I am keenly aware that the amount of blog material I have amassed in the last 48 hours could fill these posts for weeks.  From the artwork on the walls at Hasbro Children’s Hospital in Providence to the rapid climb and descent on the parental anxiety ladder, I could create top ten lists, how to’s, and commentaries galore on a day spent in the emergency room with a child in urgent need of a neuro-consult.  This was, in fact, my plan. Until last night

Because as I started to type, the words that usually flow so easily from my head to my fingers took an unexpected detour and drained into my heart where they remained, leaving me feeling very heavy indeed.

I can (and want to) tell you that the child – Noah – is okay.  Based on an odd mix of symptoms he was presenting, doctors were worried about some scary stuff which we needed to rule out quickly – and we did.  I have never been so grateful to be able to say that the entire day was “a complete waste of time” – because the alternative is unspeakable.

I have often wondered about parents who tweet and update their Facebook status from the ER where they are with children who are being treated for serious symptoms and unknown diagnoses.  Stitches, sprains, and other incidentals are fair game – and I have been guilty of taking advantage of these rites of passage here at MoB.  But the last instinct I had on Wednesday as this was all going down was to tell the world about it.  I didn’t want sympathy or bragging rights.  I didn’t want to make anyone laugh or cry with me.  I didn’t want to share any of it.  That instinct remains – and though it surprises me – I trust it.

I think they call this dread – and it is not easily shaken, even after the cause for it is long gone.

As a blogger, I am a fan of  “sharing.”  I believe that Facebook and Twitter and the blogosphere have brought us infinitely closer as a society and my life is better for it.  I have known from the beginning that certain lines are not to be crossed – certain things are not to be shared.  But these lines were logical, drawn by social boundaries and a clear understanding of how much my family can take.  I drew those lines with confidence.  But this line was drawn for me by some higher power which I am still processing.

We are all fine so I can (and want to) tell you that the child who was pumped full of brain dye and run through the CAT scan on Wednesday will be singing this Sunday as the Delco Idol Jr. competition commences.

Same kid.  Different dread.  This kind I will tweet through – and for that I am truly blessed.

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