Sophie had a hideous day yesterday and suffered through multiple tonic clonic (grand mal to the uninitiated) seizures. I have no idea what caused the downturn, and so far today she is much better -- basically sleeping off the drugs. I gave her Diastat (rectal valium) and extra cannabis.
Last night I had some full moon thoughts, though, did some dancing with the dark side in the lead until I was bent backward, his hand bruising my hips, my hair and arm trailing the floor.
How much can a person take? They will do nothing but pump her up with drugs in the hospital and to what end? Why is there no one to turn to during these times, a professional that I can trust? When has there ever been a professional that I can trust?
When released, I cried on the edge of the bed with my head in my hands because I'm sick of this shitty dance.
If the dance were a tango, imagine me quickly turning my head here, swiveling my hips and leading the dark side in another direction.
Sophie can take a lot. She will continue to take it until she can no longer. I have been traumatized over these past couple of decades for good reason and have a unique constitution that is repelled by the practice of traditional medicine. I do not want hospital intervention for my girl.
I sat on Sophie's bed, brushed the hair from her forehead with my hand and murmured soothing words to her. I told her how much I loved her. I dissociated from the terror by acknowledging and then inviting it to stay. I called a friend and told her that I was afraid.
It's amazing how terror dissipates when it's acknowledged, when I don't push it away.
Yes, I am afraid that Sophie's small body won't be able to take these bad days. Yes, I am afraid that she will die.
Her small body may not take these bad days. She may die.
The thing is, her small body took that bad day. She is very much alive. Not because of my thoughts, of course, but because of the dance, her own dance, the one that I can really not control, even as I dance along, the one that I can only love.
