he educated, he cared, he didn't over prescribe but knew when it was needed. I was open with Dr C. about my ptsd and anxiety but he never let that be the case of any complaints I had. He would always say, yes it could be from that but lets check it out anyways to rule anything out. He was compassionate about my mental illness. He also knew about Ty and Jacobs death and told me to always bring Bee in if I had any concerns. Even if it turned out to be nothing, even if it turned out that I was just there a day before, he knew I was nervous about her health and always reassured me that it was okay to bring her in, even for small things. He cared, which I find most medical professionals don't today. It was a nice pace of change, waiting to see him was long but well worth it. I knew for this I had to bring Bee to see him, he'd get to the bottom of things. I called and asked but was informed that he had passed on. I hung up and began to cry. I cried for a doctor. I cried because at that moment I felt so very alone in the medical sense. I lost my beloved doctor, the one who never criticized, the one who always validated thoughts and feelings and worked through things with me. I cried because there was no other doctor I trusted more than Dr C. especially when it came to Bee.
Heartbroken I decided to go to the next best walk in clinic, one that I knew there would be no wait but the doctor has horrible manners. She checked both of us out and said it was just the tail end of the flu and that our symptoms could last two weeks (at which point I almost fainted, two more weeks of this hell?) But Bee was okay and that was the main point. She did not have anymore breathing problems during the night and other than horrendous coughing, there have been no moments bringing me back to the NICU with Jacob struggling to breath (talk about flashback for trauma). Thankfully later in the evening I felt well enough to set up for the show on Saturday.
Walking into an event and seeing the bare bones is a bit intimidating. I've never done a show before but I knew I had to do some locally. I spent almost 2 hours setting up my stand. It had to be perfect, it had to be eye catching and it had to be inviting. I had a lot of compliments on how well it looked and that was a good feeling. But, my perfectionism and lack of being able to get everything I had wanted done did sting a bit. It was hard to give in on that, I knew it had to be done, there were more pressing matters that week so I did what I could and prayed it would go well. Hell at that point I just wanted some sleep and not to feel like a big bag of shit during the show.
Saturday I awoke, feeling like crap but I had a mission. I had to get to the show and make it a success. I didn't have a definition of what I would have considered success but I knew I had to do it. I put on my smile and big girl shoes, started my hellos and gave it my best shot. I have social anxiety so big events like that scare me. I've always been deterred from them but from a business stand point, I knew I had to do it and at that point, I was just happy to be out of the bed talking with actual people. The show went really well. I had someone at my table from 9 (when it opened) until 11:30. 2 1/2 hours of straight talking to people. I, for the most part, smiled and said hello to almost everyone but there are parts where I failed in that, an area to improve upon. I think because I was so busy that I wasn't really nervous. I was just doing what I had to do and it went smoothly. I sold half of what I brought and had a lot of interest. I didnt have a measure for my success but I will say, I feel it was successful. Sometimes I dont set measures because I can't. Sometimes I can't set myself up for failure. I mean me going and just being there for 4 hours, attempting to talk to people was all I had planned so selling and gaining more followers, that was a bonus. It made me realize that maybe, just maybe this business of mine will go places. I've poured my heart into it so I can stay home with Bee but also help financially and maybe I'm starting to believe in myself. I mean I'm talking minuscule amount of belief but maybe it is there.
Sunday we took a day to rest even though we were all getting cabin fever at that point, we had to rest. Saturday wiped us all out (attended a birthday party after the show) and we all collectively slept between 12-15 hours that night. We're on the mend, though this cough is a nightmare. Poor Bee not sleeping (which means no sleep for me) and throwing up from coughing so hard, but we've found a few small solutions we are hopeful they will help and maybe get some sleep at some point. Other than Sunday night, I've forgotten what sleep feels like.
The week from hell is over, there were some small triumphs but mostly dark ugly places we all visited. So much happened, I had to give in on what I thought was perfectionism and just go with what I could. Now I have to work on seeing the success and feeling the pride, its something my ptsd brain struggles with. When good things happen I still see the negative light shed on them, even when logically I can see the good, the feelings aren't there. It's hard to connect to good feelings but I know they should be there with the event, it's just the negative of the week and the lack of being able to do everything shines brighter. I'm working on it in counseling and it will take time but the doctor dying really just sent me through the loop. I even had to look up his obituary because I could not believe it (he was young and it was unexpected). Whew, it was a doozie but we made it through. Now onto focusing on grant writing (did I mention I am writing and applying for a grant? I've made it through the first two rounds and am now on the last so for the next month I am in grant writing mode, again, something I'd never do before and get this, Thursday during class, we have to attend classes Tuesdays and Thursdays, I even spoke up, willing spoke up) Damn world watch out, give me the flu and I break all my boundaries. In all seriousness though, grant writing is tough stuff but I am determined to make it work because I care about my business and want to expand it so here it goes.