Tag Archives: grief

 

Oh yeah, I bet that got your attention. That’s what the past week has involved for our boy – definitely not the most dignified of procedures, but necessary for his FPC – future pooping capacity! (If you are squeamish, maybe stop reading now and go grab a nice warm cuppa instead). While Rem was under anaesthesia, with seven assorted medicos present, Dan and I were shown how to stick a cold stainless steel rod into our son’s freshly-made bum. And we must now do it daily! Look, it’s not the worst thing that could happen to your kid, but it upset me a great deal to see him lying there in theatre, entirely exposed and bleeding from his bottom. I know I should probably have toughened up a bit by now, given what we have already been through, but I seem to be extra sooky lately. Actually, outside of the safe hospital bubble, I’m not coping with ‘real’ life so well. I love our friends, our families, our well-meaning but overly chatty neighbours, but I just don’t feel like socialising right now. Small talk seems such an effort and takes energy I simply don’t have.  

 

Testing the waters, I recently made the effort to duck out for two hours to see a favourite band. Despite loving live, loud music, I always feel emotional at a performance. The assault of the drums and guitars, and the intimacy of a singer sharing their words with a mesmerised crowd, really moves me. So, knowing that this particular singer was responding to the loss of his father, I was in turmoil. Amidst this awesome, animated performance, I kept obsessing over his grief. It made me teary and once again feel distant from Dan and the rest of our friends, who were simply enjoying the music. Lately I just can’t shake this fixation on illness, death, and the process of grieving, and it is affecting my daily interactions in a way that is hard to ignore. I know I am being self-indulgent, and such melodrama serves no useful purpose, but I really need to address these feelings to expunge them! 

It seems I am still haunted by Remy’s birth and our time at RCH, and it is causing a sense of estrangement. In hospital I heard the guttural retching of a little boy undergoing dialysis, watched bald kids with crepe-paper skin being wheeled around to break up the monotony of the cancer ward, and shared elevators with numerous sobbing parents. The visceral effect of illness and disease was more than confronting; it ought to be life-changing. 

 I know I need to focus on doing something worthwhile, instead of just whining about it. I guess I have withdrawn from friends and social life to try and get some clarity on all this. I feel really rude and selfish, being so unresponsive when people have been so kind to us. Indeed, since Remy’s birth I have cried in gratitude many more times than in despair. People have emerged from the woodwork of our past to wish us the best, and people we have yet to meet, (indeed some we may never meet), have sent their support. Remy has touched hearts and evoked positive, nurturing emotions in so many people already, and he is only four months old. I have no right to be such a grump, and I know I need to shake off this malaise and be more positive. I’ll work on it…