PTSD

I'm not ashamed to admit that back in 2012, after my twins were born,  I picked up a little friend called PTSD.  For years I'd wake up in the middle of the night in a panic because I was sure that Bogey wasn't breathing.  I'd sometimes close my eyes and have this vision of him in the rigged up C-Pap mask they had on him at Primary Children's Hospital.   Even writing about it right now, sends a little shiver through me.

Every time Bogey had a surgery, a doctors appointment, or a cold, I'd freak out.  I'd blow up Dr. Axelrod's (the Standford cardiologist) cell phone with ridiculous scenarios and problems that I was sure were going to arise if they hadn't already happened.  I'd create this awful pit in my stomach, and my brain would go nuts.  I'd start spouting off whatever came to mind to whoever was around (Doctors, nurses, strangers in stairwells, etc.)

Over the last 6 years, I've calmed down quite a bit. I immediately freak out and start to panic any time any of my kids have to have surgery, or any time Bogey has to have a cavity filled (he has to go under at the hosptial every time).

Recently, Slice had a little cyst growing on her head that needed to be removed.  Guess who freaked out and drank 2- 52 ounce Diet Cokes instead of taking her to the procedure?  Me.  Good thing I married a rockstar, who calmly held his baby girl while they cut the cyst out.

Slice was 100% fine.  She did great.

Yesterday, Gimme had to have a little chain hooked to her tooth that is growing in the wrong way.  It took a little procedure that required anesthesia.  Guess who went to Maverik?  Enter, me.  Guess who took Gimme?  Enter, rockstar husband.

Gimme did great.  She was feeling totally fine a few hours after she got home.  I even took her to register for classes at the high school.

HIGH SCHOOL!

OK, so maybe medical stuff isn't the only thing that will give me PTSD after all. ;)