Wednesday, June 10, 2015

"It'll get better, you'll see. It's just so hard now because she's young,"  my neighbor who has become my friend the last few months says as she tries to comfort me.  I hold on to a screaming toddler who had just uncharacteristically attacked her little boy.  I apologize and tell her it was from all the meds I had to give her earlier that morning.  And when she said those words I thought to myself, no it won't, it will change but its not getting better.  I pictured my future self comforting an adult Paloma screaming and hitting me still from all the meds. 

Yesterday was the forty-third time in her two years that I've had to squeeze Valium into her asshole to make her little body stop shaking. Sorry, if that image makes you feel uncomfortable.  It makes me feel uncomfortable too.  Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't.  I hold my breath until I see her limbs slowly stop moving. You would think the amount I have to give her would make her pass out. Her last big seizure in Hawaii nurses gathered around in disbelief to look at the little baby who'd gotten an adult sized dose of drugs.  It doesn't make her pass out though.  It makes her scream uncontrollably. She screams for the better part of the day. There is nothing I can do but let her scream it out of her system. Having for the first time ever been pumped with strange drugs last week, I can say it feels awful and wrong, like being probed by aliens. Your body doesn't move right.  I can understand that, she can't, so she screams. 

 I thought about running away at one point.  Maybe I would live in a tiny house in the woods somewhere were no one would ever find me, need me or cling to me screaming and whining.  I try to hide my feelings since it's the day of my husbands long awaited promotion.  I make sure to say congratulations but it falls flat and lacks authenticity.  I'm angry.  I prayed to give her body a break, just a little break was all I asked for. It's not like I asked for a cure or anything.  I read about stopping seizures with THC and I unsuccessfully try illegally to get my hands on some.  Yes, I would rather take that risk if I thought I might not have to give her that shit ever again. 

I take the older two to the water park for a break.  I think about how much fun Paloma would be having there but she can't go. 

I wake up and turn 33.   


  1. I hear you and know you and know this. All of it. I will always be here, listening and abiding.