For the first time in a really long time it looks like my son is about to have one of his episodes. The old warning signs were all there this morning. Now it's just a matter of waiting for it to hit. Right now he's with my mother-in-law and I'm checking in periodically. If past history is still accurate the attack will likely start later this afternoon or maybe tomorrow morning.
I hate this.
I hate the waiting, feeling powerless to help him. I hate watching his little body slowly contort until he can no longer maintain his balance to walk upright. I hate the confused look in his eyes because he doesn't understand what is happening to him.
I hate knowing that he will slip away from me for a few hours. That's the worst part of it for me, worse than even the persistant severe vomiting. He slips away to somewhere in his head that I cannot follow. He becomes almost catatonic and goes limp. It's scary and I don't know if he's in pain or not. I cannot comfort him when he's there.
I know it will resolve on it's own and that aside from possible dehydration and his discomfort there isn't much to worry about. But it still sucks.
And I'm angry. I'm angry that small children are allowed to suffer and be sick in this world. I'm angry at God for letting this happen. I'm angry that we went so long without incident that I finally allowed myself to relax and feel that we were safe and had gotten past this thing.
I'm sad that I can't stay home with him. I feel guilty that we need tohave both parents working to make ends meet. I worry that this is coming back again because my husband got a job and so he isn't able to stay home with him anymore and it screwed up his schedule.
I just want to yell curse words to the universe right now.