As a sort of “ritual” I check out my ‘on this day..’ On Facebook. One thing that really struck a cord with me was that this time last year I didn’t put one single post up on my page. It’s blatantly obvious as to why, it was my daughters first Christmas and due to some almighty cock ups from our local and GOSH, she was stuck in London when she didn’t actually need to be. Of course, she was still sick enough to be in hospital and not allowed to come home, but the fact was Steven and I didn’t have a pot to piss in and the well had run dry. We had no ways or means to afford getting to London to see her on this one special day of the year I genuinely used to love. Now? I hate it.
I’m definitely not a Scrooge but to me it’s just another year to point out that all the children close to Ava in age are doing what they should be. Most are walking and talking,… I try, and God do I try – to not think about what she can’t do. I try my best to focus on what she can do, she can do lots and most impressively, Less than a month a go she was in intensive care, on a ventilator.
  She was septic, and once again she kicked it in the ass.
Would another child fight as hard as she does when the unimaginable happens? Who knows.

This last month and the run up to the big day Christmas has been so tough, I’m still struggling to come to terms with things that have happened and what I’m truly doing with myself.

I’ve done things this month that I never thought I would do and it’s shown how ill I have become.

I previously had a diagnosis of Post Natal Depression, and to be honest what is it that I have?

I’ve been driven to breaking point, days are nights are a struggle and I want out, I can’t make any sense of any thing and I feel like I’m constantly panicking over anything and everything, – it’s emotionally battering me.

For my own safety I agreed to be sectioned, yeah, “kids, Mum’s crazy”, but truth be told it really wasn’t like that. Life, children, a house, two youngsters and an Ava have finally caught up with me. But the irony in the whole thing, Ava was too ill for me to stay for my full length of treatment which they had anticipated at 8 weeks. I can’t even be ill, which is fine, I’m a mum, and all those other things and will always do what I can, but sometimes I really do sit alone and think how nice it would be to have just one day, one day, free of Ava confused in her own little world, free of me being so frustrated and angry that I can’t make my daughter see the world how I see it. Instead I fight a silent battle, and I don’t even know what the prize is? What is it all for? 

I’m trying, desperate to get inside my daughters head and communicate with her, I so want her to know that she’s so loved and she’s so perfect in her own little way… But when the very touch of your own flesh on her hands sends her into meltdown, it’s hard not to take it personally and you start to question why?

People know no different but it is becoming so obvious that there is something different about Ava, her brother is now the same size, he is just over 4lbs lighter, he’s 6 months old. CHARGE is coming into its own now and she has stopped growing, she’s been this size for some time now. Strangers see me with a double buggy and comment how”lucky” I am that I have one of each “beautiful twins”. I’m at the point where it is literally too complicated to even tell them the truth. Actually no this is her younger brother yadda yadda,… Trouble is I tried that once and human curiosity got the better of this person and after informing said person that she has “problems” they wanted to know what. So after reeling off the list, they didn’t say any thing, I smiled and walked off. 

Maybe it’s me?

Maybe it’s my awkward social anxiety whereby I just can’t stand people watching me, and that’s the thing they’re not but I hate the felling that perhaps someone is and they are passing judgement on me. I just wish people wouldn’t assume, and yes it’s so easy when they do indeed look like two adorable twins. But they’re not.

And maybe, it’s because they think they’re twins now, give it another two, three months, people will assume Steven is the big brother. I hate it.

So back onto my original thoughts… Christmas is bleak for me these days. We make the best out of a bad situation, I look at other people’s photos and it eats me up inside just a little more, but then I just carry on. It’s what I do.

At least all 4 of us were at home this year, we had a good day until reality sent me spiralling back down to earth with syringes, catheters and medication, breath holding and machines.

Back to nurse duties I go, because giving up just isn’t an option. Ever.