A couple of months ago I went to visit my GP something which resulted in her diagnosing me with stress. It all seemed a little pointless to be honest, usually if you’re diagnosed with stress you would try and eliminate the cause. I guess the most common example is being stressed at work therefore getting signed off or looking for a new job. Sadly, I can’t look for a new life, it just means stress gets the better of me sometimes and I have to take it on the chin and carry on. Being honest, don’t all parents?
Whilst I was there I also got a little emotional which is unusual. I think the last time I cried in front of my GP was when she asked if I was returning to work (post Freddie getting ill) and I said I didn’t know what I was doing – so she signed me off! Anyway, so I was a little emotional. She told me that I had been extremely strong throughout everything and asked me if it was time I had a little extra ‘help’ then asked if I wanted antidepressants.
Truth be told I was shocked. I wasn’t expecting the conversation to move in that direction. I asked her if she thought I deserved to be sad sometimes, maybe even grieve. She said yes. So then I asked her why I would need antidepressants if she thought my emotions were completely validated considering my circumstances. She said it was just an option and to not be afraid to ask if I felt I needed it.
Now, please don’t get me wrong, I am not against antidepressants in the slightest, although I think you should only have them if you need them. I don’t believe I do. I would’ve understood more if I had been offered a referral for counselling. I don’t actually feel like I need that at the moment either, however, I am certain I will one day.
In fact being asked if I thought I needed them made me question as to whether I was depressed. It made me wonder if it was okay to feel shitty sometimes. To cry. To grieve. To be jealous. To be sad, or angry or wonder why. Surely I should be allowed to say I feel those things and for that to be validated? Sure it should be okay to have days when I fell like I can’t do it anymore, the constant planning, organising appointments, ordering meds, being a physio, a SALT, a nurse! For somebody to say, I’m not bloody surprised, you’ve been dealt a shit hand here.
At the end of the day nobody wants to be the mum of a child who has life limiting degenerative disease, but I actually am and it’s shit! Waking up every morning not knowing what the day will bring or whether your child will see next Christmas or their next birthday is shit! Struggling to carry your son up and down the stairs, being scared you’ll drop him and wondering what will happen if you do your back in is shit! Having nobody to phone when you need an early night or a break to step in and pick everything up is shit. There is so much about this entire thing that is really shit and I can’t pretend those parts don’t exist, because they do and every now and then I get so tired from it.
The thing is, it is actually okay to say how shit it is sometimes. It, in no way, takes away the fact I absolutely adore my son. I would do anything for him. I fight for him every single day. James and I do everything we can to make sure he has the happiest and most full life he can possibly have. We enjoy every second of that. I am allowed to enjoy all that but still have moments of sadness when I remember the future won’t be how I dreamed it would. As well as moments I’m scared about the future.
I think sometimes I need to remind myself of that it’s okay.
