Fear

Lilly’s been struggling with urinary tract infections, at least 4 or 5 over the past year. The last time she had such trouble with them was when she was a toddler. Back then they usually progressed far enough for fever to tell me what might be going on; these days she’s much more articulate and can describe her symptoms, usually pain in her lower abdomen, pain when cathing, and just being tired beyond the usual, before it gets to the fever stage.

In between these two trouble spots of UTIs, there was a period of years when she didn’t have a single infection. For some reason, between the ages of 4 and 7, we had a good run, and I became complacent. I thought, foolishly, maybe we’re clear now. Maybe UTI’s won’t be such a problem for her. Maybe we can get away with this. Silly, silly Mama. UTI’s will always be an issue for Lilly. Some years will be good; some will be troublesome.

I can deal with that reality, except that any problems or concerns about her bladder dredge up a deep fear in me. Several years back, we took a few trips to Boston Children’s Hospital because the pressures in her bladder were high, and her medication at the time wasn’t helping. We were exploring the idea of using Botox to relax her bladder if nothing else could be done; otherwise, the only alternative was bladder surgery (in which a piece of tissue from her intestine would be sewn onto her bladder, in order to allow it to expand more easily and fill with urine).

The bad news was that Lilly’s bladder was not a good candidate for the Botox treatment; the good news was that by the time we actually got her to Boston for the urodynamics tests, the pressures in her bladder had gotten better (I believe it was due to changing her medication to a pill form rather than a liquid in the meantime, and so she ingested more of the medication that way). Anyway, it was a huge sigh of relief, because if the pressures hadn’t normalized and the Botox was a no go, the only option would have been the surgery.

The prospect of this surgery terrified me more than words can say. We had gone through a tethered cord surgery (surgery on her spinal cord) when she was three, and even though the operation went well and was considered a success, it was a nightmare time for us. The idea of your child going under the scalpel and undergoing a long, painful recovery is easily one of the most horrible things I can think of. I’m certainly grateful that modern medicine makes it possible for my child to live and to continue living, for the most part, in good health. I’m also aware that a lot of kids with Spina Bifida go through dozens of surgeries in their lives, from shunt malfunctions to spinal fusion to orthopedic surgeries. My kid has only had two (repair surgery at birth, and the tethered cord surgery). Lucky, indeed.

But it’s not something you can ever get used to, no matter how many or few surgeries your child has had. It’s still stressful, it still strikes fear into your heart. This sudden spate of UTI’s concerns me, and is something I’ll discuss with the doctors at Shriner’s in March; I try not to think the worst, but the fear creeps in nonetheless. It’s a monster I constantly have to control and tame. Maybe that’s why I’ve been writing so many horror stories lately–it’s a way for me to channel the fear that invades my life now and then.

While working on this post, I came across a quote about fear on Kristen Lamb’s Blog. She was referring to fear in your writing life, but it works just as well for any kind of fear (she quotes Paul Atreides in Dune, by Frank Herbert):

I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little death that brings total annihilation. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain. 

Lilly will, too. And that’s the most important thing.