When my sister was 13, she got sick. She lost weight, was thirsty all the time, peed a lot. She got dark circles under her eyes. When my mother took her to the doctor, she came home later alone, as my sister had been admitted to the hospital.
“She has diabetes!” I’ll never forget the edge of anger in my mother’s voice as she made the announcement, something I noted but didn’t quite understand.
I’d never heard of diabetes, and my mom didn’t know much either; she tended to call it “sugar”. She spent days in the hospital with my sister, learning about the pancreas, and insulin, and ketones and sugar, and using an orange to practice giving insulin shots. This was a tough time for my mom-she was raising two girls alone after a heartbreaking divorce, on welfare, alone when she’d never been alone. Now on top of that, a sick child, learning medical procedures, measuring insulin and injecting her child several times a day in the arms, legs, buttocks, stomach, monitoring blood sugar with pin-pricks to the fingers. It was all very overwhelming for my mom, but she hung in there and did what she had to do for her child.
It was much later, as a young adult, that I learned she felt massive guilt. She believed that it was her fault that her child developed diabetes. I couldn’t fathom it. How could it be her fault? It just happened. I’m ashamed to admit that I thought it a little silly, a ridiculous mom thing that made no sense.
You can see where this is going, right?
Fast forward 15 or so years, and I’m drowning in my own mire of guilt, grief, and anger, when we got the SB diagnosis for Lilly. After the initial thoughts of “How could this happen?” came the inevitable “It’s my fault.” The child came out of me, therefore, it must be my fault. If she hadn’t come out of me, she wouldn’t have this.
Finally, I understood what my mother had gone through, the thought processes that led to her conclusions. I finally understood the guilt, and that puzzling anger when she came home that day. It all made perfect sense.
It’s taken me several years to get a handle on all of these rioting emotions. What helps is a healthy, happy little girl, and procedures that are just a part of our normal routine. There’s also this realization: feeling guilty is a bit silly, a ridiculous mom thing that I shouldn’t waste my time or energy on. Acknowledge the emotion, and move on.
(Note to self: Ask mom if the feeling ever goes away).
Reblogged this on My Writing Journey.
I especially like your closing “note to self.”
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