Melancholy

I feel melancholy.  A definition of melancholy is "sober thoughtfulness; pensiveness."  It applies.

I don't know whether I need to talk or write, or what I need to do, but my brain is tired and busy at the same time.  Jessi goes into the hospital on Thursday.  In an effort to prepare her for her test, we started weaning her off of her medication last night--cut out 50 mg of one of her meds.  She had one seizure last night and has had 4 today.  And the day isn't over.  Typically, her worst seizure is between 10 pm and midnight.  I wonder if I'll be calling 911 tonight...  That in itself is an odd anticipation...an odd possibility.

It's difficult to watch your child thrash uncontrollably.  We watch her lips and eyelids turn blue as the rest of her face turns gray.  We have faith that she will start breathing again once the seizure stops, but there is that thought in the back of our minds...what if she doesn't?

I can't leave her alone.  What if she falls?  I have had countless visions of finding her with a major injury, lying on the bathroom floor, her skin gray and lips blue.

Even when she comes out of her seizure, there are problems to deal with.  The paralysis on the left side of her body.  Sometimes, she defecates during a seizure.  She wakes up, partially paralyzed, messy, and determined to go to the bathroom.  She can't walk without help.  I clean her up.  She cries.

She bites her tongue and blood drips down her chin.

My temper is short, and every little thing the other kids do sets me off and makes me frustrated.  I cry when my sweetheart is around.  I guess I try to be strong when he's not here, and I don't cry.  I'm tired, but I can't sleep well.  I want to scream.

Here's the irony--we aren't at the hospital yet.  She will be taking smaller doses of her medication tomorrow than she took today, and even smaller doses Thursday.  We check her in on Thursday at 12:30 in the afternoon.  I wonder if we'll survive until then.

Trying to have faith.  Trying to be positive.  When all of my fears are melted down, I know that God has us in His hands.  I know that many people I admire and respect are praying for us, and I feel their strength and faith.  We have an amazing amount of support and love and help.  It could be infinitely worse.  I really can't complain. I really shouldn't.

Don't mind me.  I'm just melancholy.  It will pass.  :)