Monday mornings

Despite the medical issues with the kids, the last few months have been amazing considering they've had no hospitalizations in the last 8 months. Things have been looking up since the kids have started taking CoQ10 everyday before bed along with other medications. It has been especially awesome for Ocean because he is now able to play hockey and thoroughly enjoy it without being tired after 5 mins of exercises.

Our last wellness checkup 10 days ago didn't play out like the last 8 months contrarily. Ocean hasn't gained any weight in the last 6 months and we've started noticing that his food intake has gradually gone down to one or two bites at meal times and complains that he's full. The specialist suggested that we do a gastroscopy to eliminate possible problems in his esophagus and stomach before we move forward with appetite stimulating medications.

And thus, Tuesday he goes in for the procedure. Problem is, Ocean can't fast. So on top of the gastroscopy on Tuesday, he needs to be admitted the day before to receive infusions overnight to make sure he doesn't have hypoglycemia the next day. So Monday it is.

It's not so much of the procedure or the admitting that bothers me (of course it makes me sad that my kids have to go through things like this at such a young age, but it is what it is...), but it's the emotions and flash backs that this will generate. The fear and uncertainties we went through a few years ago when this journey first started. The anxiety, sadness, stress ect... All of this and I have to keep a brave face for my son who is petrified to go through another anesthesia and procedure. That's the hardest part, keeping it together for your child when all I want to do is cry and tell him that I'm scared as well. One day he will understand, but his innocent eyes can't see the fear and anxiety that it brings me. How when they put him under on Tuesday, I will be reminded of his little body writhing and moving in awkward motions when he was 2 and a half the first time he went under for his MRI.  How I will fall asleep to the hums of the machines that night and remember all the times I was woken in the night by an alarm going off on the pumps.

We have come a long way and I will be strong yet again. For him, for me, for my family. When his eyes open on Tuesday afternoon after his anesthesia wears off, I will smile and love him that much more and the sun will rise on Wednesday morning just as it always has. I will cease to worry and that metaphorical brick will be lifted. I will breath again.