The Fry is 18 months old

I haven’t posted in a long time. I thought I would abandon the blog after the Fry turned 1, but he so continues to amaze me, defy me, make me laugh harder than I’ve ever laughed, that I had to post again.

As we were sleeping together last night, I cuddled up with him and softly kissed his head. “I love you,” I told him, “more than I ever thought possible.” 

In the past couple of months I’ve had 2 different episodes that made me feel real and true panic that my little boy might have to grow up without me. Not knowing me. There’s no way he’d remember, at this young age, and to only have pictures from such a relatively short period of time, well, it just seemed excessively tragic, in a way that still makes me feel scared and like my throat is closing if I think about it too hard.

The first was about a month ago, when I flew to Virginia to see a long-time, close friend, whose wife had recently died. It was a pretty short flight and thus one of those horrid puddle jumper type planes. I hate flying under the best of circumstances, so this was Not Fun. However, the flight there was pretty uneventful (medium-horrid, as all flights are horrid to some degree), other than me crying during take-off, which is not unusual, and I was glad I was able to be there for my friend.  He saw me off at their small, regional airport on a cold, rainy, windy day and I was already nervous about the flight, with good reason.  Bar none this was the absolute worst flight I have ever been on in terms of turbulence, and I’ve been on plenty of turbulent flights, including ones where some of the bins flew open and stuff flew out. There were several very small children and babies on this flight and I was trying hard to concentrate on them, looking forward to getting home and seeing my boy, and trying to smile sympathetically at the mothers who were dealing with strapped-in screamers.  Immediately upon taking off and beginning our ascent, it just felt wrong. The plane was shaking so much and so bumpy I was afraid we weren’t going to make it up at all. I tried distracting myself with a crossword, no dice. As we attempted to climb through the storm, the plane shook more and more. Several people gasped and someone let a small scream escape (was that me?). At the usual interval, the flight attendant came on and welcomed everyone and thanked them for flying their airline (the irony was not lost on me, even in that horrible moment) and that when they reach cruising altitude, the captain will turn off the FS sign and you’ll be free to move about the cabin…”though he might not,” she said. And then she’d be through with a beverage service, “well, I MAY be coming through, we will have to see,” she said.  This made it even worse for me. As the turbulence got even worse, I began really panicking.  We were high enough that I didn’t have any cell reception, but I took out my phone anyway. I had it open and my finger on the speed dial to my husband, hoping that as we fell, I would just stare at my phone and as soon as it showed reception bars, I would dial him, and hoped to have just enough time to say, “We’re crashing, I love you, take care of the baby.” Seriously. I rehearsed it a few times to practice saying it quickly. I knew there wouldn’t be time to call my mother, and was sad about that. I thought about trying to add “Tell my Mom I love her,” but she knew that, and how many seconds do you really have as your plane is crashing?

I was panicked and sick at the thought of my boy growing up without me. I knew DH would manage, and might even find another mother for the Fry, which he would need, but which also made me sick and sad to think of it.  To say I was relieved when we finally touched down in Cleveland would be about as big an understatement as can be made.

Just a few weeks after that, I had a couple of really bad nights after large meals, with pain and nausea and generally feeling horrible. I soon learned these were likely gallstone attacks, and my doctor scheduled me for an ultrasound to get it checked out. A younger woman did the ultrasound, with a more senior u/s tech in the room. After she was done they were muttering over by the computer and printed some stuff out.  I’ve had lots of medical procedures and dozens of ultrasounds, including while I was pregnant of course, and I was surprised when they didn’t just say ok, we’re done, get dressed.  They said, “we have to go show these to the doctor over our department. Don’t get dressed until we come back.” 

They were gone a really long time.

Why would they have to show these to the doctor, I wondered, and so quickly? WTF was wrong? I mean, I already suspected I needed to have my GB out, and I felt fine so I couldn’t see what the emergency was….OMG, what if something is wrong with my LIVER. Or my PANCREAS. OMG. I was SWEATING. I was fucking TERRIFIED. The longer they were gone, the more scared I got, and I could have actually vomited on the floor. I just started thinking, OMG don’t they know I have a BABY, THEY HAVE TO FIX WHATEVER IT IS THAT’S WRONG! OH MY GOD! What fi they can’t fix it! What if there are tumors! OH MY GOD, FUCK! I was so fucking panicked, my palms were sweating and I was completely freaking out.

When they finally came back in the room they said, ok, you can go, you should follow up with your doctor in a couple of days. 

“WHAT’S WRONG!” I demanded. They looked at me a little weird. “WHY DID YOU HAVE TO SHOW THESE TO THE DOCTOR! WHAT’S WRONG WITH ME!  I know you’re not supposed to tell me but I have a BABY at home, you have to tell me WHAT’S WRONG!”  Oh, they said, we have to show every ultrasound to the doctor before the patient is released, just to make sure they don’t need any additional pictures or views.


The panic and sickness I felt both of these times in thinking about my poor boy growing up without me, and the unfairness of me FINALLY wanting to live a really long time and live my life raising my son but not being able to for whatever reason were just so immense, I never thought I could feel anything like that. 

I hope to never feel that way again.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s