This last couple of weeks I have felt the lest motivated ever!
I honestly think it’s all down to anxiety about Thursdays hospital appointment at Great Ormond Street.
Last time we went to see this particular consultant (we have a couple up there), we were given a list of numbers for therapists and councillors and he seemed to know roughly what family of conditions BBG has but couldn’t figure out which version as she has a rare form.
It wasn’t what we were expecting at all, as they took blood samples and explained the rough process of everything.
Thursday we aren’t too sure what will happen. We know she will have a physiotherapy appointment before we go and see the consultant. We also know we have a heart scan after the consultant. We don’t know whether we are going to walk into good news, bad news or no news.
Thursday is also my Dads birthday and as much as I would love a diagnosis a part of me is saying not on his birthday. Please don’t diagnose my daughter with something on my Dads birthday. Please don’t take that tiny glimmer of hope that we have that she is just lazy and give her a diagnosis. Especially on a day we know we will remember for ever. Don’t plague my dads birthday with an anniversary where we get told there is something wrong with my baby.
I so desperately crave a diagnosis. To know whether my daughter will have a normal life span, to know roughly the quality of life she will have, to know what we are dealing with. Yet not having a diagnosis givers us that glimmer of hope that we can hold on to. It’s quite an obscure notion to have as just looking at her and watching the way she moves shows there’s something wrong, but without a diagnosis there is hope.
On top of my anxiety about Thursday I have anxiety about our move next week. Anxiety that it goes horribly wrong. Anxiety that the removal company won’t show up, anxiety about getting the house empty, anxiety about not getting the house keys. All of these deep fears I think are related to my anxiety about Thursday but they are being transferred into the move.
The thing is with this anxiety I know have no motivation. I don’t want to cook, clean or pack. I just want to go out and forget the worries of moving. I want to take baby girl out of the house and the chaos and into a safe space. That isn’t just counter productive and potentially making the move harder as time is running out but it is also not helping Dad out with the packing and his job list.
Anxiety sucks and affects so much more than people think.