Panic stations!!!

This morning I got multiple texts from Big Girl in a panic that she had missed the deadline to register for the next Loughborough Lightning netball academy trials. She’s netball mad and having been in their U17 academy she wants to try out, and hopefully get a place, in the U19 academy when the training starts again in September. Being in hospital I’ve not been checking emails so it was possible that an email had been sent and I hadn’t seen it. I quickly check online on the Loughborough Lightening website and see that it says that registration is now closed. 

Oh shit! 

Feeling like the worst Mum in the world I fire off emails to all the contacts I have at Loughborough and ring Hubby in tears. He’s convinced that the trials aren’t until September so maybe registration is closed because it’s not open yet? I bloody hope so. 

The guilt I feel at maybe having overlooked something so important to Big Girl is overwhelming. I actually feel physically sick. But there’s nothing I can do about it for now apart from tell her that I’m sorry and that I will do my best to fix it if I’ve fucked up. 

I get an email this afternoon from J, her academy coach for this season that’s just finished.  She writes that the U19 trials won’t take place until the U15 and U17 ones are completed which won’t be until around July time. I screen shot the email and send it to Big Girl, relief washing over me. 

This is an example of the juggling that Hubby and I have to do on a daily basis, that’s made worse when I’m in hospital. There aren’t 7 days in my week; there might only be 1 or 2 good days. And on these good days I will try to go out, do housework, spend time with family or tackle the life admin that piles up from the rest of the week. 

Being in hospital is tough for me. I’m away from my family and I’m obviously not well if I’m an inpatient. But I actually think it’s much harder for Hubby than it is for me. He still has to work, often 12+ hours a day, but he also has to be both Mum and Dad. He has to pick up the slack around the house- cooking, cleaning, walking the dog etc. He becomes the taxi to the teenagers, a job my Dad usually helps with when him and Mum aren’t sunning themselves on a Mexican beach (not that I’m jealous or anything 😉) And then there’s the emotional rollercoaster to navigate, that other parents of teenagers will both empathise and sympathise with. 

On this occasion, it’s ok. The fuck up did not actually happen. But there’s always that fear at the back of my mind that one day it will. My illness dictates so much of what can or cannot happen in my life and by extension that of Hubby and the kids too. I try really hard not to let my illness define me, but it’s hard. 

Sometimes I wonder who I would have been if this illness hadn’t chose me to be its victim. What could I have achieved? Would I be happier? Or has this struggle made me into a kinder, more compassionate person? I guess we will never know.