I am suddenly awake. I open my eyes, it is dark. Everything is still asleep. It must be the middle of the night, I don't hear any noises outside. No rooster crowing, no traffic flow, no neighbour leaving for work. Why do I suddenly wake up with such a stomach ache? Am I sick? It takes me a few moments to realise that what is twisting my gut is anxiety, what is called visceral fear.
My first instinct is to check my phone to see if I have a message from my children; nothing. I check that my phone is not on silent; no. I stop breathing to listen to see if my daughter in the next room is okay; everything seems normal. I can catch my breath. I'm really in pain. I feel nauseous like I used to live in hell. At this point I start to think.
My son has to sort out some entrepreneurial issues, he's so young. At twenty three I was carefree. But who can he really trust? He's been screwed before, he's learned from it, but people we can rely on are so rare and hard to find. I hope he will listen to his instincts and be critical, more so than me. I trust him so I'm not taking this headache.
The problem with being a mother of a large family is that you have as many anxieties as you have children. And last night I had my fourth call from the paediatric ward because her one and a half month old baby has been in hospital with bronchiolitis since the day before. On WhatsApp during the video call I see my little one on oxygen as he is in respiratory failure. A tube is installed to feed him as he is too exhausted to take the breast. His plump little arm is wrapped in a bandage holding an IV. My daughter and I talk about the great reaction she had when she called 15 in time, what the medical profession says, the kindness of all the people she has to deal with, her sick roommate who still brings her food after work because meals are not served in the rooms and she doesn't want to leave her child alone. And during our conversation, I hear our baby struggling to breathe, coughing, whimpering and whining in pain between two coughing fits and then going back to sleep for a few moments exhausted. It breaks my heart. The emergency doctor was supposed to come by to see if my grandson needed to be taken to intensive care for better oxygenation. My daughter was supposed to let me know but I went to bed without getting a message from her. My tummy ache might be because there is something wrong with my little chick. Come on, there's nothing you can do about it from where you are. Besides, my two loves are in the hospital, which so far has done a good job, so I have to cut them some slack.
No matter how hard I try to reason with myself, I can't shake this feeling of fear. It takes me a long time to fall back asleep. At 6.30am I wake up again in the same state. I send a message to my daughter at the hospital to see if there is any news. I wait a while before texting each of my children for some reason. My second tells me that she is thinking of coming to see us with her boyfriend in a few months (great). My son tells me he's happy with his work yesterday ('bravo'). My fourth informs me that the nurse has taken the infusion out of the baby (phew). My oldest hasn't replied yet but I see that she has posted a message on Insta (so it's OK). As I don't want to give them my fears, I keep my dark thoughts to myself.
At breakfast I try to broach the subject with my last one, telling her that I didn't sleep very well because I had "slight" unexplained anxieties. She admits to me that she had nightmares too. We comfort each other by putting forward arguments to remain sensible and reasonable. Then we move on to another topic and the day is on. Except that I still can't get rid of this heavy feeling. It reminds me of something: when we signed our first loan to buy a house, I got sweaty palms when I realised I was committing myself for ten years. It felt heavy and huge to tell myself that whatever happened over all those years I would have to pay. But in the end, the strongest commitment that has no end is the one I made to my children by bringing them into the world.
Whatever happens, I love them so much that I can't find the words to say it with true intensity.
YOU ARE READING
FROM THE NORM TO THE MARGIN
Non-FictionTo tell my life story is to talk about everyone's life, to share our worlds. I prefer to remain hidden in order to open up. Come and discover me through the pages. Perhaps you will also find yourself through my wounds, my doubts and my hope for a...
