Post by elf on Apr 13, 2007 11:15:27 GMT
I have decided to take up the advice on this site to start a diary. Not sure how often I will write but, when I do write, I know it is quite cathartic. I am new to the site, probably because I am also new the realisation that I may still be suffering with PNI. Actually, that realisation has come as something of a relief because it holds the hope that I might feel better one day. I had been resigning myself to the idea that I just should not have been a mum, that I was always going to regret my changed life and that I had simply to learn to adjust to the new reality of never being particularly happy and always living with a knot of tension and apprehension in the pit of my stomach. Maybe that is true. Am I being unrealistic to want to be happy and want to feel that rowan has added to my life? Is that just being really selfish?
I am struck by some of the replies I have had here that there are others who have had babies with Reflux who have been plunged into the despair of PNI. There are others who can understand what I have been through – that I am not exaggerating the misery and feeling of helplessness. I read other accounts of the terror of ever deviating from a routine (even though it makes you feel as though the walls are closing in on you). I thought that was just me. I know that there are others who dread their babies waking in the night because they are so scared that they will not know what to do and the baby will just cry and cry. I thought that was also just me. My blood runs cold at the first whimper or flicker of lights on the monitor…
I’ve been back at work for about three (four?) weeks now. Yesterday, the nanny called because Rowan would not go down for his lunchtime nap – he was just screaming in pain. He has not done that since we finally got him onto the anti-spasmodic medicine. I panicked completely. I kept trying to tell myself it was teething but all I could think of was that the medicine was no longer working and the reflux was back. No, no, no. I cannot go back to that daily nightmare. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t. I stayed at work, much against my instinct (I work over an hour away anyway and I knew I had to let the nanny get on with it – me freaking out would help no-one), but I did no work and just ended up with a migraine. He was fine in the afternoon but I am terrified of what will happen today. I'm trying not to look at the clock.
I find myself wishing away his babyhood because I just want him to be bigger and stronger, to “grow out” of his reflux and for me to feel a bit more relaxed about taking him out and being able to, just occasionally, vary his routine (like him being able to have his nap somewhere other than his own cot so that maybe one day we can leave the house for more than an hour between naps and feeding). I am desperately telling myself that maybe then, I will start to feel happier. My dream is to reach a stage one day when I can ask the dreaded question: if you could turn back the clock… At the moment, I still wish I had not had him. I am still waiting for it to be true that “it will all be worth it”. I keep telling myself I will get there. Things are better than they were so maybe we really are starting the long climb out of the pit. I do love him. I love to cuddle him. I am very protective of him. I do love it when he smiles, or laughs or claps. But I am constantly tense and, even when we have good days; I am always dreading the crash. I find every aspect of his care incredibly stressful. I am always sure that I will not be able to manage the next stage. I am constantly amazed and relieved that he thriving. Weaning, helping him to develop, ensuring he sleeps, ensuring he is happy – it all feels like a test that I am being set each day. If I fail, it will be game over and I will have to start all over again (down the snake on the board, back to the beginning). The longer I have to wait for the crash, the worse it will be (the longest snakes are always just ahead)– so the terror mounts. I can only focus on the elements that go wrong.
I am still so angry about his illness and the lack of support we received (and being made to feel that either there was nothing wrong with him or that it was something that I was doing wrong). I feel so guilty when I think about all the things I DID do wrong. I still have the intrusive thoughts. I still feel the need to test myself (if I pushed the pram into the canal would I dive in to save him? Why? Because I love him or because he is now my responsibility and I no longer have any rights to walk away?). I still feel so out of control. When I introduced myself on the site I wrote I was 37. I remembered this morning that I was 38. (Mind you, that might be just normal denial rather than anything to do with giving birth...!) It all makes me feel so tired. I’m sick of the worry; I’m sick of who I have become. I’m sick of the panic. Enough. I just want to be okay.
Is it normal to fear that, when your baby does grow older, he will despise you? I’ve always worried that he would not/will not love me.
I know this is all very disconnected – just a brain dump. Maybe I can never let go of the fears because they are now a core part of who I have become. I know I have to though – been there before. I know that when you allow an illness to define you then the real you just fades even more. I will beat this. I need to be the person that my son and husband deserve. I need to the person that I deserve. I’m just not sure how to get there yet.
I am struck by some of the replies I have had here that there are others who have had babies with Reflux who have been plunged into the despair of PNI. There are others who can understand what I have been through – that I am not exaggerating the misery and feeling of helplessness. I read other accounts of the terror of ever deviating from a routine (even though it makes you feel as though the walls are closing in on you). I thought that was just me. I know that there are others who dread their babies waking in the night because they are so scared that they will not know what to do and the baby will just cry and cry. I thought that was also just me. My blood runs cold at the first whimper or flicker of lights on the monitor…
I’ve been back at work for about three (four?) weeks now. Yesterday, the nanny called because Rowan would not go down for his lunchtime nap – he was just screaming in pain. He has not done that since we finally got him onto the anti-spasmodic medicine. I panicked completely. I kept trying to tell myself it was teething but all I could think of was that the medicine was no longer working and the reflux was back. No, no, no. I cannot go back to that daily nightmare. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t. I stayed at work, much against my instinct (I work over an hour away anyway and I knew I had to let the nanny get on with it – me freaking out would help no-one), but I did no work and just ended up with a migraine. He was fine in the afternoon but I am terrified of what will happen today. I'm trying not to look at the clock.
I find myself wishing away his babyhood because I just want him to be bigger and stronger, to “grow out” of his reflux and for me to feel a bit more relaxed about taking him out and being able to, just occasionally, vary his routine (like him being able to have his nap somewhere other than his own cot so that maybe one day we can leave the house for more than an hour between naps and feeding). I am desperately telling myself that maybe then, I will start to feel happier. My dream is to reach a stage one day when I can ask the dreaded question: if you could turn back the clock… At the moment, I still wish I had not had him. I am still waiting for it to be true that “it will all be worth it”. I keep telling myself I will get there. Things are better than they were so maybe we really are starting the long climb out of the pit. I do love him. I love to cuddle him. I am very protective of him. I do love it when he smiles, or laughs or claps. But I am constantly tense and, even when we have good days; I am always dreading the crash. I find every aspect of his care incredibly stressful. I am always sure that I will not be able to manage the next stage. I am constantly amazed and relieved that he thriving. Weaning, helping him to develop, ensuring he sleeps, ensuring he is happy – it all feels like a test that I am being set each day. If I fail, it will be game over and I will have to start all over again (down the snake on the board, back to the beginning). The longer I have to wait for the crash, the worse it will be (the longest snakes are always just ahead)– so the terror mounts. I can only focus on the elements that go wrong.
I am still so angry about his illness and the lack of support we received (and being made to feel that either there was nothing wrong with him or that it was something that I was doing wrong). I feel so guilty when I think about all the things I DID do wrong. I still have the intrusive thoughts. I still feel the need to test myself (if I pushed the pram into the canal would I dive in to save him? Why? Because I love him or because he is now my responsibility and I no longer have any rights to walk away?). I still feel so out of control. When I introduced myself on the site I wrote I was 37. I remembered this morning that I was 38. (Mind you, that might be just normal denial rather than anything to do with giving birth...!) It all makes me feel so tired. I’m sick of the worry; I’m sick of who I have become. I’m sick of the panic. Enough. I just want to be okay.
Is it normal to fear that, when your baby does grow older, he will despise you? I’ve always worried that he would not/will not love me.
I know this is all very disconnected – just a brain dump. Maybe I can never let go of the fears because they are now a core part of who I have become. I know I have to though – been there before. I know that when you allow an illness to define you then the real you just fades even more. I will beat this. I need to be the person that my son and husband deserve. I need to the person that I deserve. I’m just not sure how to get there yet.