Tuesday, February 2, 2016

The Night Before

The night before. 

It's the night before we possibly admit Kreed to the hospital. So many thoughts run through our hearts and mind. And fear. So much fear. Fear the doctors won't listen to us. Fear that he will get worse. Fear for what his true diagnosis is. Fear of the unknown. We have no idea what caused Kreed to cease walking a day and a half ago. Or what started his hand tremors a month ago. Or why he cries or why he holds his legs out to us to tell us they hurt. We fear.

So tonight is the night before. Tomorrow we have our checklist: medication, Bipap, clothes, food, medical records etc. We will gather and get ready. We will look at each other and ask if we're really doing this. Going into the unknown, for an unknown diagnosis and an unknown length of hospital stay. Are we doing this? We know we are- he lays in pain day after day and shows us his pain. We look at each other and we know we are doing this. 

The night before I'm in the living room sleeping while his Bipap and oxygen machine are providing the night sounds because the only place he could sleep was his comfy green chair. So I sit out here worried and googling what could have possibly taken our son's ability to walk. His ability to be even remotely independent. His ability to communicate. 

Today was so hard. He is completely wheelchair bound and he is now a full grown man almost. Transferring him from his wheelchair takes two people and even then it's difficult. So we fear. The unknown. Is this our life? Did our life just drastically change? Has he lost the ability to walk? What's happened? We don't know. So this night before is a mind trip. Of so many thoughts and feelings that get so jumbled. The anxiety is through the roof. The only peace is knowing he has finally slept after two days. 

It's the night before and I don't know if I can sleep. So much unknown. So much unclear. So much could happen. All we know is Kreed is in pain and deteriorating before our very eyes and there is nothing we can do to stop it. Can the doctors? Can they see past his lack of ability to communicate? Can they see him, a boy of 18 who is probably more scared than we are because he doesn't understand why he suddenly can't walk? Can you even imagine losing the ability to function and not being able to tell a single soul? This is what keeps me up at night. Always. 

It's the night before and all I can do is worry and think and research. And hope- always hope- that there will be a brighter day. But right now, in this very moment I fear. For his life, his ability to walk and if the doctors will be able to help. 

This is the night before.