I feel like that's what last week was. After 2 weeks of missing school and life due to nearly nonstop seizures, my 11 year old son attended school. All week long. With not ONE call from the nurse's office to say he was having multiple seizures and needed us to pick him up.
Last week was my husband's last week at home. He'd been at home and unemployed since mid-October, having not found work after a long-term contract ended. While the reduced income wasn't easy, having him there to care for my son while I worked made things less stressful for me.
So, when Aaron had a great week healthwise, I started to hope. He was riding his bike. He was doing fun things. He was living - really living. And yesterday, Monday, everything started again. The convulsions every so often. The weakness in one leg. The inability to feel safe enough to attend school.
And of course, my husband left Sunday for his new job; he'll be traveling a lot anyway, but this is a training week out of town. And this would be my busy week at work. But I am at home, torn between my son and my job. A job I don't even particularly like. A job in which I've suffered a huge amount of stress and mistrust of those above me. A job that, like many, has nothing to do with my degree, let alone makes me feel a sense of enjoyment or purpose. It's a paycheck.
But it's a paycheck that allows me to buy his medicine, pay his hospital and doctor bills, and take care of the needs of my son and his two older brothers (oh yeah, he's not my only concern).
I'm torn a lot. Today, especially so. Today, I wish for the neurons to shape up and shut up. I wish for my son to have another good week. I wish for a life in which chaos did not rule nearly every day.
But those good days and good weeks only fool me for awhile, because the seizures always come back. And they don't care if it's April 1 or chilly day in November.
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