We almost had it.
I knew she didn't fit the presentation. I knew it. But I let myself entertain the idea, a little too often, a little too long. But they said a pill could make her better. Just a pill. It is so simple, who can resist latching on to that kind of hope?
This post makes me feel sick. The joy and enthusiasm. The hope. I let it get away from me, this strict control I keep on those things. The reins just slipped away and I floated into the sky on a great big gust of hope. It is a long way to fall when you are so high up and you find that hope has disappeared.
Yesterday, I spent the day falling. I cried, a lot. I cried every time I thought about it. Or thought of having to tell someone. Or thought of thinking of it. Quietly, though. I hate tears. I hate people seeing my tears. I hate days where no matter what I do, they just keep spilling from my eyes. Yesterday was that kind of day for me.
It is ridiculous, though. I really didn't lose anything. I lost the idea of something. I lost the hope that there really might be an answer out there. And here I am, with an anxiety-ridden two year old who won't get dressed in the morning because of where she thinks we might be headed. We can't look anymore. We can't go traipsing through her body to attempt to find the hidden secrets, the keys to this mystery. She deserves a life outside of that. I never thought we would get to a point where we would be satisfied with a non-answer, because not knowing is so hard. You can't plan or expect or even be sure things are okay without an answer. But right now, in this moment, trying to get an answer feels worse than the alternative.
Our window has started to close. She is done and I won't force her past that. No appointments until January. Our insurance ends in February. I have no diagnosis to aid in making sure that she gets the type of coverage she needs. I was waiting to restart the search until after we had this answer. An answer could have provided aid. When we switch insurances, I don't know how much of her needs will be covered. I don't know what it will cost to see her specialists or have a lab run or have her hearing tested or see her therapists. I don't know what we will be able to afford for her in that way. I feel like everywhere I look, the world it covered in thick gray fog and it just KayTar and I huddled here in the tiniest of clearings. How do you choose a path in that sort of fog?
We canceled therapies this week, too. The decision was made for me, mostly. Our Tuesday therapist flaked on us, yesterday KayTar refused to put clothes on and I didn't feel it was worth the struggle, today I am canceling, tomorrow her therapist is out of town. Three week vacation, it is. It means I have three weeks before I have to tell her therapists we're back at square one. My tears will have dried by then, I think.