Tuesday, February 8, 2011

In A Puddle

Over the weekend my family celebrated my son's third birthday.  It was a wonderful experience watching the children play and eat.  We went to the Rain Forrest Cafe in a nearby mall.  We rented a wheel chair for me so that I could visit some of the stores and get around easily.  The trip was overly painful and exhaustive, but worth every minute of suffering.
I was very pleased with how quickly I recovered, and in my excitement of feeling mildly 'ok' I asked my mother to take my son and I to the bookstore yesterday.  During the adventure my son misplaced his hat, and my mother went to look for it while Lincoln and I browsed the kids area.
I turned round and Lincoln was gone.  He had run off to play in the toy area.  The poor child looked up at me and said, "I peed."  His eyes were pleading, and his little hands were stretched out as if he was asking me to pick him up and take him away to a safe place.  All I could do was stand there and hold his hand while we waited for his grandmother to come and help get him cleaned up.  I felt I had failed as a parent because of my disability.
Today the pain is very severe.  The combination of the trip to the mall, and the trip to the bookstore, has left me reeling in agony.  Everything burns on my right side, and all I can think to do is hope I pass out sooner, rather than later, and pray when I come to the pain has subsided.  I'm not at a point were I may have to go to the hospital, but if the pain continues to grow I may end up there at some point.  Time will tell I suppose.

I'm up to the full dose of the PTSD medication I was prescribed, and I'm not sure it's working.  I'm still having nightmares, but I'm waking up in the midsts of them very startled.  If, in my dream, I'm dropping something, I awake grasping for it.  The sudden jerks at the time of awakening have caused pain levels to be aggravated due to accidental bumps of the limbs during the thrashing about.  I'm also still very jumpy and sensitive to loud noises.
When anything gets loud I start to loose my patience, grind my teeth, and if it's sudden enough I find myself curling away to protect the parts of my body that aren't afflicted with RSD.  I have no control over these reactions, and, believe me, I've made several attempts to minimize the behavior with no success.

Thank you all for taking the time to read,
K.M. Shear

7 comments:

  1. you didn't fail him...you were there to hold his hand and he knew that he was loved and accepted. ;)

    sending you Light, for body, mind and spirit.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Kevin, I know how that feels - all of it really but mostly I am commenting on you and Lincoln - I know that moment. and it is painful, heart crushing. You have not failed but found a way to triumph, found a way to work through the adversity that is your disability. you have not failed and he will not be scarred by the moment. What you were able to show him was that it wasn't that big of a deal, shit happens and we just keep going. Don't dwell on this moment, and don't over do it - I have the same tendency, and sometimes choosing what not to do is too damn depressing - so we do it all and then cannot do anything.
    Call the doc about the meds - it needs to change.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Have to say, I am sad that I had to find about this on your blog. Not Lincoln having an accident, but about what you are going through today.

    ReplyDelete
  4. My son is turning three next month so this post really touched me. So many children grow up these days without the love and attention, even presence, of their fathers. Your son is so blessed to have you there celebrating his birthday. Children have a wonderful way of being sensitive to situations and understanding. They are true teachers of empathy.

    I'm praying God will lift your pain-physical, mental and spiritual, from you.

    ~ blessings

    ReplyDelete
  5. @mel - I know that I didn't fail him, and I think that much of those feelings stem from the fact that I could do those things with my daughter who will be turning 11 this September. It's simply a moment that I was forced to really examine and accept my losses to date.

    @Jhon - I had never thought about the stoic nature of facing the event. I suppose he will realize that, in the scheme of things, it was a small occurrence and no big deal.
    I see the pain clinic this Friday and we are going to be discussing, extensively, what we can do about current medications.

    @Amy - We already talked today, and you're sitting right here by my side. I love you and didn't mean to make you, my best friend, fell as though you where out of my communication loop. I'm so sorry.

    @Jessica - I can appreciate your perspective, and I often enjoy watching both my son and daughter living empathic lives. They are truly magnificent little people with so much to share with the world. I hope I don't miss a moment of it.

    ReplyDelete
  6. Dad's come in all shapes, sizes and abilities. Some dads are emotionally disabled... You, Kevin, are not. Even as children we discover that things aren't always going to be peachy. You have an opportunity to share wisdom and experience with Lincoln. Soon, he'll understand the gravity of your pain, and he will be grateful for his own health. Kids that grow up with adversity are not the norm, but they rise above... You are a good dad.
    You and your family are always in my thoughts. <3

    ReplyDelete
  7. Thanks Bec. I've been rereading everyone's comments and have found myself a bit weepy, but in a prideful and happy frame of mind. Thank you all for your kind words.

    ReplyDelete