A Bad Case of Motherhood

Infants and toddlers with their new, little immune systems get sick every other week.  Everyone knows that.  A mom, an adult with a supposedly seasoned and robust immune system, is supposed to be the rock on which her sick children lean.  I, unfortunately, am not of such sturdy stock as I imagine all others to be. 

Sometime around Darla's first birthday in March, I lost it because every time she was sick, I was sick.  By May, it had been two months of a non-stop viral party.  I couldn't believe that I just had a weak immune system.  I decided there was something terribly wrong with my health.  I looked over the past few months.  Consistent sinus infections, hand, foot and mouth disease, extreme exhaustion and fevers.  The only thing I could glean from this information was that I was anemic, again.  I tried taking vitamins, drinking more water and eating better.  I still felt like my head was stuft with cotton and that my eyes were hung-over droopy.

After putting it off for months, I went to the doctor.  I was ashamed to admit I felt malaise, achy and at my wits end.  I thought that there was no way she would under stand the pain I was enduring. 

She walked into the office, asked if I had any concerns and I dove right in.

"I have a 14 month, whose actually in the waiting room with her dad.  I've been sick non-stop, I'm going brain-dead because I'm so tired and I wake up every morning dreading my to do list.  I count the minutes until I can go back to sleep from the second I wake up."

I thought she was going to criticize me for being an unenthusiastic, apathetic parent who can't properly raise a child.  I hoped she would diagnose my anemia before she got to that part.

Instead, after she heard my monologue listing my ailments, she gave a look as if to say, "there's more, right?"

I added, "I used to have anemia, so I think its come back."

She shook her head, "I think that you're experiencing what it's like to be a mother.  This all sounds very normal."

I wanted to argue with her.  Tell her that she didn't know what she was talking about and that being a mom can't be this hard.  To have argued that point would have meant ignoring the big elephant in the room (aka her 8 month old pot belly of her second pregnancy). 

To placate me, she agreed to run some tests, which I didn't end up taking until two months later.

When I finally went in for the blood tests, I anxiously awaited the day that the results would come in.  I was excited to find out that I had a minor problem, which could be cured by a few pills.  The phone call I received regarding the results was beyond disappointing.  My levels were all normal.  There would be no miracle pills for me.

Despite this lack of a diagnosis, I trudge on.  The exhaustion has slightly diminished. I went a whole month without getting sick.  I only count down the minutes until lunch and then, from there, I count down the minutes until bed.  Things are improving!