Next week I take “Little Miss” to her primary care doc. This is the best doc ever. Very kid friendly and mellow, she takes her time, listens carefully, asks me AND Little Miss lots of questions, and does a very slow and thorough examination. (I am NOT making this up.) Doc seems to have no preconceived ideas about Little Miss, but depends on the info we give and the exam she performs. Wonderful!!
Well, we see her next week and I have SO many questions. With puberty on the not-so-distant horizon, I want to find out whether we can forestall menses. Little Miss is potty-trained and still at age 10 is not the best “wiper” (I know A: TMI, and B: not so different from other kids her age) Handling monthly flow is more than she needs. Okay, more than I need as well. So that is one big topic of conversation. I have a list of topics on the calendar.
Another topic is the upcoming genetic testing. In an effort to know what to look for in the future, we are searching for a diagnosis. In 2007 Nat had an intradural or subdural or subarachnoid or something blood clot going from her brain stem all the way down her spinal cord. It was hellish. She was in so much pain, it took SO long to diagnosis, and recovery was a few months. 18 months later the probable cause was found and surgically resolved.
We are hoping to avoid more traumatic surprises. Yet I get butterflies in my stomach whenever I contemplate hearing a definitve diagnosis. I know it is just anxiety. Can I deal with reality, whatever it might be?
The thought of seeing my daughter struggling through more suffering, potentially, is my most dreaded thought. When she was in such agony in 2007, I sat outside her hospital room praying God would release her from the pain. I would rather have parted with her than see her continue to suffer. Yet I would miss her more than I can even express. She is like warm sunshine on my face, penetrating to my heart.
This is a hard path, isn’t it? This caregiving of those so precious who sometimes suffer so much. I’ll take a deep breath. Live in today. Don’t fear what may never happen. Okay. I’ll be all right. I know I will. But right now I need to go cry and look out at the sky and the trees.