{fear}

[this is the post in which so many of you will see that I am really not as strong as you think I am]

This weekend, I read a post on Band Back Together and it was like a light bulb went off in my head... definitely a defining moment for me.

I spoke with my psychologist today and she confirmed what I already knew... I am suffering from PTSD, anxiety and panic attacks.

Here is where I attempt to become transparent... Any time Pierce sleeps longer than he should or later than he should, I internally freak out. Recently, Pierce slept until just after 7am (not normal for him). While most parents would gladly welcome an additional hour of sleep, I laid awake from 6am on.  By the time 7am rolled around, I was in a full blown panic attack - heart racing and pounding, feeling like my sternum would give way at any moment and my chest would rip open. I laid there thinking those thoughts... you see, after you've watched your child turn blue and stop breathing, after you've watched your child turn blue and go limp countless times, after you've watched your child choke on things he likely shouldn't... your thought process changes - at least for me it has. I lay there thinking "what if I open his door and he is blue"... "what if I open his door and he is dead" - (as I type these words, my heart is pounding). And while I've been reassured that because of what I've been through, those thoughts are normal (for the circumstance) - what I say next, isn't normal. It takes me minutes - at times a couple, sometimes almost 10 minutes - to gather enough strength and courage to open his door... because I have this image of my blue baby stuck in my head... I am afraid that when I open his door, that's what I will find. And that fear paralyzes me.

Tonight I told George that I needed to tell him something but I was afraid that he would think I was absolutely crazy (because really, how normal is that thought process?) I was so hesitant in sharing with him, but I reluctantly did. I started talking and explaining the fear that paralyzes me... that puts me into a panic attack... I began to say "I don't want to open his door because what-if... what-if" as I was biting my lower lip because I didn't want to cry... I just flat couldn't get the words out... he looked at me and said "you don't need to say anything else, I feel the same way. I have the same fear." And as good (I know, maybe not the right choice of wording) as it felt to be validated, it felt that bad, knowing that he feels the same way - because it's a horrible way to feel. He explained that's why he checks on Pierce 3, 5, 10 times a night (we both check on the boys several times a night). Now with that said, his fear isn't as extensive as mine. He doesn't become so scared that he won't open the door... but he still fears the worst. He also said that it's becoming less of a big concern and more of a smaller one... his biggest worry with Pierce as of late, is him choking - we've been dealing with it much more than we'd like - let's just say, performing the Heimlich 3 times in 7 days aren't the greatest of odds.

I hugged George. I thanked him for not thinking I was crazy. My heart was hurting that he carries the same fear as I do. I thanked God for truly giving me my perfect soul mate.

I hate this fear. I hate the unknown - I am such a control freak and I feel as though know I have such little control over all of this... and I don't like it... not one tiny bit. But I do as I have to... I put my brave face on. During our crisis moments, I am grace under fire. I run on adrenaline. I do what I have to take care of my baby... to advocate on his behalf. And it's tough because to look at him, Pierce looks like your normal 17 month old - his insides just don't match his outsides. But I have my moments, where it all breaks down... and when fear creeps in like a thief in the night... I try not to let it steal anything, but clearly, sometimes it does.