DamnitHank

Merry Chrysler….

It’s the most wonderful time of the year again. Figgy pudding, freezing rain and flu. Listen, I love this season, I love the feeling of the slowness, the stillness in the weather, the comfort of the wardrobe, the magic of the decorations, but no matter how well I prepare, every year humbles the Type A inside of me.

FUCK. I don’t even know how to start this because it’s just too ironic that I would re birth Damnit Hank, and then Hank would be the first to give m recent material. Honestly, I am still a little irrational from the adrenaline spike, and my heart is trying to remind my head that it’s all okay, and the mom guilt is flowing harder than the eggnog at the Roth family Christmas.

I don’t want this entire thing to be about the events that happened Tuesday but it is the lead into for the lesson here, or reminder I should say.

First off, any new parents out there I just want you to understand that with time, your extreme germaphobia and fear of all things puking, fevers and diarrhea, will become less of a fear and more of a combat situation you’ve trained for your whole life. Like I used to go into FULL on panic mode with a side of anger when my kids would get sick because it always happened at the most inconvenient times, but also, I was just frantic because I felt so scared and so helpless. Now, 15 years in the game got me slinging thermometers and Tylenol in my blue suede shoes. This isn’t to say I’m not still scared and helpless, I’ve just seen (most of it all) and every time, looking back, we’ve come through it and out the other side wiser and more confident than before, so I just remind myself that it’s out of my control and the only way out is through.

So, this year, a week before Christmas, Hank’s school imploded with flu. I’ve been silently waiting for one of the kids to start the bandwagon but hopeful every year that it misses us with my unusual knowledge of supplements, saunas and socks with onions, but nevertheless it always sneaks in. Anyway, Monday night, Hen started to feel achy and feverish, so we started our typical protocol and away he went on the couch with all the necessities. We muscled through day one, and as always nighttime got my anxiety soaring because if you know you know that nighttime is every parents scariest time when you feel like the entire world is asleep and has left you all alone with the responsibility of another humans life and all of your life decisions and regrets start to swirl making you a pacing fool just waiting on imminent danger. (Maybe that’s just me but from client conversation, I don’t think I’m alone out there).

So, Tuesday all day he just slept, and I let him because years of being told “Don’t wake a sleeping or sick child” plays like jingle bells in my head. Let him sleep it off right?

Anyway, he ended up waking up around dinner time, ate a PB & J, drank a little Gatorade and asked for some medicine for his headache and extremely stuffy nose. Not thinking anything of it, I gave him the usual stuff and sat on the couch with him and rubbed his feet until he nodded off to sleep. So, in my own crisis I’ve been dealing with, I put my blue light blockers on and started looking up “ways to balance Cortisol levels and reduce chronic anxiety.” WTF is this timing…..

Before I could even read Google’s results that I’ve already read a million-times, Hen woke up and looked at me as his nose started bleeding. Our house is drier than my recovering alcoholic Dad’s liquor cabinet and Hank has been known to get a bloody nose’s so I wasn’t overly concerned so we got up and Chad was in the kitchen so he walked to the bathroom to help.

As he started holding Hen’s nose, and I was cooling a washcloth to wipe him up with, I’ll never forget the gut feeling I had when I looked at him (even seconds before it started), I just felt like “get to Hen NOW” so I quickly dropped the rag and said “Hen are you okay” and the blank, lights were off look in his eyes made me start yelling ” HEN, HEN, HENNY CAN YOU HEAR ME” then “CHAD CATCH HIM”, as my 5 foot 10 120 lb 13 year old went limp into my bathroom tub. His fingers were purple, his already pale skin was almost see-through, we couldn’t get him to say anything even though creepily his eyes were open and fixated. Chad caught him and was cradling him against his chest as I head his head from falling backward, we locked eyes and just started yelling for Stella. >

Chad got full hand on him and just held his giant limp body as adrenaline coursed through my veins while I instructed my 15-year-old to call her aunt and get the kids into her bedroom and keep them occupied. I was on the phone with 911 as I mustered, anxiously yet calmly, the word “my son passed out and isn’t responding to us; his fingers are purple and he’d been sick for a few days.”

I’m still losing sleep over hearing her tone out the squad as and “Unresponsive 13-year-old male.”

The wait for the ambulance felt like an eternity, and by the time they had gotten to us, which was in reality only minutes, Hen had thankfully come to a little, but he was still very out of it and very colorless. The eerie silent yet loud filled the room as we kept asking him questions and telling him to stay awake.

As they pulled in right behind the burnt rubber from my sister formula 1 drive to get here, I ran out to start letting them know what happened. Chad was right behind me wedding carrying Hen as they took him from his arms and put him on the stretcher. I got into the back of the ambulance where they hooked him up to the EKG, prepped him arm for an IV and asked a million questions. His blood pressure was tanked, and they said he had a few PAC’s on the monitor, his blood sugar was perfect, and he was responding to questions with correct answers, so they reassured me he was most likely dehydrated. I can’t say enough how thankful I was for the calm demeanor and reassurances I got from the 911 dispatcher to the ambulance crew because my mind was headed in a dark place and they brought me back to the light of reality.

We rode lights and sirens to the ER which, in weird taste, both Hen and I agreed was actually kind of cool lol. And as they unloaded my already looking better son, I walked into the ER feeling a sense of calm thinking, I am so thankful to be so close to help. They got him settled in a room, nurses swarmed in, taking vitals and asking questions and before I knew it Hen was looking better than he had in days. I was so relieved I couldn’t thrown up.

As we sat there through the night, Hen’s one-of-a-kind personality started to return, his vitals were perfect, and hours later we were discharged around 1 a.m. After a stop at the gas station for Gatorades, we got him home and cozy on the couch where my sister and I sat up the rest of the night taking turns holding a mirror under his nose and laughing away the anxiety.

All is well now, but I just couldn’t help but to turn this into a great reminder, especially around this time of year when we feel like we can’t do enough in the way of presents, or we feel like we can’t control the outcomes or the happenings of a usually unpredictable sick ( I prefer “healing”)” season.

We can do everything we think is right. We can give and give and give and we can think we have it all under control, until reality humbles us to remind us that sometimes letting go and flowing give us the real sense of confidence. I used to think ‘motherly confidence’ came from knowing exactly what to do in every situation, knowing exactly what to give them if they caught a bug or how to be prophylactically acting to prevent anything from happening.

But after all these years, I have only found anxiety in the pressure of knowing and doing all those things. The REAL actual sustainable confidence has come from being thrown to the wolves and surviving anyway. Just letting go, putting my faith in (in the case medical) professionals and God and just being present. Loving my child, holding his hand, making him laugh, remaining decently calm when all I want to do is fall apart was the real vibe. It’s hard to get to this place especially when it comes to your kids, or people you love, but we have to remember that, our kids won’t remember the immunity gummies we had them taking, they won’t remember the 10th Christmas present we drove 79 miles away to have under the tree, what they will remember is the face they opened their eyes too in their scariest moment. The hand that squeezed there’s from behind the stretcher to remind them that you’re not going anywhere. The smile and excitement you showed for their gifts Christmas morning knowing damn well you already knew what they were.

They only ever what our presence and no matter how down, how scared, how helpless or failing we feel, our hearts our bigger than our fears and God gave us this gift for moments exactly like this. He needs us to remember that giving doesn’t have to be draining, it can be simple, it can be fulfilling, and it can be as easy and as free as just showing up. Christmas time is a time for us to balance the goodness of the season with the greatness of the year. Remembering that all we do throughout the year shouldn’t be forgotten when we are filling up a tree full of one day temporary joy.

Damnit Hank, drink your water.

On a quick side note of gratitude. I give all of my heart and soul props to the parents out there who deal with chronically ill children, or just in general caring for around the clock. I acknowledge what we went through may seem light in comparison and I am extremely grateful for it “just” being dehydration and flu A but damn if I’ve not been given a reminding perspective of all that we have when we have our health. God bless everyone and Happy Holidays!!

Just remember: You have enough presents, stocking stuffers are not essential, and they can also just be a toothbrush, not everyone has an elf on the shelf, and your traditions are sacred to your kids, they will remember the laughs more than the gifts!