Sleepless Nights

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  • Curled up

    Amy is crying. I flick on the hallway light and open the gate into her room. Birthday balloons litter the floor, I try not to trip. Reaching the bed unscathed I lay down next to her. She burrows into my arms.

    Hungry.

    No you’re not. It’s bed time.

    I need an apple.

    You need to go to sleep.

    Apple.

    Sleep.

    Hmmph.

    She can hmmmph with the best of them. Visions of teenagers flow through my head. God help me.

    Cuddle me?

    Of course. Come here.

    She burrows deeper.

    In the lounge room I can hear Isaac and Nathan talking.

    What did we do today?

    Daddy buyed me a flower.

    He did. What else?

    He buyed me chippies. And he buyed Mummy a drink!

    She didn’t notice the chocolates. That’s always a good thing. Sometimes a girl needs chocolates hidden in her underwear drawer, all for her.

    What else did we do?

    We play outside!

    I know. We dug a new garden?

    Yes. And Amy did play with Seven! YAY!

    And then you ran through the mud. And had to have a shower.

    And Daddy did growl.

    Because you ran inside with muddy feet.

    Yeah.

    Yeah.

    What else did we do?

    We went to MyNanny’s house!

    That was yesterday.

    Yeah. MyNanny’s house is empty.

    I know. We cleaned it out.

    MyNanny died.

    I know. I miss MyNanny.

    Me too. Say me too Mummy?

    Me too.

    We used to visit MyNanny.

    Yes, we did. What did we do there?

    We ate cake!

    [giggling] We did indeed.

    And read books?

    Yes.

    MyNanny is in St Johns.

    No sweetheart. MyNanny died. We’re very sad.

    My eyes start to prickle.

    We play in MyNanny’s bed!

    You did, didn’t you.

    And we cleaned out the drawers.

    Yes.

    Which, was harder than it sounds.

    MyNanny has gone away.

    Yes sweetheart. She has.

    Kisses?

    I kiss her and she snuggles into her blankets. In the lounge room I can hear Isaac start to cry.

    I need to go now sweetheart, Isaac needs putting to sleep.

    No!

    Yes. He needs boobies.

    No! You stay here with me.

    Sweetheart, Isaac needs me too.

    No, he needs Daddy. You stay here.

    Nope. I’ve got to go. Here, come and kiss me.

    She kisses me, albeit reluctantly.

    Goodnight Amy.

    Goodnight Mummy.

    I love you.

    I luff you too.

    I climb out of bed and leave, flicking off the hallway light as I go. Behind me, Amy starts to sob quietly. She managed to sneak a mouthful of pie earlier and the gluten in the pastry has sent her spinning. I know she’ll be okay in a few minutes, although I worry about how she’ll be overnight.

    It’s been almost 12 weeks since Nan died. The grieving hits me harder now, even though it feels less socially acceptable. I keep myself tightly contained in order to keep my shit together. But don’t doubt it, this sucks still.

    Suddenly things are moving very fast. A real estate listing, an open home and whoosh, things are out of my grasp. I save the photos the real estate took, not knowing why. I just can’t bear to delete them.

    Things keep moving forwards. I don’t get a say in that.

    I’ll keep dealing with it as best I can. With silent tears and chocolates eaten in an empty bedroom.

  • Let’s talk about sleep. Or the lack thereof.

    Isaac is sleepless. He’s more sleepless than Amy was and seeing as how I named this blog ‘Sleepless Nights’ when she was 11 months old, that’s really saying something.

    He finishes cluster feeding at around 11pm, five hours after I’ve put him down for the first time. His cluster feeds are generally 5 minutes long, every 30 minutes or so. It would be lovely to have an early night, but I’m not kidding myself that it’s going to happen.

    At 11pm, I finally get to drag myself off to bed, content in the fact that Isaac is sleeping deeply. Only to have him start the night time feeds.

    Every hour, he wakes crying. On a good night, he’ll feed for twenty minutes and then sleep for forty minutes before waking again. On a bad night, like the last few we’ve had, he’ll feed for 20 minutes, goo and laugh at me for 20 minutes, feed for another 20 minutes before sleeping for, you guessed it, twenty minutes.

    Add, rinse, repeat.

    Over and over again.

    Some nights he’ll stay awake for 1-2 hours. Talking, gooing, feeding, crying. Everything except sleeping.

    It’s … wearing to say the least.

    Our days start at 5am. By the time I get Isaac back down for a nap at 7.30-8am, Amy is awake for the day, needing breakfast and playtime and snuggles and ohmygod.

    I’m a little exhausted.

    ***

    The doctor prescribed me some new anti-inflammatories recently. Which is great! My tense and sore muscles thank her.

    Only, there is one problem.

    Once my muscles are coaxed into relaxing by good drugs, I’m left rather floppy.

    No, scratch that.

    I’m left with fuck all stability at all.

    Apparently all my tensed and painful muscles are actually keeping all my joints together. Whodathunkit.

    Anyone else had any experience with anti-inflammatories causing floppiness issues?

    By 8am this morning, I’d relocated a good half a dozen joints god knows how many times. After the fourth wrist dislocation, I put a brace on. By lunch time, I’d removed the brace because I was only dislocating inside it. My hips popped in and out as I walked and I’m still not convinced that my elbow and ribs are all back in.

    It was a bad day.

    The actual dislocations are getting less painful, while the overall pain is getting worse. Trade-off I suppose. It’s rather disconcerting to feel your bones sliding against each other though. Especially when they won’t stay put.

    ***

    6am this morning found me curled up on the couch under a blanket while Isaac played on the floor next to me. I’d been trying to nap again, but he kept squawking at me and needing things. He’s finally worked out how to go forwards, as opposed to sideways or backwards, so he kept getting stuck and needing rescuing.

    I climbed off the couch and stood to put wood in the fire. A cat curled around my ankles, trying to make me break my neck. I shoved the wood in, shut the door and leant down to catch the cat. For once, it was easy. She was hungry and didn’t dart away.

    I walked past the couch, picking up my heatpack as I went. I opened the gate into the kitchen and walked towards the microwave.

    It was only the frantic scrabbling of the cat as I went to open the microwave door that had me realise that it wasn’t the heatpack that I was about to put into the microwave.

    It was the cat.

    Poor cat.

    God knows I wouldn’t have enjoyed having to run outside to rescue my heatpack from the icy ground after I threw it out of the kitchen window.

    Thank god I stopped in time.

    My feet would have been frozen.

    I shook myself to wake up, and ended up with things where they were meant to go. The cat out the window and the heatpack in the microwave.

    We won’t talk about how many attempts I had at making a cup of tea though. That’s just embarrassing.

    Cough.

    ***

    Hi, my name is Veronica and today, I almost microwaved the cat.

    How are you today?

    ***

    Edited to add:

    I forgot to mention. I was included in this shiny little list. I’m thrilled. 100 Most Bookmark Worthy Websites For Dr. Mums.

  • Warmth

    As the baby falls asleep I run myself a bath. The sound of the pump thrums against the faint gurgles he makes in his pram. I wonder if I’m setting him up for more sleep issues, letting him fall asleep where he will, then content myself with the thought at least he is falling asleep for me. even if it isn’t in his cot.

    The bath finishes as Isaac closes his eyes. I hold my breath and quickly transfer him to his cot, swaddled and snuggled. He opens sleepy eyes to look at me and inside I panic. On the outside, I lift his blanket to his cheek and he snuggles down, content that he is safe. His eyes shut again and I turn and walk away.

    Through the lounge room I walk, shedding clothes and layers of myself. The children are asleep, the curtains are shut. No one here to see except for me and Nathan. I think he watches me walk away, but I don’t turn around. I’m intent on my bath.

    I flick my hair into a bun and turn the heater on. A quick check tells me that the water is the correct temperature.

    It’s been a busy weekend I think as I slide under the warm water. Amy turned three, I cried until I couldn’t breathe and I had a good time. All rolled up in two days.

    I cock my head  to the side, listening for the sound of my children. Nothing. As it should be. I start to relax, even though I never stop listening.

    It’s been a long time since I had a bath. I have to gauge pain against the possibility of my body temperature rising causing nausea and the nausea generally wins hands down. This time I have enough anti-nausea tablets to see me through a temperature rise and the pain is enough that I need to soak.

    I open my book and start to read. The last time I read a book in the bath was when I was living with Nan. Memories assault me before I shut them out and absorb myself in my book.

    Slowly the bath water cools.

    As my feet start to get cold, I put my book down. I look around for the face washer I am certain I grabbed, only to find it sitting a few metres away. I grabbed it, I just didn’t leave it within reach. Stupid brain fog. In one swift movement I stand and water streams away. Goosebumps rise as I hurry to grab the face washer and my razor. With a breath of relief I sink myself back under the water, only to discover I’m still cold. I hesitate over running more hot water and then bring myself back to the present, where it’s my water and I’m the adult. I don’t need to ask permission as I turn on the tap.

    It’s a struggle, my hands are not as strong as they used to be. I have to use two hands, despite me being the person to tighten them last. If Nathan turns them off I’ve no hope of getting them on again alone.

    Warm again, I wash my face and then pick up my razor. I start at the bottom of my legs, shaving all the way up. I count bruises as I go. By the time I get to twenty, I give up. How many there are today doesn’t matter. New ones will just appear to replace the old.

    My mind wanders as I finish behind one knee and I cut myself. I can never shave my legs without cutting myself these days. I sink my leg back under the water, not caring anymore about bits I might have missed. This bath is meant to be about relaxation, not counting my flaws.

    I contemplate laying in the bath a little longer, but I can’t do it. Not now that I’ve shaved my legs. I stand and grab my towel. I walk out to the fireplace, ignoring the [tiny] mirror as I go. I’m relaxed. No need to stress myself out again with bad skin and bags under my eyes.

    It’s warm in front of the fire as I dry myself and get dressed.

    I must do this more often.

    But knowing me, I won’t. Baths are a treat. A side effect of the huge amounts of rain we’ve been having, I can afford to waste the water to soak myself.

    I give myself a shake to make sure everything is where it should be. My ankles have been slipping lately and they need a little wiggle to keep them in place. I stand in front of the fire for a few more moments before kissing Nathan and heading to bed with my book.

    10 minutes later, Isaac wakes for his first feed of the night. But, such is life.

  • On this day

    On this day three years ago, my little girl was born. A silent bundle, plopped onto my chest. Wide eyed, she looked straight at me.

    This day; today, she turned three. Three. A big number for such a small girl. But then, she’s not a baby anymore, nor a toddler.

    Today. The day after I popped my ankle badly. I woke up, smiled and helped open gifts. I took more painkillers than I probably ought to, braced everything up and put a smile on my face.

    Because my little girl, she had turned three. And she deserved that from me, the happy and the smiling and the Very Happy Birthday she kept telling me she was having.

    And I smiled and breathed deep when the tears threatened to flow. Because my little girl had turned Three and there should be no room for grief here.

    I smiled at the barbeque in her honour. I held my shit together, helped along by more elastic bandaging than one person should fashionably wear. I smiled and laughed and took photos.

    Inside, I died a little.

    Because this is not how it should have been. We were not meant to be missing someone so badly that breathing hurts.

    Amy turned Three and my world started to crumble. My walls, built up over these last ten weeks fell apart.

    ***

    My physio set me adrift yesterday.

    Here are your exercises, make sure you do them, feel free to ring me with questions, make an appointment if you need more braces, goodbye.

    Somehow I can only think that I’m not the success story she was hoping for.

    Treating Ehlers Danlos is not an easy task. I know this.

    Still. I was hoping for a little more.

    Hopefully my next referral gets me somewhere.

    ***

    Adrift.

    Washed in a sea of grief.

    Sinking, through the bubbles.

    Not breathing.

    Until suddenly I am.

    Breathing again.

    Because I have to.

    ***

    Today was hard. Harder than I expected, harder than I’d have ever imagined.

    ***

    Today Amy turned Three and it was bittersweet.


  • THREE!

    Today Amy turned three.

    She had a ball.

    More tomorrow when I can actually type and edit some photos.