That's what I used to call it when Adam was first born. "It" being the process of trying my hardest to pull it together during the random moments through out the day where I was having an internal meltdown at a place or time when it was really not appropriate to let that happen. Sometimes it was a doctor's visit, sometimes it was just changing a diaper in the middle of the day with my daughter in the room...and sometimes, the crazy got out anyway.
I am thinking about this today because I did something this week that I have contemplated for the last 9 months. I requested and picked up all of Adam's medical records from his birth and hospitalization in the NICU, including his imaging. I decided to do this because during the week I was reading a research study that referenced outcomes based on very specific locations in the brain affected by stroke and I had to pull out one of the reports we were given at discharge to reference. Looking over what we had I realized that there may be instances in the future where we want his complete records, whether for our own information, changing doctors or participation in research, and I would much rather get them at our convenience (and for free since we're hospital employees) than scramble for them later. That being said I had a little hesitation about revisiting all of that information.
The first and last time I saw Adam's stroke on imaging he was less than a day old. The second before the doctor pulled up his CT scan on the screen was the very last second where I could think that maybe, somehow, someway there had been a mistake. Maybe it isn't as bad as he's making it sound, or maybe there is some other explaination. When I looked up, any doubt was gone. As much as I knew that I needed that visual confirmation in order to move forward, I was shocked. That image has lingered all this time and part of me was afraid of how it would feel to look at the real thing again. I waited a whole day (which seemed like a long time) before I started with the paper records. I read every page before I felt ready to pull out that disc. As I clicked through the images the pit that had been forming in my stomach started to go away. I found myself noticing things I had never thought to look for on a CT or MRA like Adam's little conehead, his tooth buds and his cute nose. I saw the stroke, but I saw everything else too. It really hit me how much this parallels my experience as Adam's mom. I see his stroke everyday, maybe I always will, but the more days that pass the better I get at seeing everything else too.
At the end of the day I am glad that I brought these records home. I don't know why, but it was important to me to face my fear of going back over it all. I've done it now. I've read through accounts of every seizure, every dose of medication, every test and feeding. I did it without slipping back into those moments myself. I'd like to think this time I'm not just "hiding my crazy", maybe I'm finally getting to a place where I can leave those memories where they belong, in our past. The records will go sit in the office now, to get dusty in a file cabinet and that's just fine by me. I'm walking away from today with a sense of pride to look at what Adam has already overcome in his short life and so much gratitude for the strength that God has given him.
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