When I was a little girl around 7 years in age, if you don't already know this loyal reader, my father became very ill. Later as I grew older I learned it was terminal. When I was 8 my youngest brother was diagnosed with cancer, one that is rarely survived. I will say I believe in miracles because of it. I can tell you with great joy all of my siblings are alive and still able to tease me when they want to. Which is just about anytime we are together. My Grandfather was also terminally ill with cancer for like my whole life. He died just hours after my 14th birthday. My dad a few months after my 18th.
The thing is this caused me to spend a great deal of time in hospital waiting rooms. It caused associations to happen deep in my sub conscience. Let's just be honest I have some baggage when it comes to this. I will own my baggage and usually I check my baggage at the gate I don't like lugging around those heavy carry on bags everywhere I go. So my inner voice that screams with thoughts of hypochondria gets shoved deep down so far I can't hear it.
It started young I was about 10 when my niece who was 1 at the time had a bad TB test and I can remember just sobbing convinced she was next. So this adventure of motherhood sometimes makes me a little crazy. First I must say I am so happy Lilia is a girl because thus far it's only the boys who get sick for some reason. If she were a boy I think I would be a wreck all the time. That being said I am a mellow momma I don't loose my cool easily and I keep my head on straight when stressful kid thins happen. I am not a worrier for the most part. I do not think every freckle is a malignancy destine to take me or a loved one too soon.
After my dad died I thought I had closed a chapter in my life. I thought the part of my life that included sick people was over. It lasted a whopping 5 years when my "stepfather" became very ill and died less than a year later. Since then I know nothing is over and everything is always an option. So that whole no more sick kids because we passed that test theory went out the window with Tim's death. It was probably a stupid theory to begin with.
So my dad and brother were likely sick due to my father's exposure to Agent Orange when he was in Vietnam. Actually the doctor's involved said they are 99% sure that is the cause. The government says no, but well that is just a whole new blog not even just an entry. The thing is Agent Orange can mutate the DNA part of cells which means every descendant of my father could be affected in some adverse way. Although the evidence is not as strong, there is some correlation between this and my own PCOS and possibly even my weight problem.
A few months back when there was some concern about Lilia's head size, well I am not going to lie that checked baggage in the plane's underbelly jumped on my back like a monkey backpack and wouldn't come off. I quietly prayed for days until we got the all clear. I didn't pray for the all clear because I figured if something was there already I was going to have to deal with what was there, I couldn't change it. So I prayed for strength and understanding.
So on Tuesday when the Pediatrician sent us back to the specialist early because it just couldn't wait my monkey backpack came back. That monkey whispers things in my ear like, "Brace yourself, agent orange is coming for someone else you love." "This is it, a brain tumor, get ready for emotional war again." "You aren't strong enough for this, don't you want a drink for breakfast." "Wouldn't that entire plate of cookies be better in your tummy?"
Now mind you I knew, as was confirmed today, that there was absolutely nothing wrong. She is hitting all her marks when she should. She has no signs of delays or impaired coordination or reflexes. I knew that in my mind. That dam monkey though wouldn't stop screaming in my ear though. Then I learned I was going to have to go to this appointment alone with no moral support. I am telling you I am a strong girl. I can do many things that are emotionally trying but this seemed impossible to me. Every time I wait in a waiting room it's for bad news. The idea of Lilia being sick absolutely kills a piece of me every time we go running to a specialist for her big noggin. I cried tears of relief on my way home.
The worst part is, I can't tell anyone how panicky my inner hidden voice is because they will just say don't worry you know she is fine. Yes rationally I do know she is fine. There is a part of me that is irrational though. A part of me that carries around heavy baggage from illnesses gone by. Walking into hospitals is hard for me. When Paul was in the hospital a few years ago I am telling you it took 5 years off my life because that voice became so overwhelming that all I could hear was this is it he's a goner. It's only on the inside though. On the outside I do alright. The rational voice almost always prevails.
I know that this has all sorts of psychological reasons and rationals. I am working through all this slowly. A life time of "damage" doesn't go away over night. This is hard for me to share. I think I might prefer standing naked in a room full of gym hounds. It makes me feel very vulnerable to share these things with my closest friends let alone on a public blog. Actually I am not sure I have ever told many of my closest friends about it at all. So please be gentle and have grace.