10.19.2013

loathing

As if some loony in a Stephen King novel, I raised the spade above my head and slammed it down hard in a fit of rage. Its wooden shaft vibrated in my hands though it didn’t break. Rudy looked at me curiously but without alarm. Across the freshly cut lawn the sun cast long shadows through the trees announcing the clench of autumn and the coming close of day. It had been a glorious one, the kind of day that, because I didn’t fully take advantage of it, stabs me in the gut with regret, worry, want: a spotless sky, a light breeze, an endlessly warm sun. Where did the day go? And my heart sunk into my heels at the thought of time wasted.

Earlier, I’d wanted to reach through the phone and strangle her: the perky woman announcing that I’d qualified for a one-hundred dollar gift certificate. I’d cut her off with a stern voice asking her to take me off of her list, that I had a chronically ill child and that—. The line went dead without as much as a thank you or goodbye. “F**K OFF!” I screamed into the phone, my face hot, my nerves frazzled. It’d been the second robocall of the day and had followed two other automated calls about upcoming doctor’s appointments plus a woman phoning about medical insurance.

On the way to greet Calvin’s bus I stepped in dog shit that, of recent, Rudy scatters all over the yard, deck and driveway in little chunks nearly impossible to see before you’re standing in it. Calvin got off the bus a bit red in the face. Mary said he’d been super hyper all day and hadn’t pooped. All I could do was think, he’s gonna have a seizure. He shrieked for several hours then had a messy blowout in his pants. A shit-covered piece of grape escaped his diaper and landed on the hallway floor. I had to pick it up with my bare hands so Rudy wouldn't try to eat it. Loose stool smeared down Calvin's thigh, and he squirmed and shrieked like mad making it difficult to clean him up. I felt myself spiraling into that dark place that I hate going, powerless against its gravity. My view narrowed to black and at that moment I felt lost and trapped, haggard and weary, tense and bothered, worried and alone and beaten. But worst of all, in that splinter of a moment, I felt loathing for my child.

6 comments:

  1. I think of you often and wish I could help. The amazing thing isn't that you get pulled into that dark place, that you feel that anger and loathing. That's only natural. The amazing thing is that you pull yourself out and regroup again and again.

    RR Julia

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    1. dear rrj, it's people like you who help me out of that hole. thank you.

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  2. You are not alone. I have similar days as well doing similar things that I know I should have my nursing cap by now... My colleagues asked me "do you wear gloves??" when I mention period, crap and urine all-at-once changes, and I said do you use gloves on your own children? you don't have time when it's running down the leg and dropping on the floor. Combine with all other things in your life and those moments can spiral into that dark madness. RRJ is right - somehow we pull out and start the day again. More than anything - you are not alone. And as always, your honesty for other parents pulls them out of their hole, too. Onward...

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  3. And there have been times that I have loathed *myself* on this epilepsy journey. When it's so unpredictable that I have failed at certain things; when I have lost time due to medications and surgery, and diets, and everything else. Not to be cliché, but when I can love myself through those problems and when you are able to love Calvin despite these times (as you so often beautifully articulate here) all that struggle just makes the love deeper. Sometimes, you have some momentum when you think you've reached rock bottom...

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  4. A few years ago, I was in Hilton Head with my family for our annual summer "vacation." I did this for more than ten years with Sophie, and each year was even harder than the next. One night, I was up all night with her -- she seized and hummed and kicked and seized -- you know the drill. In any case, at some point in the night when I was settling her, I whispered between tight lips, "you've ruined my life," and I meant it. In the morning, I felt terrible about it and asked her forgiveness, but as I was making up the bed, my husband said to me, "I heard you last night," and I felt stricken. I still think about it. That being said, when I read your posts like this one, I am grateful for your raw honesty.

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    1. dear e,

      thank you for sharing. my husband and i have both felt this way at various times, probably too often to count. i believe we can hold these two emotions in our mind at the same time without contradiction. our children have made us who we are, made us into better people in many ways, too. xoxoxox

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