As well as feeling dire I also had such a sense of overwhelming guilt towards my son. I know I couldn't help it but I hated not being able to look after him and him not understanding why. It got the point on Sunday afternoon that I just had to throw the towel in and go to bed and rest, after three nights of practically no sleep the exhaustion was kicking in. For once I had to put myself first, as I knew I would just delay my recovery. I couldn't see any light at the end of the tunnel and I hate that feeling, to actually be in that situation must be truly horrific.
I am just about starting to see the woods for the trees but haven't felt this unwell for a long time. I have also realised what a
So this post is a massive sorry to my husband who who looked after me so well and catered for Beastie's every whim. He cooked the most lovely meal that I couldn't taste, then struggled to swallow and eventually baled out on him straight after in favour of my bed. Sorry to my son for not being of any use to him and getting hysterical when he tried to use me as a climbing frame and for when he got himself wedged in his little chair and I couldn't free him. Don't worry he was freed by my husband after lots of screaming from me, it sounds dramatic, I assure you it wasn't.
And while writing this I burnt my son's fish fingers as I couldn't smell the burning. What happens if my sense of smell never returns?? I didn't taste one iota of my sandwich!