Symbols

In the wake of Possum’s diagnosis with a congenital heart condition, atrioventricular septal defect (AVSD), I’ve discovered it’s the little things that threaten to bring me undone. I’ve shed a few tears over the situation which I totally expected – in fact, it would be quite strange if I didn’t have an emotional response to finding out my three-year-old son needs open heart surgery. What has surprised me is that it’s the little things that bring the tears to my eyes. I can talk about our situation with anyone and everyone and hold it together; I can report to my husband about the research I’ve read and discuss the details of the surgery without batting an eyelid. But then I am caught off guard by something small. A kiss blown across the room by my baby, unsolicited; that faraway look he is getting more and more often that tells me he’s getting tired; the tears that seem to be close to the surface for him too.

A few days ago it was a glance at my beautiful boy’s unblemished chest in the bath, knowing all too well it will soon bear a nasty red scar. I fought to hold back the tears, not because of any vanity on his or my behalf, but purely because of what that scar symbolises. That scar is a symbol of the pain that he will have to endure over the next few weeks and months. Open heart surgery has come so far, yet it is still painful. And I have been informed by someone in the system that there they can only give him so much pain relief. It is going to hurt, and it’s going to hurt a lot. That just breaks my heart. Most parents I know would willingly swap places with their children in something like this. I am no exception and yet, that is simply not possible. So I have to accept the next best thing. I can’t take his hurt away, but I can sit with him in his pain, I can hold his hand, I can reassure him it’s not going to last forever, even though it might feel like it. I haven’t told him it won’t hurt. In fact, I’ve told him it will. It’s going to hurt, but the hurt will go away. And whenever it hurts, Mummy and Daddy will be there to cuddle you and hold you and love you until the hurting stops.

And then I’m reminded of something else symbolic. A few months ago it was Mother’s Day. At playgroup Possum made me one of those magnificent pasta necklaces. When we were going through the years of infertility I used to notice necklaces just like this one on mothers young and old at the shops. My heart used to ache, wondering if I would ever get to wear something so beautiful. And I have. I have worn that necklace with more pride than the Queen of England wearing the Crown Jewels. I’m going to wear it again next Tuesday, when my beautiful Possum turns 4. It somehow seems fitting. And to finish on another bright note, here’s a picture of Possum with his birthday present – a brand new Pee Wee 50 motorbike. He got it a few days early so Mamma & Pa could join us in the celebrations. He’s tickled pink. I’m hoping the joy of the motorbike can help offset some of the unsettled times to come.