Well, I survived Back to School Night last week. Barely.

Last Thursday, after emerging from yet another funk, I showered and got ready for public consumption to go to this thing. I somehow got my cables crossed and got there late after dropping off my daughter at gymnastics 🤸🏻‍♀️ practice on the other side of the city. When it ended, I rushed back to pick her up. As I drive up to the entrance, I see her limping, holding on to her coach, who was helping her to the car.

“She twisted her foot,” he said. “In about an hour, if it’s still inflamed and hurts, I would take her to Urgent Care and get some X-rays.”

“Okay,” I said. “Thanks for helping her to the car.”

“I was running, Mami, and then my ankle twisted and I heard a snap. I want to go to Urgent Care.”

“Sure, babe. Absolutely. Let’s get you home. Change, are you hungry? And then we’ll go.”

Sitting there, in the cold, fluorescent light of the Urgent Care pediatric waiting room, I try to keep calm. To be reassuring. I look at the jungle mural on the walls over and over and over again, like I’m trying to find a new animal friend. I watch the funny dog and cat videos on the TV to distract me/us.

But inside, I am terrified, and my hubby’s absence feels so loud. I feel so deeply alone in this.

Fast forward to 1 a.m. We come home knowing she broke her foot, on crutches 🩼, with weeks of immobility ahead of her. Later today, we are going to the orthopedist to get the official word.

Then, last week, her orthodontist called me to tell me he saw something strange in her X-rays.

“See this thing right here,” he says, pointing at her sinuses. “Not sure what it is, but it’s worth going to the ENT. I’m not terribly worried about it, but it’s best to check.”

As he’s speaking, I feel the rush of adrenaline rising from my feet, the heat building in my body, and my breath trying to jump out of my chest. My mind flies back to the many brain scans my husband had with the worst possible news.

“Don’t pass out. Don’t pass out,” I tell myself. “You are okay. You are safe.”

And again, I pretend all is well.

Both my daughter and son are in the chair getting their new color rubber bands. And I am in a total panic inside.

So we are going to the ENT tomorrow. I CANNOT wait for Friday. This kind of anxiety is so draining and debilitating, and to carry it alone feels so very heavy.

I have so much medical trauma. For myself and for our kids. I have lost the “Oh, it’s nothing. It’s all gonna be okay” way of thinking and staying positive.

I don’t know how I will overcome this, or if I’ll ever. Also working on it in therapy.

If you have experienced something like this and have found strategies that work for you, would you kindly share?

Asking for a friend. ❤️‍🩹