When Liana is sick, it scares me so. Just yesterday I was thinking about our last day with Lev, and wishing I would have noticed something differently, or said something different, or just somehow have known that he was so ill. I was replaying everything I knew and everything we talked about and trying to figure out what I could have said or seen or done differently to bring him to the hospital that evening. I don't think there was anything that would have made me go to the hospital, but I wish there had been. Even if we had gone to the hospital, they probably wouldn't have done anything as his symptoms were mild and he didn't have symptoms of meningitis. But, still, as a mother, I feel that I should have known, should have done something different.
Lev said his legs hurt the afternoon before he died. When we walked down to the waterfall he was very slow going back up because of it. We kept and eye on him and tried to assess how he was doing. But, he often had growing pains over the years, and he was in a growth spurt, so it wasn't that unusual. He also tended to exaggerate (or feel super strongly) certain pains, so it was hard to tell what was really going on. That evening by the campfire his legs were sore, he didn't have much appetite for dinner, and he had a bit of the chills, so we thought he was getting the flu. We gave him Tylenol but it didn't help. It didn't seem that bad. We walked to the bathrooms and he seemed okay, walking slowly but okay. We talked about plans to go canoeing in Lake Louise the next day, assuming he was better. We wondered if we should go to a hotel instead of camping but decided it wouldn't help to be in a hotel. When Lev did go to bed, after eating yogurt and graham crackers he said he was feeling better, so I spent the rest of the evening looking at the guidebook planning our outing the next day. Then he complained that we were making too much noise when we put the rain tarp on before we went to sleep and he seemed totally himself. I thought he was fine.
I wish he had had some terrible symptom that would have motivated us to seek medical attention. I didn't even know the symptoms of meningitis. But, if he had developed a weird rash, or a sore neck, we might have thought he was really ill and done something different. While sitting at the campfire, while Tony and Jaal were on a little bike ride, Lev said to me, "What if I die tonight?" and I replied, "People don't die from the flu like that. You'll be fine. If you are sick tomorrow we will go to the doctor." Lev and I had talked about death a few times in the months prior. He said he was often afraid of death, and he would think about it when going to bed. We talked about it, and I told him he could always come and sleep in our room or in the room nearby if he wanted and we talked about how unlikely it was to die at his age and wondered why he was thinking about it.
The last time we talked about this was about six weeks before he died. It seemed like a normal concern at his age. So, when he asked me about dying I just assumed he was referring to our previous conversations, and I tried to make him feel better. I wish I had asked more probing questions. Maybe I could have gotten him to tell me something that would have made me have a different reaction. Something that would have made me take him to a hospital; something that would make them take it seriously, do a spinal tap, or whatever they would have needed to do to figure it out. The idea that I didn't know, that I thought he was fine, is very hard to live with. I feel like I let him down in the worst possible way.
When Liana is sick, how am I to know that a little fever is just a little fever? She doesn't seem that sick. Tylenol made her feel better. She was 101.4 though, and it scared us. She was lethargic and cuddly until the Tylenol kicked in. Then she was playing and happy. But I worry. It makes me feel scared and incompetent. Like when Jaal passed out on the airplane, I just creates this fiery rock in the pit of my stomach. Potential impending doom.
It also puts everything back in perspective. Who cares if I decide to go back to work, or move to Costa Rica, or buy a house. Compared to keeping your kid alive none of it matters. I feel grief, worry, and hopelessness all bundled up inside.
I really have no way of knowing if she will live through the night, although at the moment she seems fine. We never really know. I often imagine her being hit by a driver who swerves off the road, or dying in some other suddenly tragic way, although I try not to think about it. I know I'm not really in control of her future, and when she is sick I realize it even more.
It is hard to parent knowing how little control you really have. I suppose that's why the Costa Rican's end every plan with, "Si Dios permite." If God permits...
