Shrugs

It's really hard to see your kid sick.

It's even harder when he doesn't appear to be sick.

Harder still when you know that, genetically, it's your "fault."

Pectus Excavatum. That's what ails Griffin. It's what he (now) lovingly calls his dent. What used to cause him great embarrassment, the need for swim shirts, and general discomfort evolved into his defining feature. Where once he hid it, now he encourages others to touch it, to eat out of it (yes, with a spoon), and to bask in its glory. The boy loves his dent.

We went to an appointment at the Hershey Medical Center to meet with a specialist. Seems Griff has noticed his dent is getting deeper. And he's concerned.

He and I even had a discussion (back when he was still talking to me) and I realized that my son has been doing reading about his very ailment and knew about surgical options and recovery and procedures. Very grown up. And sort of scary.

The appointment seemed to be routine, but then it took a turn for the confusing. The doctor was very nice, very thorough, spent and hour with us...but I left with snippets.

• Griffin's is one of the more serious cases he's seen
• the most common procedure involves inserting two (so bad - he gets two!) metal bars into his chest, where they will be sewn to his ribcage, for three years
• the pain is so intense he will be reliant on straight up narcotics for a month
• recovery is intense for a month but takes upwards of three months
• he'll need help getting out of his bed for the first few weeks
• he won't be able to ride his bike all summer
• the surgery isn't purely cosmetic...but it's not required either
• the success rate is very high - as long as the patient adheres to the strict rules
• it's super painful

Sigh. 

IT'S REALLY SUPER HARD BEING A MOM.

So, that was horrible. Besides the sheer overwhelmingness of it all, I felt kinda alone.

And JC was in the room with us.

But wait! Act now and it gets worse.

Seeing as my middle child, the boy I love more than most things in the world, the boy who would do just about anything to make me laugh or smile a year ago, isn't really talking to me right now, I could do nothing to console either him or me.

Alone for a few minutes post-appointment, I asked him what he was thinking, as he had been silent in the exam room.

me: "Initial thoughts?" 

him: shrug  

me: "You must be thinking something. Are you scared? Worried? Feeling good?"

him: shrug 

me: "You have to set aside how you feel about me right now. The anger you feel. This is serious. Important. We have to talk about it." 

him: "I mean, I don't know."

Then we climbed into the car, he inserted his earbuds, and we drove back across the river. 

 I won't lie. I miss my boy. And I can't shake the feeling that it's all on me.