A nice emotional vomit!

I can’t even focus, especially not on anything else. It comes like a smack across the face. I was just living my life, going thru the daily grind and WHAM! Out of nowhere I am hit so hard I have to remind myself to breathe. My chest is so tight it is hard to really move any air in or out of my lungs ~ the breaths are shallow and superficial, the way I try not to imagine my sons. I’m now on hyper alert….constantly scanning everything around me for more incoming blows. Everyone and everything becomes a possible threat. Afraid I am going to miss something and my world is going to tumble down around me. It doesn’t take much to get me here anymore. There are enough memories stored to blow through the flood gate in seconds, taking down all the walls I try so hard to keep up. And it’s so hard once I am back here to remember how I ever thought I could escape in the first place.
Something as ordinary as getting the mail sparked this fire. It was as simple as a letter from the insurance company. My golden ticket had arrived. Cole has been approved to keep his vest for 3 more months. I had just read a CF mommy’s blog where all of the sudden they have denied them coverage for their vest. Nothing’s changed ~ her little baby still has cystic fibrosis. I don’t know what loop hole the insurance company has discovered that may possibly get them out of paying thousands of dollars or if it is just time to make her go through an appeal in the hopes she’ll fall apart and won’t be strong enough to jump through their hoops and win. But, this is all too common and possible. So, when I opened the letter I was initially happy to see such wonderful news. It was after I set it down on the passenger’s seat and started to pull out of the driveway that I began to emotionally vomit. I was so angry. I was so sad. The anger gave way to tears and I allowed these shameful feelings to surface and flow out of where I try to keep them hidden.
The truth is, no matter how grateful I should feel that the insurance company is going to pay for 3 more months of Cole’s vest, I don’t. I mean I do, but there are so many other stronger emotions that come with that letter. There is sadness and grief. This is just another reminder that my child is sick and needs these kinds of devices to stay alive. It is hurtful that every 3 months they evaluate Cole’s need for this machine and the approval letters don’t get any easier to take, if anything they get harder. Then there is anger. Who are these people that get to decide whether or not my son will or will not get treatment this month? This year? They don’t know anything about him. That medical file doesn’t tell you whether or not chest percussions are going to keep him healthy. It sure as hell doesn’t tell them whether or not he’s been using it like he should, whether it makes him cough or he’s clearer since he started using it. Then there’s the guilt for feeling this way. I should just be happy he has insurance and a vest. That is the worst part of it all. I have it “good” in the scheme of things. It’s just hard to remember that when it’s my sons life and health that we are dealing with.
I pulled myself together though and went on with my “everything is in control” façade. It ran thru my mind all day but I kept it out of view of everyone. But, It was enough to make the next tiny tap knock me to me knees. So when I realized that I was not sure if the boys had been vaccinated for pneumonia I called the pediatrician right away. When they returned my call, I was told that there was no record of Cole having this vaccine. I asked if he should get it. The woman on the phone was very put off and said she would have to ask the doctor. (how dare I ask her to do this – it was only her job responsibility) but her demeaning bitchiness got under my skin. I already felt like a failure for not knowing if and when they had these shots – not being on top of everything a mother should be on top of. Her insinuating my short comings were putting her out was just another blow to a mom who was already just trying to stay standing.
This is when it really hit me…the memory of last winter and all we had to deal with. The battle to find out if Cole needed the synagis shot. The fear that had I not been talking to other CF moms I wouldn’t know a thing about it. The anger with the pediatrician for not having a clue about CF and asking me what to do or telling me to call the clinic. The clinic not giving me all the information or telling me it’s the pediatrician’s office we need to deal with. Then the battle to figure out if it would be covered by insurance. Then we weighing, the ordering, the scheduling – the shots every month. The bills. The insurance and the pharmacy telling me completely different stories and sending me large bills. EVERY month was the same thing, a fight to get resolved. My job. The realization that it was my responsibility to make sure my children’s health was being taken care of and I was not doing my job…or the fear that I would mess it up.

I'm fine again now.  It's been a couple days.  I've allowed myself to remember the struggles and fears.  I'm strong and ready to fight when the new blows come my way but it doesn't mean there aren't days in between that I fall apart.