keep keeping on
It doesn’t seem to matter how many times I walk into a hospital consult room,
My heart always catches in my throat,
And I find it hard to breath.
Too much has happened here,
Too many tears shed,
Too much bad news fallen,
And my skin still prickles with the fear.
And here we are once more,
Settled into cold plastic chairs,
With a stern faced neurologist,
Eyeing us off with concentration,
On the smiley two-and-a-half year old in my arms.
It’s impossible not to brace yourself for a fall,
For the assessment to bring you to your knees,
To be so sure you’ve missed a vital indicator,
A flaw overlooked,
Detrimental to his health.
And yet to disbelief,
To our nervous relief,
It’s declared Isaac is doing so well,
That in fact officially they are releasing him as a patient,
They don’t need to see him anymore.
I don’t realise but tears are suddenly streaming down my shocked face,
It’s news any parent in this position wants to hear,
But I just didn’t realise how much I needed to hear those words,
And just how the additional weight had been pushing me under.
They make no promises,
No one ever does,
But with a steady, although low, body weight,
A head circumference tracking along his growth line,
Still no more signs of seizure activity,
And a script in our hands to continue anti-drooling medication,
We are dismissed,
With a keep keeping on,
And a congratulations for all that we have achieved with him to date.
We float from the hospital with pride,
That we are one specialist less,
And given rare endorsement from the system,
Which despite my best efforts,
Always default to for approval.
And as always,
The relief is not just our own,
He feels it too,
And is able to fall into a very rare peaceful slumber,
As we make the long journey home.