Smidge has steadily started to improve over the last day or so. She did spend the day
pale faced and crying but thank goodness for small mercies, we
haven't had any more fits.
She's also had her last
canula removed this morning so those tiny feet can pitter-patter the
hospital corridors once more.
What I'm struggling
with right now is the idea of taking her home. Every time the 'H'
word is mentioned my stomach does a little flit and I find myself
wanting an unobtainable double vodka probably without any coke.
Can you imagine not
wanting to take your own baby home?
Can you Imagine feeling
so scared that even if a double vodka without any coke was available
you probably wouldn't drink it because you'd be too scared ?
It's ridiculous I know!
but I am stupidly fearful that Smidge is going to pull another number
on me and if she does what would I do?
From what I understand,
there is a 33% chance that this fitting of hers could turn in to
something of a habit. If it does, the advice I've been given is to
call an ambulance.
I know I have to move
past this latest hurdle and I so, so want to but I'm feeling a little
ill equipped to deal with any future incidents.
Then there is the
emotional side. Right now I'm in auto-pilot mode, just doing and not
really thinking. What if it all comes tumbling out and I go slightly
(more) crazy?
Last week (when I
thought respiratory distress was a serious problem) I had a lovely
long chat with a doctor who was kind enough to entertain my anxious
ramblings.
A kindly man, he
advised me that I couldn't live my life in fear, fretting over the
worst. That I should trust that I will know when to get help, when to
bring Smidge to hospital...that I wouldn't leave it too late...
'You could live your
life like that...' he said 'but you'd drive yourself mad and it
would never be worth it'
But this is my life as
a Premmy Mum.
This is my Smidge.
(well for now anyway)
and this Premmy Mum is
just going to have to try to find a way to accept it.
