It’s not straight forward though,
It never is,
I now recognise with dismay.
The stops and starts,
Barely the tip of what I can not control,
Can not remedy,
Can not predict.
For medications still spreading haze in his system,
Ongoing adjustments to reach the right dosage,
Seemingly changing every other day.
Still not completely seizure free,
Like a guilt virus spreading through my system,
And acting out in his.
It’s one waded step forward three steps at vacuum force back.
And I’m ruled,
By my overachieving mentality,
Daring not to miss what may aid his development.
So we start the trawl,
Cerebral Palsy organisations,
Private paediatric physio,
Growth and Development clinics,
And Feldenkrais therapy.
The array of strange faces,
Invoking a sense of rushed panic,
In a desperate plea to do, not the miss.
Fix fix fix.
Jumping between Doctors and therapist,
Endlessly taking notes,
Never occurring to me,
That if I couldn’t relax,
How could he?
I was dragging him through a maze,
Which I was being sucked into with force,
With no exit in sight.
And he was barely seven months old.
Fear I was learning was taking control of me.
It had me in a state of high efficiency,
So desperate to do the right things by him,
To be the best mother for him,
And by doing so free him of his diagnosis.
Or free me of myself.
The more I do,
The less I think,
Ripe for the picking.
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