For the past six years, I have been carrying a heavy feeling that has prevented me from my reality. Sometimes the resentment that comes from the situation is extreme, and sometimes it's regret; maybe I would have done it this way or that way, and I wouldn't be carrying this heavy weight that weighs me down over the years, so I thought...
I know there were days when everything looked fine on the outside, but deep down inside of me, I felt the weight, the silent kind of weight that stole my joy even when I should have been happy. This weight mostly comes in the form of regret, but it is what it is.
Regret over a condition I wish I could have approached differently; the word "alright" I voiced out without thinking outside the box. I stayed silent, thinking that the whole situation was under control since I was in a good hospital, but I was wrong. I should have known better; I should have thought deeper; I should have made a smart decision, as Mum, who is also in a medical field, even though I am not a medical doctor.
There are lots of, had I known, lots of regrets. I kept going hard on myself, wishing for the hand of the clock to be reset so I could make a smart decision or opinion, but if only wishes were horses.
After the MRI brain scan my son had, the neurologist handling his case told me clearly that his issue is a developmental defect, and even surgery cannot correct it!.. He said a lot that I didn't know when tears rolled down my cheeks because upon hearing such a statement, I quickly recalled the time I gave birth to my son prematurely. And the hospital told us to buy all materials needed for the incubator, as my child will complete the gestational period over there.
We didn't hesitate at all but bought all the needed materials requested. Only for the same doctor to come back after 24 hours and say they have checked my son and seen that everything is okay, so no need for an incubator. I was overly excited and gifted all the incubator materials we bought to other moms who needed it.
Only for me to later notice the congestion at the neonatal unit and the death of a baby over there. I began to wonder, could it be that there is no space for them to admit my newborn over there that made them discharge him, or were they saying the truth that, indeed, my child is okay and doesn't need to enter the incubator?
To be sincere, I didn't deliberate on this thought for a long time but rather told myself that I can't question a doctor but believe his diagnosis; after all, I am not a doctor.
The excitement that I was going home was heavenly after a long time I stayed in the hospital over the pregnancy complications. If only I knew what was coming; I would have been patient to really verify that truly, my child is fit to go home.
Four years after the birth, my son suddenly went unconscious—no fall, no fever, no nothing—and seizures started to this date. He is already 11 years old, and since he was four, I have been suffering over his health challenge; it's been terrible dealing with a brain condition. I can't count the number of hospitals I have visited so far, and I'm still counting. The resources are going out day by day to date.
The emotional torture on my end, the pain my son has gone through, and more...it's a whole lot of regret!.
Honestly, I am finding it hard to forgive myself, and nothing that I know I am doing is helping the situation as it is now, but I wish to, just not yet, but I keep striving; it's not easy, though, watching my first son live on drugs to control the brain condition.
This post is in response to the ladies of Hive prompt #287. Interesting in participating ? Click here