Well you know those times
When you feel like there’s a sign there on your back
Say’s I don’t mind if ya kick me
Seems like everybody has
Things go from bad to worse
You’d think they can’t get worse than that
And then they do
You step off the straight and narrow
And you don’t know where you are
Use the needle of your compass
To sew up your broken heart
Ask directions from a genie
In a bottle of Jim Beam
And she lies to You
That’s when you learn the truth
If you’re going through hell
Keep on going, don’t slow down
If you’re scared, don’t show it
You might get out
Before the devil even knows you’re there
Well I been deep down in that darkness
I been down to my last match
Felt a hundred different demons
Breathing fire down my back
And I knew that if I stumbled
I’d fall right into the trap that they were laying, yeah
But the good news
Is there’s angels everywhere out on the street
Holding out a hand to pull you back upon your feet
The ones that you been dragging for so long
You’re on your knees
You might as well be praying
Guess what I’m saying
If you’re going through hell
Keep on going, don’t slow down
If you’re scared, don’t show it
You might get out
Before the devil even knows you’re there
Yeah, If you’re going through hell
Keep on moving, Face that fire
Walk right through it
You might get out
Before the devil even knows you’re there
“If You’re Going Through Hell” by Rodney Atkins
Twenty-six months since Nik took his first seizure medication.
Two years since his once voracious appetite and willingness to eat withered away to nothing. Nothing.
Twenty-two months since my child slept peacefully through the night.
Twenty months of piercing, debilitating pains in his head, ears, eyes, jaw, and stomach.
Twenty months of hitting his head so hard he looked like a prize fighter on the losing end of the bout some mornings.
Twenty months going from doctor to doctor —in multiple disciplines of medicine —and finding no answers and no solace.
Six months without seizures.
Fourteen weeks; the schedule the doctor suggested we follow to wean Nik off the Lamictal.
Twenty-five days since we began the weaning process.
One day a week in which Niksdad is available to help out due to his school and work schedule.
Three and a half hours; the most contiguous hours of sleep I’ve had since mid-August.
Zero inches until I reach the end of my emotional rope.
Five minutes; the amount of time it took for Niksdad and me to decide we’d rather have a short, hot trip through the center of Hell than a long, slow burn on its outskirts.
Six days until Nik takes his last dose.
I’ll try to send a postcard, but if you don’t hear from me for a while it’s only because there’s no Internet and no wireless in Hell. But we finally found the road out of town.
Oh my.
Godspeed, woman.
xoxo.
Yes, and excellent to be in agreement.
Keep going.
See you when you emerge on the road outta there! Big hugs for the journey!
What Jordan said. Godspeed.
Hell, Michigan 48169.
My thoughts and prayers are with you both. See you on the other side.
with you.
wish we could come and sit with you.
rub Nik’s head if it’s ok with him and tell him Charlie’s pulling for him.
Hang in there, lady. Joey and Andy are rooting for him, too. And we’re sending you lots of hugs and warm fuzzies. The demons in Hell hate warm fuzzies. They never run out, so pull them out and through them at the demons if they get close.
Yes. Six more days. And then? A whole new, better, adventure. I believe it sincerely. I’m rooting for you guys. Especially for the little one. Take care and sleep well when you’re able.
I’d say the weather is great this time of year…
HUGS
Hang in there girlfriend! You’ll all get through it and find a happier healthier family on the other side…
Love from Ohio! XXXOOO
May the road out of town be free from traffic from this point on. We’ll all be waiting at the city limits.
Thinking of you guys as always. Geez I wish I could help. And hug Nik.
You sound like someone who could use a hug. *hugs*
Best of luck!
Ah, yes. When roads to hell are offered, by all means, chose the shortest, fastest route. Even if it’s the hardest, you’re still getting there fastest.
6 more days. Don’t get lost along the way, friend. Wanna come to Disney instead?
Love to your family.
My guess is 66666.
Prayers and thoughts coming your way from 37934.
Hugs fo you all.
You are almost there. Hugs to you.
Okay, I’m not expecting miracles in 6 days. But I do hope that things get at least a little bit better for everyone in your family.
You’re still writing complete sentences. And making sense. Those are good things. And means that you’re doing better than I might under similar circumstances. My hat’s off to you.
Joe
I’ll be thinking of you!
We are in the land of no sleep too. HUGS!
I so know what you are going through. The lack of sleep is what really got to me over the years. M never slept through the night and that really does a number on your health. The weaning of medications is beyond tiring and so stressful.
I can only imagine what it feels like for lil’ Nik. Very difficult I am sure.
I will be sending extra hugs and prayers. I must say I am concerned for how little sleep and breaks you must be getting. I know my health issues now are from the years of little to no sleep and terrible stress I went through caring for M. I really hope you can find a way to get some rest. But how? There are no easy answers. Hugs. Hugs and more hugs.
[...] balance of his central nervous system. You might recall the fun we went through when he was on seizure medications —the whole Lamictal tapering [...]