Sad

I'm not usually one to wear my emotions on my sleeve, but I am very sad. Instead of keeping it in, I figure the best place for things to be are out in the open.

As you know, I've been fighting, what has turned out to be, a massive sinus infection. I think this was the catalyst for the unfortunate chain of events that has recently occurred in my life.

Monday was my birthday and was turning out to be a good day. In the afternoon, we got our first call from Job and Family Services for foster placements! I was so excited! We were hoping to get one child, but they asked us if we would be willing to take three. The kids were three, one and a half and two months. The youngest, a boy, was in the hospital and would remain there until he could have heart surgery. So for the meantime, we would have two little girls. I talked with Matt and he was willing. I was so excited. I think my excitement clouded my judgement. Looking back now, I should have declined and given myself time to get over being ill before taking on such a big responsibility.

We had nothing ready for the girls. We scrambled to round up car seats and Matt and I headed to the agency to get them. It was cold an windy. We met in the parking lot and I was handed a cold, scared and crying little three-year-old girl. At first, she didn't want me to hold her, but she was shivering. I asked, "Are you cold?"
"Uh Huh..." she nodded.
"Do you want me told hold you to keep you warm?"
She nodded in agreement.
With papers flying around and signatures being put here and there, bags getting exchanged and two kids crying, we manged to get the girls in the car. Matt was taking care of the one-year-old.

The workers who gave us the girls I think thought we were taking on alot for our first placements. I knew it would be hard. But, how hard could it be?

We stopped at Wal-Mart to get supplies. Matt stayed with the girls while I shopped. When I got back in the car, the older one was jabbering away and both seemed quite happy despite what had just happened. We got an earful on the way home. In the simple language of a three-year-old I was given small glimpses of what she experienced when they came to take her and her sister. It was so sad. I hope she doesn't remember it.

When we got home, my parents were at the house because they had brought up a crib that a lady in our church found for us. Mom had it washed up and ready to go. I had told Sally, the three-year-old, that my mommy and daddy were going to be at my house when we got there. I told her their names and she could call them Bob or Sharon, Grandpa or Grandma, Pa or Ma--that they would be her foster grandparents like I would be their foster mom. My mom was looking out the front door as Sally, her sister Jill and I went up the sidewalk. Sally saw my mom and exclaimed, "Grandma's here!" When we got inside, I introduced her to my dad.
"This is my daddy, Bob," I said.
"Hi Grandpa," she said.
I got teary eyed on that one.
The girls went about the house taking in their new surroundings. They were dirty and completely soaked through from their wet diapers. I opted to put them in the tub. This is where things started getting a little hairy.

Jill didn't want anything to do with my mom, being in the bathroom or getting a bath. She screamed almost the whole time! Sally was wonderful. Jill settled down a little once she discovered the bath toys. But, when I washed her hair, that sent her over the edge. She cried so hard she shook. Then, she pooped in the tub. I got the girls out quickly and dried them and got fresh diapers on. Did I mention Jill threw up after I got her out of the tub? Jill was still crying and continued to cry until we were back downstairs. We had to find the bag with their new jammies in them so they played while I cleaned up the tub. This is when I started not feeling well. I started crying and getting sick in my stomach and shaking. My mom came up to help me and I told her, "I can't do this..." She reassured me that I could. I was having doubts.

We finally found the jammies and mom and dad got the girls dressed while I fixed them some supper. They didn't hardly eat anything. Jill threw the Graham crackers I gave her at me and picked the applesauce off the plate that she clearly didn't want on there. Mom and Matt were getting the crib set up. Once the girls declared they were "done", I went upstairs to help finish making the beds. I felt so hot and light headed. I was sweating to beat the band. I sat on the bed and cried. I started feeling sick again and went to the bathroom to throw up. Matt tried to console me, but it wasn't working. I felt so tired. I just wanted everything to go away.

We tried to put the girls to bed. That ended up turning into another fiasco. We had two sobbing little girls. I tried to comfort them, but they just wanted to be up. I just wanted to lay down. At this point, I was running on sheer willpower. I got the girls up and we walked downstairs. I remember having to stop and rest on the way down the steps. Sally informed me that her diaper was coming off and I asked Mom to go upstairs and get the diapers. I remember sitting down in the chair. Mom came with the diapers and I started walking over to the couch and I just collapsed. I remember being in this limp heap leaning against the couch and my mom and Matt shaking me and talking to me, but I couldn't respond. My arms and legs and hands felt cold and tingly and I couldn't talk. I couldn't do anything. My mom was crying. My dad called the squad. They got there quickly. I remember them saying my name and asking me questions, but I couldn't do anything. The squad guys carried me to the stretcher and I remember it hurt but I couldn't even say it hurt. I was so limp. The one squad guy said, "the lights are on, but nobody's home." I was completely aware of what was going on, but couldn't do anything about it.

In the ambulance they put oxygen on me and that seemed to help. I was scared. Was what I was perceiving really what was happening? I remember the EMT said, "I think somebody took too much Trazedone..." I knew that wasn't right, but couldn't tell him. I just remember furrowing my brows and trying to say "no", but I couldn't make my mouth work.

We got to the hospital and, of course, they just start working on you. My mom rode in the ambulance and was by my side once we got to the hospital. They kept asking me questions and I couldn't talk or hardly move. I couldn't figure out why or what was going on. I could give a "thumbs up" and "thumbs down". The doctor asked me lots of questions and I answered either with a "thumbs up" or "thumbs down". They started running an EKG and CT scan and scads of bloodwork. I kind of lost my concept of time. The last I knew it was 9:48 PM. When Mom told me it was 12:30 AM, I didn't believe her. As the night wore on, I started getting feeling and movement back in my hands, arms, legs and feet. But, I still couldn't talk. My mouth was making all these uncontrolled movement and sounds. I would try to talk, but I couldn't make my mouth and tongue do what I needed it to. I tried and tried. I wondered "Am I going to be like this from now on?" I finally asked for paper and pencil. My writing looked like a little kid's writing. But, at least I could communicate. I was feeling like such a failure. I remember writing "Failed" on the paper. My mom got upset and tried to reassure me. The more upset I got the worse my uncontrolled movements got. I knew I had to try and calm down. The doctor came in and said that my lab work was coming back normal except the CT scan showed that all my sinuses were infected. At some point my dad had arrived and was asking questions. Matt was home with the girls. The consensus was to get an MRI, but I would have to stay the night and get it in the morning. I was in the ER for a while yet. Slowly, I regained more and more coordination. I was finally able to whisper and then talk, but it was hard to do. I was afraid to go to sleep.

I was taken to my room around 4:00 AM. Of course, there were lots of questions the nurses needed to ask. I just remember feeling so tired. I was finally done with all the admittance questions and they brought me a pill to make me fall asleep because I was fighting sleep from fear.

I woke up after 8:00 AM. I remember waking up and crying. I still felt like an absolute failure. I think the doctor came in and talked to me. Everyone kept asking me how I felt. It was the same answer every time, "Tired". I was crying when my nurse came in. She sat on my bed and just talked to me. She tried to reassure me that I wasn't a failure. Deep down I still did--and still do.

I got two courses of IV antibiotic and slept alot. Matt and Mom and Dad came to see me. I just felt so tired. Matt talked with the agency and they were able to find another foster family to take the girls. I knew I would barely be able to take care of myself, let alone two busy girls.

I was released in the evening on the 16th. I came home and saw all my critters. Matt and I did a lot of crying together. I just wanted some sense of normalcy back. Anything. I took my meds and went to bed.

I woke up yesterday and wondered if it had all been a dream. But, I saw the diapers and sippy cups and knew it wasn't. My mom and dad came up to help me and make sure I was okay. Matt did my chores for me and went to work. I really didn't want to be alone. Mom helped me get the house straightened up and we agreed to put the toys and anything else kid-related away in the kid room and shut the door. I really don't want to revisit the incident. When I look at the empty Pack-n-Play, it just reminds me that I feel inadequate somehow. It torments me in a way, knowing it's empty.

I know I was a mom for only afew hours, but today, being alone I am feeling a sense of loss. I feel almost like I'm grieving in a way. I wonder how the girls are doing in their new home.

The agency put Matt and I on "Need A Break" status until I get a physical from the doctor stating that I am healthy enough to be a foster parent. It makes me angry in a way. I feel like everyone is treating me like I'm fragile and I'll break or like I'm a fruit or something. I'm not. I feel sane and rational. Looking back, if I wouldn't have been so worn down, I'm sure I would have pulled through. Yeah, the first few days would have been rough, but we would have managed. But, my body said, "You're done". They diagnosed me with a conversion disorder. I looked it up in my college Psych book. It is a somatoform disorder. Meaning, it is a disorder where "distressing symptoms take a somatic (bodily) form, without apparent physical causes..." In conversion disorder, anxiety is "presumed to be converted into a physical symptom...A patient with conversion disorder might lose sensation in a way that makes no neurological sense. Yet the physical symptoms would be real; one could stick pins in the affected area and get no response. Others experience unexplained paralysis, blindness, or an inability to swallow, and are strangely indifferent to their problems." (Myers, David G. Physchology. New York: Worth Publishers, 1995.)

I'm not sure I agree with the diagnosis 100%. It explains the temporary paralysis, but I never really felt "anxious". Maybe a little, but I've felt WAY more anxious just shopping in Wal-Mart than I EVER did that night. I still think I was just too run down. I may never truly know why the incident happened, but I don't want it to happen again.

I probably won't post for awhile. Keep me in your prayers.