After a stint in hospital last week including two very close calls, Aidan has bounced back from the brink of death as if nothing has happened. One day we were watching the monitors as his poor heart struggled to beat and less than 48 hours later he was discharged and running around the house, as funny and vibrant as ever.
Me, on the other hand, have been left with what I describe as a crisis hangover. I’m physically and emotionally exhausted, anxious, nauseous and generally on the verge of losing my mind.
It’s hard to imagine that the woman from last week, the one who was still trying to work part-time, spending most nights at the hospital, talking rationally with medical staff and keeping it all together, is the same person. The adrenalin has worn off and real life has smacked me in the face. There is a week’s worth of missed appointments, unpaid bills and housework to catch up on. I’m torn between wanting to spend every waking moment with Aidan, grateful for one more chance, while at the same time wanting to curl up in bed and sleep for a week.
But just like the hangovers from my 20s, I know this is only a temporary state.