Death Becomes Her
Erik is doing exceedingly well at daycare. He has gone twice now, and I was amazed to hear that he took naps when instructed, something he seems unwilling to do at home. He loves the children there and talks about them all by name.
The bad news is that I am still feeling very ill. For the last six days, I have felt completely fatigued with a break here and there of feeling like I was recovering. False alarm. The sore throat I had came and went within 24 hours, but I remain so incredibly exhausted that performing my daily routine and an afternoon/evening of work is becoming more than I can manage. My parents are away this week, so I must work half time around Erik's naps and the time Brian is home, and I am simply spent. I planned a trip to the craft store with Erik this morning to begin gathering components for the decorations for his birthday party in October but barely made it to pick up my work and back home before collapsing. Loading and unloading my child from the car and walking him in and out of the medical center while juggling correspondence and audiotapes took every last bit of strength I had left. I am now unable to complete the daily morning workouts I have mastered over the last four months and find myself under a blanket on the couch instead wishing for a speedy demise.
Erik remains terrified of the sound of sirens and sobs inconsolably if he is in bed when the sound of them fills the evening air. Since the surrounding landscape is seemingly aflame every ten minutes, this is a common occurrence. I spent some time lying in bed with him this evening trying to distract him, talking of our visit tomorrow with our neighbor. My neighbor's 18-year-old son leaves for Marine boot camp Sunday, and she will visit us tomorrow, undoubtedly arriving in the sputtering golf cart with Max, the wiener dog, for Erik's benefit. I anticipate serving bloody Marys at an unholy hour and dispensing many soggy, genuine hugs. I hate to say it, but sometimes Williams' syndrome has a gorgeous silver lining. I will never need to know the pain or anxiety of watching my baby boy leave for military duty.
I called a number in the phone book that correlated with the name on the trucks speeding down the private drive on the back side of our property (see previous post in which I mentioned screaming at the top of my lungs at the work trucks traveling 85 mph). I left a voice mail respectfully requesting they slow their pace, as I have a 2-year-old who toddles around our property and was concerned about his safety. Today the stream of trucks passed by at the almost ridiculous speed of a somber funeral procession, and I was taken aback. When I related the story to a visiting friend who stood at my window watching them pass, one of the workers apparently extended a rudely stiffening middle finger seemingly right on cue, aimed directly toward the back window where I sat. That's it. This is war.
If this feeling of exhaustion does not pass by next Monday, I will get blood work done. Something just isn't right. At this rate, if I have to kick somebody's ass, I will need to hire a general contractor to do it for me.
The bad news is that I am still feeling very ill. For the last six days, I have felt completely fatigued with a break here and there of feeling like I was recovering. False alarm. The sore throat I had came and went within 24 hours, but I remain so incredibly exhausted that performing my daily routine and an afternoon/evening of work is becoming more than I can manage. My parents are away this week, so I must work half time around Erik's naps and the time Brian is home, and I am simply spent. I planned a trip to the craft store with Erik this morning to begin gathering components for the decorations for his birthday party in October but barely made it to pick up my work and back home before collapsing. Loading and unloading my child from the car and walking him in and out of the medical center while juggling correspondence and audiotapes took every last bit of strength I had left. I am now unable to complete the daily morning workouts I have mastered over the last four months and find myself under a blanket on the couch instead wishing for a speedy demise.
Erik remains terrified of the sound of sirens and sobs inconsolably if he is in bed when the sound of them fills the evening air. Since the surrounding landscape is seemingly aflame every ten minutes, this is a common occurrence. I spent some time lying in bed with him this evening trying to distract him, talking of our visit tomorrow with our neighbor. My neighbor's 18-year-old son leaves for Marine boot camp Sunday, and she will visit us tomorrow, undoubtedly arriving in the sputtering golf cart with Max, the wiener dog, for Erik's benefit. I anticipate serving bloody Marys at an unholy hour and dispensing many soggy, genuine hugs. I hate to say it, but sometimes Williams' syndrome has a gorgeous silver lining. I will never need to know the pain or anxiety of watching my baby boy leave for military duty.
I called a number in the phone book that correlated with the name on the trucks speeding down the private drive on the back side of our property (see previous post in which I mentioned screaming at the top of my lungs at the work trucks traveling 85 mph). I left a voice mail respectfully requesting they slow their pace, as I have a 2-year-old who toddles around our property and was concerned about his safety. Today the stream of trucks passed by at the almost ridiculous speed of a somber funeral procession, and I was taken aback. When I related the story to a visiting friend who stood at my window watching them pass, one of the workers apparently extended a rudely stiffening middle finger seemingly right on cue, aimed directly toward the back window where I sat. That's it. This is war.
If this feeling of exhaustion does not pass by next Monday, I will get blood work done. Something just isn't right. At this rate, if I have to kick somebody's ass, I will need to hire a general contractor to do it for me.
Labels: anxiety, illness, neighbors, Williams syndrome
posted by Nancy at 9:14 PM
5 Comments:
"At this rate, if I have to kick somebody's ass, I will need to hire a general contractor to do it for me."
You say it all so eloquently! I sure hope you feel better soon.
Nancy, I hope you start feeling better soon. Maybe you should just go now for the blood work. Is is strep throat? I felt like I was dying for several days with that.even after the sore throat passed. Really felt like death.It was horrible. feel better okay? xoxo Heather
ive got two words for you.
ROAD SPIKES.
You arnt pregnant are you ?? There is something in the water around here at the moment, my Sister and best friend both found out the otherday!
take care, hope you feel better soon :)
xxoo
You rock, girl, calling about the speeding truchs. A friend of ours was sick of the speeding trucks on his road and finally, out of desperation, began throwing a ball in the road when they approached, letting them think a child was running after it. Did a little help, but not much. He had fun though.
You girls sure know how to make me smile. Thanks for the well wishes. I have never had strep, but who knows.
Maybe for entertainment's sake I will toss a ball off my porch in front of speeding trucks. After I scatter the carpet tacks (I don't use that drive anyway).
Post a Comment
<< Home