A Night at the Aquarium and other Fear Factors
Could it be that I was the only person awake in the entire aquarium at 2:26 in the middle of the night? All around me, girls and their moms slept, huddled in sleeping bags adjacent to fish tanks. And did I really have to go to the bathroom? I must have been a mile from the bathrooms.
I slipped out of my sleeping bag which lay atop a pad half the size of a normal twin-sized bed. The gurgling of nearby fish tanks hid the whispered breaths of all the Girl Scouts and moms who lay sleeping in their own sleeping bags. In socks, I padded past one bagged sleeper after another, past the pollock, past the shark room and the girls surrounding the tank in their sleeping bags, past the jelly fish room, past the turtle's tank, to the bright lights of a paper-strewn ladies' room. And I marveled that I'd never heard so many silent sleepers...not one man in the building and not one snore (sorry, men!)
Remind me why I never camp, why I never lie on a floor for long. With a back that's only crooked to a chiropractor's eye and an X-ray machine, I do everything--well, with the exception of lying on floors and long-distance running. Sleep was elusive, but I had to sleep as I had a long car ride the next morning with my little daughter and I was the driver.
Still, I was happy. I would be sleep-deprived for the second time this week. But this time, it was a good sleep-deprivation, if one can be good. My daughter dozed between friends, after a night that included an amazing INSIDE TOUR of the aquarium (we saw the shark tank from above!,) a late dinner (no, we didn't eat fish,) games and crafts. It all felt so...normal?! Special, and normal. Not one tantrum, not one rage or sign of depression. Just my eager-to-please, easy-to-make-happy Girl Scout, her fellow female troopers and about half a dozen moms. (Plus a couple hundred Girl Scouts from other troops.)
What a way to end a week. Or a way to start a new one.
Rewind. Sunday night and my son was herxing. A Herxheimer's Reaction occurs when Lyme spirochetes are killed, and kinda explode in the blood system, resulting in a worsening of symptoms. The first time my son ever herxed--that is, the first time we knew he was actually herxing--he climbed out of his second floor window in an attempt to catch some air. He didn't know who I was.
Sunday night wasn't that bad. I got him into an epsom salt bath which helps to pull out the toxins. He thought there was a noodle in the bathtub. There wasn't. You never know; we do cook Korean noodles and some of them are clear, and if a sloppy someone dropped a noodle down their shirt and then washed.... But no. No noodle.
My son's voice changed. He sounded quite British, but not proper. Heigh ho. British drunk, perhaps, with words slurred. I actually taped him. He was still in control, although not quite himself, and his joints were hurting big time.
On Monday, alone in my classroom at lunchtime, I found a text from my son. "Im suicidle mom need u." In fact, he'd even hung his teddy bear from his dresser with belts. How do I know? He sent me a picture.
OMG-OMG-OMG! I called him immediately and although he was unhappy he was calm and not really suicidal. My husband had everything under control. I called the doctor, who was extremely responsive. Of course, you're probably thinking, the doctor would be responsive, but after working with so many doctors, I don't take this kind of response for granted. Most doctors would want to toss my kid into the hospital. One Lyme Literate doctor did suggest this to us once and before we knew our son had Lyme and PANDAS, he was placed into the hospital after cutting himself.
So we pulled back on the medicine that caused the herx and my husband admininstered activated charcoal and burber to bind and yank out those toxins...and onward through the day I went.
A faculty meeting was called. A colleague of ours, 44 years young, had gone in for heart surgery, the same surgery a neighbor of mine had undergone, and in the same hospital. But he wasn't recovering fast enough. Prayers, positive thoughts and miracles were needed.
I drove home, feeling devastated, praying to a G-d I would like to believe in, and flicked on the radio. And heard yet more bad news. The Boston Marathon had been bombed.
Move forward two days. Dan was still alive and I was thinking that no news was good news. My son's sleep-deprived EEG, scheduled because his face became numb for a couple of hours before catapulting into tics, was set for Thursday morning. As he was only permitted to sleep 4 hours that night, it looked as though neither my husband nor I would sleep much either. Despite the state tests, I had taken off Thursday from teaching so that I could be there when my son was given the EEG.
But plans change and my students became more of a priority than the EEG and my own son. Our beloved music teacher had died.
Thursday was a teaching day from hell in some ways. The state test was postponed, of course. Children walked into school sobbing. Teachers were given whatever support was necessary. But the day opened with talk and tears and tissues. Teachers, bereavement counselors, administration and the guidance office was hard at work all day. I was sleep-deprived and sad. I kept wondering when I'd stopped hanging out with Dan and others at lunch. Probably ever since I started staying in the classroom and working through my lunch. And was I too obsessed with the problems of my own family to hear those of others? Had I hugged Dan? I couldn't remember.
As it turns out, Dan had an unusual heart and he kept this information to himself. No one knew he had any type of disability. He lived his life with music, wit, zest. And with his direct, funny, bright outlook, he touched the lives of hundreds of people.
He lived the way I'm not living. Ironies. I don't hang out with friends much. I don't date my husband anymore. I...well, I'm a teacher during the day and a caretaker after. And when I get a chance, I reach out through the computer, through my words.
Flash to Friday: Funeral and then MRI. I bought a bottle of pomegranate liquor Friday night, trailing my daughter with me to the liquor store, at 8:45 at night. So not like me! And sooooo good on ice.
Saturday was our trip to the aquarium. I felt alive, a part of a world I'd lost for a long time. They kept us up late, and I was tired as anything, as was my little girl who is accustomed to an earlier bedtime. But it was fun being with other moms and happy kids.
My daughter and I woke up early Sunday morning. After exploring the meerkats and the touch-a-stingray tank, we set off on a 3 hour drive for her summer camp orientation. She fell asleep in the car, the lucky duck, snug in her sleeping bag in the back seat. I found an oldies station that played Dionne Warwick and other songs from way back.
I came home and started teaching myself Fun's "Carry on" on the guitar. My daughter will learn to play the drum part. We will make music together.
Destiny: back to the world of living.
I have to learn from Dan's life and his too-early death. There were hundreds of people at the funeral. This was the second funeral I'd been to in four weeks, and both events celebrated people who had a positive impact on others. I teach. I go home and take care of a sick son. I care for my daughter. But I neglect myself, my marriage and life in general, lately. I long for the days when I can travel again, go on vacation, shop and drop a bit of money that I don't have anymore.
I need to make changes. Spring is here and with it, bicycling. Despite setbacks, my son is in a better place than he was a month ago. Life goes on and it goes fast. I need to find ways of making the most of it.
Carry on.
Monday, April 22, 2013 at 06:19PM
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