“Are you having doubts?”, Michelle asked me this morning on the way to the hospital.
“Not doubts, fears,” was my reply.
And that’s true. Not doubts, fears. At this point we have done all that we can, all that was in our hands to do, and we have to trust the professionals to do their part.
My fears are many at this point, but I try to keep them reasonable so that I can be fully present and able to help with everything. I’m afraid for Zoe’s life. Afraid that she will make it through, but with a neurological disability. Afraid of some unknown, unforeseeable outcome endangering our family’s ability to remain intact, stable, happy.
I would guess that these sorts of fears are normal and expected, but they seem no less overpowering at times, no matter how much I attempt to step back from them intellectually.
We’ve spent a lot of time drifting toward this day, the day we start conditioning, but it still doesn’t quite seem real somehow. Every day blurs together, and it never really stops being worrisome. We’ve established a new baseline for our anxiety, and that is our new reality.
One day it’s general fussiness and fears that something major is behind it, another it’s a bit of clamminess after a nap and anxiety that a fever is coming.
It never really stops, the days come one after the other and each brings a reminder that it’s not over until it’s over. Not over until she is cured.
Thankfully that day will come soon.