This afternoon, I experienced what I'm going to call my second-most-terrifying moment of post-NICU motherhood. (Some other day, I'll blog about the time I locked the girls in the car.) Everything seems to be fine now, although the situation does call for some close monitoring over the next few days.
It's pretty incredible how motherhood changes the way you cope with crisis situations. In the past, I wasn't so good with a crisis. The shaking, the tears, and the gripping fear all got in the way of my ability to actually handle anything. I was totally incapable of keeping my cool. Panic would set in almost immediately, and I was pretty much useless from then on out.
But today, as I watched Sophia shove her high chair over backwards while she was strapped in it, as I scooped up and surveyed the red-faced, screeching, thrashing toddler, a calm, collected, business-like me somehow superimposed herself over my normally panic-stricken freakazoid reaction to adverse events. While an insistent, shrieking voice in the back of my head blathered on about Sophia's osteogenesis imperfecta, her brittle bones, her predisposition (inherited from her mother) to break bones in situations that would leave someone else with a bruise (she broke her femur in utero, for crying out loud -- where are you safer than in the womb?), Crisis Kelly calmly ignored the blathering and focused on a) calming Sophia down and b) determining whether anything was seriously wrong.
Crisis Kelly deduced that no baby who thrashes that much can be seriously injured. Crisis Kelly put a somewhat-mollified Sophia down on the floor so she could demonstrate her ability to crawl normally. Crisis Kelly then decided that Sophia was probably fine and returned her to the high chair (far, far away from anything she could shove off of), gave her back her afternoon snack food, moved Evelyn's high chair far, far away from anything she could shove off of, and then called the doctor's office.
Crisis Kelly discussed the situation with the on-call doctor in a calm, rational, just-the-fact-ma'am manner. The doctor agreed that Sophia is most likely fine (she "got lucky," as the doctor put it) and suggested that Crisis Kelly keep an eye on her and bring her in to the ER if any suspicious symptoms arise. At this point, with professional confirmation that everything was probably fine, Crisis Kelly began to step down. And then the doctor gave a stern lecture about how I was not allowed to feel any guilt about allowing Sophia to shove her high chair over backwards -- it's a good thing Crisis Kelly wasn't totally gone, because otherwise I'd have collapsed into a blubbering puddle.
I kept it together long enough to put the girls down for their afternoon nap. And now that all seems to be well, danger is gone, crisis averted, I can't stop shaking. I want to curl up in a ball and cry for an hour.
I need Crisis Kelly to run my life.
5 comments:
All very normal Mother reactions. I have this odd out-of-body sensation. I can't even begin to tell you the stuff my boys have done. The worst being when Boy #1 threw himself out of the wagon onto his head in the grocery store. I can still hear the sickening thud that his head made and the awful silence for a split second until he started screaming bloody murder. Or the time I thought Boy #3 dislocated his finger... .. . .... Go cry. You'll feel better. I'm sorry you had to deal with that alone. Glad everything is ok.
Poor Kelly (and Sophie)! You're a superhero, Kel -- and a great mom. You handled that so well, and Sophie's getting to the age where she'll remember that and model the behavior. What better lesson could you have taught her then "Yes, sometimes we fall down, but we don't panic. We just calm our fear and then evaluate how we're doing from there." I can't think of a better lesson to teach an OI or non-OI kid. Nice job, Super Kelly.
Missy, I can't count all the falls you had when you were a baby. You fell down a full flight of stairs once. Later that night you began throwing up, so we rushed you to Portsmouth Navel hospital's emergency room. Turns out you had the stomache flu, and you hadn't hurt yourself in the fall.
If I had known then what I know now, I too would have been a basket case.
I remember when we first got the diagnosis I wanted to keep you wrapped in cotton batting all the time. You wouldn't stand for that.
No one except another OI parent, who's also and OI patient, can truly understand the stress your under. In a way I think the three generations that preceeded you were lucky not to know what was going on.
You survived through your todler years with nothing more than a broken collar bone. Babies, even type I OI babies, bounce more than they break.
Don't be ashamed of curling up in a ball and shaking after the crisis has been handled.
I'm proud of you.
Last Sunday I took the big boys mountain biking. Other than being a little hot, we'd had a great time. We were about 250 yards from the vehicle, when Boy #2 hit a rock square on the front his tire. He was launched over his handlebars. I was right behind him and saw the whole thing. His knee started bleeding really bad. The blood was halfway down his shin before I could get off my bike. He was howling pretty good. I figured he was more injured than just the scrape on his knee. I asked him what was the matter. He screamed" I can't move my foot." As I reached down to grab his foot, sure enough, I couldn't move it either. I thought for sure he'd dislocated his ankle. That's when panic set in. It so happens his shoelace was wrapped around his seat post. Making it impossible for him to move his foot. I untied his shoe and pulled it off. We cleaned up the bloody knee and walked the rest of the way back to the vehicle.
In the meantime, Boy #1 had ridden off ahead of us. He was in front of us and didn't see his brother crash. He was supposed to make a little turn that would keep him on the trail. I expected to see Boy #1 at the van when Boy #2 and I got there. He wasn't there. I knew he hadn't made the turn. Panic level 2 set in. I jumped on my bike to go find him. Leaving Boy #2 at the van. I'm known for my very loud whistle. I started whistling and calling for him. Riding my bike in the direction I thought he'd gone. I was getting really panicked because I couldn't find him. I decided to turn around and head back to the place where Boy #2 had crashed. That's where I found him. He was crying because he knew he was lost. He said he could hear me whistling and he knew I wouldn't have left him, but he couldn't figure out which way we had gone. So I sustained two very high levels of panic in the span of 20 minutes. It just plain wore me out. After the boys drank some Gator-Ade and had a power bar, they told me what a great time they had. Go figure.
Judging from the comments, it looks like all parents have these moments of panic, and somehow we all survive them. That's good to know. I suppose I'll get better at it with time, but I sincerely hope I don't get much more practice!
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