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May 19

I’m in hell

Look, there are going to be good days and bad days.  I know that.

Today is a bad day.

I fought with Sam for more than an hour about taking his medication.  I threw a phone and a doll carriage, he swore, I swore back at him.  He cried, I cried.   We were both furious and desperate and sad and scared.  He’s still sick to his stomach, still can’t stand for any length of time, and swallowing the pills hurts his stomach.  But if he doesn’t take them, then the pressure might elevate back up and we’re right back where we started.

In the end, he took them.

I’m shaky and cried out.  He’s exhausted and depressed.

All I could think was that I was going to have to bring him back into the ER.  And they’d probably end up taking him and putting him into the mental health ward, because he’s so depressed.  Which would mean that they’d take him away from me.  Or alternately, I’d be trapped in the hospital, the place where he’s most miserable and unhappy, because only there can I make sure that he’s getting the medication he needs to get better, all the while having him sink lower and lower into depression – and the entire time I’m there, I’d be missing my girls and my husband and my dog – and the whole family would be lost in this endless loop of misery and sadness.

It doesn’t feel like this is getting any better.

I know it is.  I mean, he’s drinking ginger ale, so right off the bat, that’s more than just water.  And he did, in the end, take the meds.   He’s resting sort of comfortably, and he’s not complaining of a headache.  He hasn’t vomited since yesterday morning.

 

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