*It is important to start with the information that A is doing perfectly awesome and I am physically fine.
I've thought for days about whether or not I can share the events of this week. I started an entry yesterday and it got deleted so I wondered if that was a sign. But it has stayed heavy in my heart so I am trying again. I may decide to delete it. Maybe it just needs to be written. Maybe it needs to be shared. We will see.
On Monday, I was carrying A and I fell in our entryway. It was the most terrifying moment of my life as there was blood on the tile, on her clothing, and on my hand. An immediate and enormous bump formed. Sweet A was able to walk and talk immediately after and she was fairly calm. I, however, was panicked, shaking and pacing and praying and trying to decide if I should call an ambulance. I ended up calling Ricki, who dropped everything and came over to ride with me to the emergency room, keep me calm, and keep ice on A's head (Chad was driving home from work). The wait was excruciating and my guilt was immeasurable. The doctors and nurses were glad we brought her in but ultimately said she would be fine, just to keep our eye on her. Same story at the follow up visit the next day. They looked in her ears and nose, her eyes, and fully examined her motor coordination. She was a little ham and passed with flying colors, saying she could resume normal activities the next day. I kept her home from school to hang out with me on Tuesday and we had a fun day. Basically I said yes to her every whim.
On Monday, I was carrying A and I fell in our entryway. It was the most terrifying moment of my life as there was blood on the tile, on her clothing, and on my hand. An immediate and enormous bump formed. Sweet A was able to walk and talk immediately after and she was fairly calm. I, however, was panicked, shaking and pacing and praying and trying to decide if I should call an ambulance. I ended up calling Ricki, who dropped everything and came over to ride with me to the emergency room, keep me calm, and keep ice on A's head (Chad was driving home from work). The wait was excruciating and my guilt was immeasurable. The doctors and nurses were glad we brought her in but ultimately said she would be fine, just to keep our eye on her. Same story at the follow up visit the next day. They looked in her ears and nose, her eyes, and fully examined her motor coordination. She was a little ham and passed with flying colors, saying she could resume normal activities the next day. I kept her home from school to hang out with me on Tuesday and we had a fun day. Basically I said yes to her every whim.
But the point of this post was to be honest about my internal struggle.
This has been, without question, the hardest week of my life.
This wasn't just that our daughter was injured, which is always scary for parents.
For a split second, I thought I killed her. For the moments and hours and days after, I worried that she might not truly be okay or that I might have caused permanent damage. The reason for this post is that I was starting to feel guilt and anxiety take over. I started having irrational thoughts and images and the paralyzing fear that if I said them out loud, it would come true. The last time I wrote about anxiety on this blog, one of my main take aways was that not talking about it made it worse. I totally understand this from a psychological perspective; it didn't help last time. I need to say these things out loud to stay in front of the anxiety and not let superstitious thinking and fear take over.
Over the last week, I was so afraid for A to get hurt, jostled, fall asleep, appear tired (because I wasn't making her go to sleep...), get wet, get angry, run, etc. because I was just absolutely terrified that something, anything could set off an undiscovered blood clot and she would die and it would have been all my fault.
It hurts to see that written. But it would fester if I continue to leave it inside.
So I said it. I told my mom. I told my sister and I told some friends. I told Chad. And I sobbed each time. I knew that I did not intentionally hurt her. I knew that she was okay now. But I was just so afraid. I still see the image of her head hitting the floor throughout my day. I still feel the panic in that moment and the moments that followed. I can feel the irritation I had in the moment before because she didn't want to go potty alone. The guilt that something so small made me impatient. And I don't understand how it happened. I don't know why I tripped or my legs buckled or I slipped. I don't understand how I could have let her go. Or why I couldn't catch her or my hands didn't protect her head. Or why she is okay. Or why she isn't afraid of me. And I can't imagine our life without her. And I couldn't stop imagining my life without her. And that was terrifying.
And I felt myself going down this road and it was all consuming. It was distracting and debilitating. It forced me to read about pediatric aneurysms and head injuries in children and times parents have accidentally harmed their children and revisit the diagnostic criteria for acute and post traumatic stress disorder and think about exposure versus thought logs versus mindfulness. I was fortunate to have people checking in on me, family praying, and Ricki pushing me to sit down and challenge these distortions through my tears. Talking about it forces me to remember that goose eggs on the back of the skull aren't uncommon in childhood. That there are more blood vessels on the face and scalp than other places on the body and things can look much worse than they are. And that bumps going out are generally better than bumps going in. And that the same thing could have happened if I had been patient and not rushing (still working on this one). And that, in general, I am patient and slow and peaceful with A. And that if I had held on tighter, I might have squished her under me. And that I would never hurt my baby. And that A is okay. And that in her life, she will have more bumps. These are things I know. These are things that anxiety tries to steal. But this time, I'm not letting it.
As I started off with, A is doing great. She might be enjoying using her bump as an excuse to get out of things she doesn't want to do and to get extra sympathy...I went in multiple stores on Tuesday and Wednesday to hunt for the perfect pink sucker for her. For a kid who perhaps already received a few too many hugs and kisses every day, those have only multiplied by a few thousand. Physically, I am fine. I have a deep bruise on my knee and that's all. Emotionally, I am getting there. This is helping.
This has been, without question, the hardest week of my life.
This wasn't just that our daughter was injured, which is always scary for parents.
For a split second, I thought I killed her. For the moments and hours and days after, I worried that she might not truly be okay or that I might have caused permanent damage. The reason for this post is that I was starting to feel guilt and anxiety take over. I started having irrational thoughts and images and the paralyzing fear that if I said them out loud, it would come true. The last time I wrote about anxiety on this blog, one of my main take aways was that not talking about it made it worse. I totally understand this from a psychological perspective; it didn't help last time. I need to say these things out loud to stay in front of the anxiety and not let superstitious thinking and fear take over.
Over the last week, I was so afraid for A to get hurt, jostled, fall asleep, appear tired (because I wasn't making her go to sleep...), get wet, get angry, run, etc. because I was just absolutely terrified that something, anything could set off an undiscovered blood clot and she would die and it would have been all my fault.
It hurts to see that written. But it would fester if I continue to leave it inside.
So I said it. I told my mom. I told my sister and I told some friends. I told Chad. And I sobbed each time. I knew that I did not intentionally hurt her. I knew that she was okay now. But I was just so afraid. I still see the image of her head hitting the floor throughout my day. I still feel the panic in that moment and the moments that followed. I can feel the irritation I had in the moment before because she didn't want to go potty alone. The guilt that something so small made me impatient. And I don't understand how it happened. I don't know why I tripped or my legs buckled or I slipped. I don't understand how I could have let her go. Or why I couldn't catch her or my hands didn't protect her head. Or why she is okay. Or why she isn't afraid of me. And I can't imagine our life without her. And I couldn't stop imagining my life without her. And that was terrifying.
And I felt myself going down this road and it was all consuming. It was distracting and debilitating. It forced me to read about pediatric aneurysms and head injuries in children and times parents have accidentally harmed their children and revisit the diagnostic criteria for acute and post traumatic stress disorder and think about exposure versus thought logs versus mindfulness. I was fortunate to have people checking in on me, family praying, and Ricki pushing me to sit down and challenge these distortions through my tears. Talking about it forces me to remember that goose eggs on the back of the skull aren't uncommon in childhood. That there are more blood vessels on the face and scalp than other places on the body and things can look much worse than they are. And that bumps going out are generally better than bumps going in. And that the same thing could have happened if I had been patient and not rushing (still working on this one). And that, in general, I am patient and slow and peaceful with A. And that if I had held on tighter, I might have squished her under me. And that I would never hurt my baby. And that A is okay. And that in her life, she will have more bumps. These are things I know. These are things that anxiety tries to steal. But this time, I'm not letting it.
As I started off with, A is doing great. She might be enjoying using her bump as an excuse to get out of things she doesn't want to do and to get extra sympathy...I went in multiple stores on Tuesday and Wednesday to hunt for the perfect pink sucker for her. For a kid who perhaps already received a few too many hugs and kisses every day, those have only multiplied by a few thousand. Physically, I am fine. I have a deep bruise on my knee and that's all. Emotionally, I am getting there. This is helping.
