Lifetime Struggle

My wife loves this show called "Brothers and Sisters." I must admit I have found myself getting caught up in the story lines as well. I have never claimed to be one with valid judgements when it comes to quality music, tv, theater or any form of art, but I feel the writing is awfully good on this show.

The episode she watched today on the DVR was about one of the characters' daughter. She was only 2 years old and had liver problems due to the medication she took as a premature infant. As the story twists like any television show does these days, the father is not the biological father. To complicate things, both of his brothers donated sperm "anonymously" to help him and his wife conceive. The owner of the successful sperm was left unknown. This is important because his daughter needs a liver transplant and the donor needs to be the same blood type, or in other words, the real father. The mother did not match. So hi jinx ensued as the "real" dad was discovered along with all the surrounding drama that relates.

I bring this up because of the difficulty I had watching this whole thing. I couldn't walk away but I felt like I was getting punched in the stomach repeatedly. I was getting emotional....more emotional than I should have been I suppose, after all this is just a show and there is no question of my fatherhood. Aside: I am sorry to be so over dramatic, but I am trying to accurately depict my emotions during this experience.

There were two aspects of the show that affected me in such an intense way. First, my daughter too is at risk of liver damage due to particular circumstances. I can't help but worry about her liver, especially when I am reminded of it. I am doing the necessary precautions and will continue to do so but the prospect of it just sneaking up on us scares me to death. The inability to control the matter scares me more. I suppose I technically could choose to avoid this risk but the risk involved with this other choice is far greater.

Secondly and more powerfully, I was really struggling with watching the father at the hospital. It took me back once again to the worst experiences of my life. I was reminded of the times I have been in the hospital, not for myself, but for loved ones. I have been the one in the room with my wife or daughter through the problem. I have been the one talking to the doctors hearing diagnosis and making decisions. I have had to report to the family in the waiting room. I have been the one burying my head in my hands allowing myself to cry the ridiculous, embarrassing, audible kind of crying. I have had to struggle with the feeling of wanting to be alone then suddenly being too scared to actually do it. I have had to watch my loved ones in tired, drugged up, pitiful states that was so difficult to see without wishing I could trade places....especially the little one who was so young, fragile and vulnerable. She was literally in a cage of a crib while being transported to the NICU where she was at risk of respiratory arrest while she was loaded up with medicine to get control of her problem. I sat there all night staring at the monitor, making sure I would get the nurse at the slightest hint of no breathing. I bet I have written this before. I bet I will write it again. This has been something I doubt I will ever recover from. To this night I still walk in her room when she's asleep to make sure she is still breathing. And everyday I deal with the daily process of keeping her condition under control and being cognisant of anything that could be a sign of something that needs to be addressed. The fear and worry never goes away.

I remember watching my wife being led off to the OR to finish off a horrid week of bad news, arduous decisions and worse results. Even though she was a strong adult, I still felt helpless and powerless and had those same wishes that I could trade places. I had to hear later how "successful" the procedure was even though it meant the end of our dreams and plans and opened up more uncomfortable questions and anxiety that we both continue to deal with together and on our own.

I guess I am a glutton for punishment but something in me wanted to watch this and feel this pain. I immediately though I should blog about it and share my feelings. This blog has been therapeutic.

In addition I find myself worrying about my daughter's future. Not only in terms of physical health but mental health. It is so hard for her to make friends her age because she is so far behind. She cannot communicate with her peers in a way they can understand. I worry bullies or mean spirited kids will be able to take advantage of her easily. I am afraid she will lose her sweet, simple happiness and become very sad as she discovers these things. I suppose every parent has their fears for their kids though.

I suppose these are feeling that will be with me the rest of my life.