The ‘I’m a comfort eater’ kind of day.

On January 1st 2014 I was on holiday with my in-laws and all the fam including 3 little people. I declared on new years day that my new years resolution was to start a blog. ‘What will you write about’ asked my brother in-law. “I’m not sure, mummy stuff I guess”. I thought I’d title that first blog ‘start as you mean to go on’ although that morning Ben had been up every two hours through the night and up-up at 5am – I was hopeful this was not how he was meaning to go on (18 months later we finally got some sleep!)
Anyhoo, nearly two years later here’s my first post. It’s more of a confession…
I’m Megan and I’m a comfort eater.
I love food, I love to eat, I love chocolate (mint matchmakers are the choice variety) Tonight I have eaten calmari, Indian starters and channa masala. I have minstrels I know I want to eat and a sticky toffee pudding. I don’t normally eat like this but there are days aren’t there, where it’s ok to eat for comfort? For example… it’s raining and cold – I need hot curry and a glass of red (or M&S Ruby chocolate wine!). It’s been a long day… I need chocolate. Hubs’ football team lost… I should comfort eat for him. I’ve been to the place where the wild things are (my kids are quite literally playing gymnastics over my sofa and off the windowsill)… I need energy, food, carbohydrates, like chunky fish shop chips (& if I’m having those I may as well have curry sauce, oh and probably fish.. only then is it a full meal after all!) the tiger came to tea… we need to eat out tonight. You get the idea.
I read an article recently that spoke about how to support a loved one with anxiety (did I mention I’m one of those?). Anyway, in the article there was a point about how people with anxiety remember details; we don’t want to, we don’t choose to but we can remember very specific details, often upsetting or intrusive things.

Today is day 365. It has been 365 days since one of the worst days of my entire life. I remember it like it happened yesterday. I’m not sure I’ll ever forget. It’s not healthy, it causes me massive anxiety, it’s still traumatic and tonight I’m comfort eating because it’s been one of those days where every time I’ve looked at the clock I can remember what was happening this time last year. I drove to work feeling sick, I drove home feeling sick and the nausea hasn’t left me all day.
A year ago today our little dude was in hospital with a rare blood disease (ITP). We were reading books, hanging out on his hospital bed and eating treats (well I was sneakily eating the mint matchmakers that kind friends had delivered and trying to hide them from him). I left his bedside for approximately 6 seconds to walk to the end of the bay and put rubbish in the bin. That’s when I heard him. An almighty scream then the tears then the screams. I ran to him. He was writhing in pain, grabbing his head and screaming and crying. The paediatrician was at the bed opposite and came over. He was complaining of head ache. He was showing ‘neuro signs’. The major problem with ITP is that the platelet levels are so low that the patient’s blood doesn’t clot and they are at risk of internal bleeding, the worst being abdominal or brain bleed… back to the ‘neuro signs’. The Doctor went to make a phonecall, he started vomiting. An emergency CT scan was put in place and within the space of about 6 minutes we were surrounding by numerous medical staff; at least 3 consultants, 4 junior doctors, specialist blood nurse, ward nurses, junior doctors, student doctors. Our consultant arrived; I could hear lots of quiet voices making a plan… bleed, brain, ICU, blue lights, CT, neuro. I was covered in sick, sitting holding my floppy, screaming, vomiting little boy who was turning white and covered in more and more bruises and the deep purple, blue and black rash. I started to silently sob. I’m not sure what had stopped me so far. I think I was under the impression that this was not really happening and I was having some kind of out of body experience where I could see it but not feel it. The lovely blood nurse got down to my level and asked me kindly if I knew what was happening, ‘has anyone spoken to you yet’. Through snot bubbles and tears I muttered ‘I think you are all here because you think he has a brain bleed’. She left and returned with the consultant Dr. from the ICU who got down to my level (this is very important, no matter what your age) and started to explain. He is showing signs that something is wrong in his brain; if it’s in the left or right hemisphere we will need to blue light him to Nottingham; we have prepared platelets for surgery; he will need to go in the ambulance with a team of medics under anesthetic so you can’t go with him but we’ll get you there somehow as you won’t be able to drive yourselves. I have to tell you that if there is a bleed in his brain stem – there is no coming back from that. More vomit – all over me. I can remember asking “so you are all here because you actually think he is bleeding in his brain”. He is showing a lot of signs. We have 2 hours from time of onset to get him into surgery. The CT is the first point to tell us what’s happening. There are three possibilities:
1. There is a brain bleed and he needs surgery
2. There is a small bleed or no bleed but he needs observation in intensive care
3. There is no bleed and you’ll need a few extra days of monitoring in hospital.
In the lift on the way to the CT scan a little girl called out – “wow mummy look at that spotty little sick boy” – my heart broke…again! Outside the CT scan I was given a scrub top (the only time in my life I felt like I could pretend to be Meredith Grey and it was totes inapprops timing!) I can’t remember if I flashed the patients waiting for their scan or the lovely student doctor (who was with us the whole time) but I whipped off the vom top and I went into the room where my very sick boy sat sniffing anesthetic. I gave my baby a kiss, not knowing what was coming next and sat outside praying… no bleed, no brain surgery, no bleed, no brain surgery. By the Grace of God, the doctor ran out and said NO BLEED! I can’t quite remember what happened next until I saw my husband as we arrived back at the ward waiting for our baby. These are the ‘details’ that have plagued me today.
It was one of the worst days of my life and there were similar to come.
365 days later… it’s not a distant memory, it’s still raw, it’s still traumatic even though all is now well. Tomorrow I will be ok but today… it really is a ‘comfort eating’ kind of day; and that’s ok!