TW: Miscarriage/pregnancy loss; general kid medical problems

Two trips to urgent care and three trips to the emergency room for two different medical issues. All in one week.

As I drove to the ER for the second time, going 25 miles an hour in the freezing rain, REM’s “It’s the End of the World as We Know It” came on. Despite the circumstances, I couldn’t help but laugh. What could be more appropriate?

It was a weird, rough winter at our house. After a delightful fall, the flu ran me over and then backed up again for three days straight in November. Christmas was a nice interlude, but was followed by various strains of sickness and toddler teething. My older son (nicknamed Sprout) was evaluated for language issues and received services that required us to do some hard-core work on our communication.

Then this week was a whole different level of chaos. My younger son’s second birthday party ended abruptly when my mother-in-law stuck her head in the basement and said, “It looks like [Sprout] has a bug bite on his hip.” Further investigation revealed that it wasn’t just one spot – the blotches were all over his body. Even worse, they were topped by raised white areas – hives. All over. For no apparent reason.

Urgent care confirmed it probably was an allergic reaction. By the time bedtime rolled around, more had popped up, so to the ER we went. The doctors and nurses told us to give him Benadryl, keep an eye on him, and get an allergy test. Thankfully, he thought staying up late and going to the hospital was a terrific break from the routine.

The second trip to the ER started with a text from my husband: “I’ve been giving him Tylenol but his fever is still up to 102.” One trip to urgent care later revealed my younger son (nicknamed Little Bird) had the flu. When you’re only 21 pounds at two years old, the flu can be pretty dangerous. Then he threw up. Twice. Back to the ER we went. We had a third trip when a visit to the doctor on Saturday revealed he was dehydrated and needed an IV.

In all three cases, we kept on keeping on.

But there was an underlying layer of fear scratching at us. It was there way back when Sprout was born – my pregnancy was so easy, something had to be wrong, right? It was there when we discovered Sprout’s eyes dilate to two different sizes. This was it – he had a brain tumor. (The doctors estimated there was a 20% chance of it being a tumor. Thankfully, he ended up being in the good 80%.) It was there when I had my third pregnancy, after a miscarriage. It worsened when complications during that pregnancy made every step risky, every weird pain a sign of a possible emergency.

Now that old fear is rushing back in a million ways. First, with language and behavior issues with Sprout, worrying that if we don’t get him services or we don’t do the therapy “right” he’ll face these challenges for life. Then, with this potential allergy, that every school lunch and birthday party could pose a fatal risk.

With Little Bird, it rushed back even before the ER visit. Before we even knew he had the flu, the doctor said that Little Bird was underweight. He’s always been tiny, but the doctor’s never been concerned before. To add to that, the doctor pointed out he should be saying two-word phrases, but isn’t yet. Right when I was so proud of his communication skills.

On one hand, I’m sick of everything being a problem. I love my children. They are not broken; they do not need fixing. On the other hand, I want them to have the tools that can help them best move through the world as themselves. Whether those tools are supplemental milkshakes or language therapy, I know it’s good for them to have access to them.

I know that even if these problems become lifelong challenges, we’ll get by. Even though it feels like the end of the world now, it becomes the New Normal eventually. Dealing with those issues becomes part of your routine. That’s what you do as a mom, isn’t it?

What I don’t know is how to deal with that initial stab of fear. That deep, catch-your-breath fear that itches at the back of your mind. That lingers long after the initial shock.

Perhaps the solution is just what we did – to keep on keeping on. To cry when you need to. To acknowledge that fear instead of shoving it down into ugly places. To love wholeheartedly. Even and especially when it’s hard and painful.

I believe perfect love drives out fear, but it takes time and patience to work. In the meantime, loving each other is all that we have.

As one of my favorite authors, Kurt Vonnegut, says in one of his books: “There’s only one rule that I know of, babies— God damn it, you’ve got to be kind.” Even when you’re at the ER at 11 PM with a two-year-old while freezing rain beats down on the pavement outside.

For more on parenting through the hard parts, check out When the Reality of Parenting Doesn’t Match Your Expectations. Be sure to follow us on Facebook.