Following  the pull

by thankfeldenkrais

There’s no handbook of step by step instructions, no formula to follow,
For where to go,
What to do.

Instead you find yourself standing there shaking your head in hope of clearing it of its ringing.
For a language you’re sure you spoke is now completely foreign.

And I was left requiring those around me to interpret,
Following the pull to this appointment and that,
Watching him,
A state of desperation spinning me in circles,
Unable to find which way to turn.

All the while he cries.
The more the appointments stack up,
The more strange faces peering down at him,
Pulling him this way and that,
The greater his agitation builds.
He’s fearful,
On high alert,
He senses danger at every sight and sound.

He won’t sleep,
He won’t feed,
Instead he stiffens to a plank,
Throwing back his head in protest,
Begging me to bring him peace,
Yet all I can do is cry along side,
Ill-equipped to calm his raging pain.

We find ourselves in Craniosacral therapy,
Religiously performing baby massage,
Bathing multiple times a day,
Chasing relaxation.
Seemingly unreachable, we keep on running.

I was becoming more twisted with anxiety, stress and desperation,
Feeding it,
The harder I try to rectify it.

Until it’s too all consuming,
I’m thrown a lifeline,
And seek refuge at a care centre,
For the sleepless troubled babes,
And their mums who are lost to help them.

Matching his tears,
I sob the three hour journey,
Battling the loneliness I drive into,
And the sat-nav I chase for direction.

I literally fall into their arms a broken mother,
With her screeching babe,
Fear in my eyes as much as his,

They wrap their maternal wings around us both,
Ushering us into a safe space,
With soothing tones,
Caring words.
And I collapse, for what feels like the thousandth time.

Hope, my only saviour.
Hope that I will find how to cope,
I will find ability,
A way of wading through the thick mud of my mind.
And hope he will find contentment.

Unexpectedly I find darkness.
A place he wants to exist.
A need to turn off all the light,
As if it’s burning his very being.
By pitch black rooms he learns to nuzzle by breast,
Quietens to my hush,
To sleep a full cycle.

By light he screams in terror,
As if he doesn’t want to face the world,
Too wary.
As am I.

By light I too am sadness,
For in light I look for the differences,
See my pain,
The endless questioning breaking me down,
The constant struggle to hold back tears,
The lump in my throat rendering me silent.
For in light diagnosis is bright as day.

And yes it burns like the touch of fresh sunburn.

With word sent home to block out the light,
A week away,
Has me optimistic,
That we can live in the dark,
And his smiles,
And mine,
Might last.