On Fear

I've never really been a worrier, not about most things. The maternal units are probably the most glaring exception to that, but in most instances, that's just not me. I don't worry about the kids at school or Bruce on his business trips. When we went to San Diego, I really didn't worry about the kids, and I didn't worry that something would happen to us. I just don't worry about those things the way some people do.

One of my cardinal rules is that decisions made out of fear are rarely the right ones. Decisions based in "I don't want...." or "what if?" almost never cross my mind. I'm generally one that looks at things and decides what I DO want and I go from there.

But Tristan's diabetes and the resulting hospital stay, plus the day-to-day living with it have truly shaken me to the core. Suddenly my world just doesn't seem safe anymore.

Today, on the way to take the girls to school, an ambulance went by with lights and sirens going. It turned down the street toward the Junior High. A fire truck followed just a few minutes later (there are often paramedics on fire trucks, so around here, a medical emergency gets you both). I felt this black thing gripping my heart.....it felt like my heart stopped for a moment, and I had to tell myself to breathe.

It was fear.

Fear that they were going to the Junior High because Tristan had passed out. Fear that something horrible had happened to him. Even now, as I type this, I can feel that fear again. There's really no logical reason for me to be this fearful. There are 1200 students at that school, and hundreds of residents in the area around it. They probably weren't even going to the Junior High.

And yet. Fear.

I can't quite shake it. Please tell me this gets better. Please tell me that it will get easier. Please tell me that I won't worry about losing him every waking moment.

But see, we almost DID lose him. Right now, that's so very close to the surface and the fear it brings is so new to me. I just don't know what to do with it, how to handle it, and most importantly, I don't know how to live with it.

I hate this.

I really really really hate this.

It's wrong on so many levels.

A child shouldn't have to stab himself 8 times a day or more. Childhood is not supposed ot HURT, damn it.

And I hate, more than anything, that I can't do a damn thing about it!