Monday, 11 August 2014; xx Weeks Old
When I picked Ayla up from day care this afternoon, the Day Care Mum was in tears.
She was crying because she’d just seen Ayla in pain, crying, struggling to do something all other kids take for granted.
She’d just witnessed the reason for the ongoing food diary, the gluten free dairy free diet, the appointments, the tests, the band-aids on her elbows, and she was horrified.
As awful as I felt for her, I was glad that the day care centre finally got to witness what Hubby and I have been experiencing on the weeknights and weekends; our beautiful baby girl in crying pain.
After a bit of investigation I found out that what had caused the Day Care Mum to cry was simply a tiny, tiny part of Ayla at her worst.
What the Day Care Mum saw today did not include Ayla’s cheeks being stained from hours of tears. She didn’t see the vomiting, the eyes rolling back in Ayla’s head or the moments of unconsciousness, all brought on by pain.
But still, the Day Care Mum was crying because what she had seen was enough and she couldn’t stand it. She stared at me in awe and asked me how I do it and I simply couldn’t answer.
It made me look at Ayla’s situation a little differently because I didn’t realise that my strength might be diluting the severity of Ayla’s illness…. Because I am strong and logical, systematic and controlled, maybe I haven’t allowed myself to panic, which in turn drives outcry and action.
So of course, the guilt crept back in and the worry amplified and I found myself back at square one; questioning the doctors and their dismissive solutions for Ayla’s symptoms, but not the cause, and querying the dieticians and their long drawn-out processes of elimination.
I need answers. And I need them now.