Visiting the fire station.
We went to the fire station yesterday with the kids. I wanted to meet back up with the fire fighter who stayed by Finn’s side as long as he could. The fire fighter who gave me a bare hug and validated that this was scary, this was raw, this was not normal. ‘The Fireman’ had asked to be kept up to date and hoped to see Finn again, once we were discharged from the hospital. We didn't stop by the night we were discharged, though. Finn was so exhausted and tired and done, and so were we.
So we waited til everyone was feeling a bit better.
Indie packed a little bag with her birthday gum in it, with high hopes to parcel them out to each of the firefighters. Stella helped me make cookies, and I tried to write out my gratitude in a card. Which was hard because I was also attempting to downplay how scared and traumatizing the whole experience had been for me. It’s tricky to fully thank someone for their calming and loving presence when you don’t want to admit how much you needed that to balance your fear. I still feel dramatic for feeling all the feelings.
It's funny. When we walked into the station we couldn't remember or recognize anyone. Damon and I were almost sure we were at the wrong place. My brain did remember the voice of one of the firefighters. Isn't that weird? I had watched them, and talked with them and spent over an hour with them. But it was as if I'd never seen any of them before.
The firemen were all glad to see Finn and admitted that Finn’s experience had weighed on their minds all week. One fire fighter told us that in 20 years of service he had never seen anything quite like what Finn experienced, despite responding to several febrile seizure calls.
He said after leaving Finn in the hospital, he had to just shut down and take a load off. He was doubtful at the hospital’s diagnosis. Which is effectively making me feel uneasy & cracked the peace I had managed to construct.
We let the girls play on the fire trucks, while the firemen dug around for stickers and hats. Very sweet. Finn let ‘The Fireman’ hold him for a teeny bit before bursting into tears and clawing his way back to me.
I hope it was a good experience for them.
They were sweet, and kind, and generous. But I don’t think it was a very good experience for me. That night I woke up in a panicked sweat & crying, as I had dream after dream of Finn dying. Each time I struggled to save him and each time I had to sit helplessly and watch him go limp and die. Only to fall asleep again and relive another death. Again and again and again. He was strangled by snakes, drown, malformed, taken from me, I died in one and had to just sit and watch him grow up in an abusive home.
Damon and I had decided to cancel Finn’s EEG, for a few reasons. Finn’s still sick & would need sleep deprivation to complete the test. I didn’t want to put him through that while his body is fighting off a nasty bug. We felt comfortable and hopeful that this was an isolated event caused by his fever. & if not, we could always reschedule. Then there was financially. This is a very small reason. If we felt the test would absolutely help or find a productive solution, we’d have no hesitation. But as it stands now, it’s an expensive test, and we feel like it won’t yield any helpful results. That in addition to the thousands we’ll be paying for his ambulance ride & hospital visit. We decided to wait.
The decision felt good. I felt at peace with it. My ‘gut’ said Finn was fine. I was moving on. Until the firemen. It rattled my peace.
I feel so guilty. Guilty for struggling. Guilty it’s effecting me. Guilty I don't know without wavering how to move forward. There are so many families experiencing worse. The danger is gone. Finn's fine. Why can’t I kick the worry. Why am I being so dramatic. Why can’t I sleep? I wish I was stronger. Heaven forbid something more traumatic happens to our kids. I think it’d brake me completely, if this is how I’m choosing to handle this. I don’t think I’m choosing it. I don’t know maybe I’m just dramatic. These are all thoughts spiraling around my head while I lay away watching Finn on our video monitor.
So we waited til everyone was feeling a bit better.
Indie packed a little bag with her birthday gum in it, with high hopes to parcel them out to each of the firefighters. Stella helped me make cookies, and I tried to write out my gratitude in a card. Which was hard because I was also attempting to downplay how scared and traumatizing the whole experience had been for me. It’s tricky to fully thank someone for their calming and loving presence when you don’t want to admit how much you needed that to balance your fear. I still feel dramatic for feeling all the feelings.
It's funny. When we walked into the station we couldn't remember or recognize anyone. Damon and I were almost sure we were at the wrong place. My brain did remember the voice of one of the firefighters. Isn't that weird? I had watched them, and talked with them and spent over an hour with them. But it was as if I'd never seen any of them before.
The firemen were all glad to see Finn and admitted that Finn’s experience had weighed on their minds all week. One fire fighter told us that in 20 years of service he had never seen anything quite like what Finn experienced, despite responding to several febrile seizure calls.
He said after leaving Finn in the hospital, he had to just shut down and take a load off. He was doubtful at the hospital’s diagnosis. Which is effectively making me feel uneasy & cracked the peace I had managed to construct.
We let the girls play on the fire trucks, while the firemen dug around for stickers and hats. Very sweet. Finn let ‘The Fireman’ hold him for a teeny bit before bursting into tears and clawing his way back to me.
I hope it was a good experience for them.
They were sweet, and kind, and generous. But I don’t think it was a very good experience for me. That night I woke up in a panicked sweat & crying, as I had dream after dream of Finn dying. Each time I struggled to save him and each time I had to sit helplessly and watch him go limp and die. Only to fall asleep again and relive another death. Again and again and again. He was strangled by snakes, drown, malformed, taken from me, I died in one and had to just sit and watch him grow up in an abusive home.
Damon and I had decided to cancel Finn’s EEG, for a few reasons. Finn’s still sick & would need sleep deprivation to complete the test. I didn’t want to put him through that while his body is fighting off a nasty bug. We felt comfortable and hopeful that this was an isolated event caused by his fever. & if not, we could always reschedule. Then there was financially. This is a very small reason. If we felt the test would absolutely help or find a productive solution, we’d have no hesitation. But as it stands now, it’s an expensive test, and we feel like it won’t yield any helpful results. That in addition to the thousands we’ll be paying for his ambulance ride & hospital visit. We decided to wait.
The decision felt good. I felt at peace with it. My ‘gut’ said Finn was fine. I was moving on. Until the firemen. It rattled my peace.
I feel so guilty. Guilty for struggling. Guilty it’s effecting me. Guilty I don't know without wavering how to move forward. There are so many families experiencing worse. The danger is gone. Finn's fine. Why can’t I kick the worry. Why am I being so dramatic. Why can’t I sleep? I wish I was stronger. Heaven forbid something more traumatic happens to our kids. I think it’d brake me completely, if this is how I’m choosing to handle this. I don’t think I’m choosing it. I don’t know maybe I’m just dramatic. These are all thoughts spiraling around my head while I lay away watching Finn on our video monitor.
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