Grieving and functioning … post diagnosis 

Feeling sad about losing something you never truly had seems quite a mixed up concept

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Mummagrizzlybear has been exhausted for too long,  a good night’s sleep does not relieve it and the opportunity for a ‘break’ doesn’t cut it either. Almost 6 months ago the chaos began and we can probably count on our fingers the ‘normal’ days since then. The irony of the word normal makes me chuckle sarcastically inside (mustering the strength to actually laugh is just asking too much); what I now refer to as normal, I’m certain, is anything but normal to Joe blogs. Is it the lack of normal that wears me out so? Would a week of normal restore me? 

There have been waves of emotions since receiving babybears official diagnosis back in January this year. We’ve probably dipped a toe into most of the stages of grief along the way and I felt I’d allowed myself the kindness to explore what I feel we have lost as well as fully recognising and appreciating the condition and its impact on my baby bear, so how can it still hurt and shock me when I’m triggered into noticing grief once more?

This week, year 3s in our area have been packed off on their first camp away with school. Baby bear had his name down to go prior to his exclusion. He’d however been excluded from this camp far before his official exclusion from school. School had not cashed my cheque for the deposit as they did with other mums. They instead brought me to a meeting where they described what they ‘might be able to do if his behaviour improved’ and rejected my offers to provide a carer to attend along side him so that he may be able to experience the camp along with his peers. I accepted that he’d need more support than others, but was adamant that he shouldn’t be excluded due to the nature of his disability – surely that would be discrimination?  However, school were not in the least bit interested in my suggestions and as it turned out, they made pretty sure he could not attend anyway. It’s been this camp that has alerted me to another facet of our not-normal life. It has resurfaced the grief. I’ve been exploring uncertainties like “would he have coped if he had been given the chance to go?” Right at this moment any change to routine causes massive disruption to his well-being, any moments mummagrizzlybear attempts to steal to herself are greeted with a needy Baby bear impressing demands for support in one shape or another, so could he have gone away for 3 days? Will he ever?

Feeling sad about losing something you never truly had seems quite a mixed up concept. But that’s where I’m at. I’m sad that he’s not neurotypically being packed off to camp on his first adventure away from home. I’m sad that he’s not in the slightest bit bothered that his peers get to do this. I’m sad that my aspirations about his future have diminished into a series of uncertainties. I’m sad that ‘new things’ require such a careful tact, I’m sad that other people can make ordinary requests of their child and not be met by anger. And I’m selfishly sad that I’ve reduced my working hours (to provide more caring hours and find a better balance between work and home) and feel zilch benefit so far from having done so (in fact the only things I’ve clocked is the half size pay packet and lowered moral).

I’m not so lost in this grief that I am unable to notice the ‘good bits’. I can name them. These past few weeks there have been a few worth mentioning. We’re embarking on night number 7 without a night-waking (strange correlation to having attended a sleep workshop last week!) We’re receiving support from professionals and there seems to be light ahead of next week’s TAC, baby bear has taken to holding my hand (on more than one occassion) in an affectionate nice way whilst we walk the dogs and we’ve shared some nice family time out together. Like I say. I can name them. Even crack a smile when thinking about them but it’s somehow not masking the sad bits.

A friend a week or so ago commented that I’d been absent but she wasn’t going to push me, she’d just figured that we were doing what we needed to right now. Another friend mentioned only today that we’d not seen each other in yonks. I’ve unanswered messages sitting in my inbox as well as incomplete work tasks that I’m routinely ignoring. I’ve not been for a run for ages and make-up seems an unneccesary chore. Professionals pass me tissues and ask questions about whether I have a supportive GP? I’m going through the motions of making sure I get ‘me-time’ or planning things to look forward to (a hen do, a holiday, a concert) but all with little positive effect and this is so unlike me. I’m irritable but functioning. Constantly tired but functioning. Emotional but functioning. Cutting myself off but functioning.  Seeing it here in writing is scary. My wellbeing is slipping and I’m in the driver’s seat choosing this path. How can this be? I know depression to be a stage of grief but it’s a place I do not want to visit. No matter how fleetingly. 

I know kubler-ross describes the five stages of grief to be Denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. They do not have a time frame for each phase to pass nor an A to B strict pattern to follow. There’s every likelihood that I’m simply re-visiting a stage that I’m less than comfortable with. And that’s ok. It has to be. Self-kindness has to be far more beneficial than beating myself with the metaphorical stick for feeling low. 

So for me I’ve given myself a bench mark for what will not be ok. Just as an extra self-care checker should I become scared again that this depression might not pass. If I can answer ‘yes’ to these, then I think i’m ok. If it starts to be ‘no’ then I’ll speak to a doctor.

1) am I able to enjoy myself in the company of others?

2) do I notice the sun or the blue sky?

3) is there other evidence or explanations for why I may be feeling low?

4) do I still consider myself to be functioning?

The diagnosis will not disappear. Life will continue to deliver little reminders of what ‘might have been’. There’s little point fighting it or playing the ostrich. Embracing it will be key but gently and only when I’m ready. 

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