This morning I got stung by a bee.
Let me be more specific: This morning at 6:00am - before bees are supposed to even be awake - some jerk bee who had obviously been camping out all night in a sidewalk crack decided to assault me on the first early-morning walk I have taken in months.
Can you tell I’m bitter?
I came home and, with an ice pack on my leg, thought about what comes next. I’ll definitely be avoiding that stretch of sidewalk for a while. I might even skip walking the next time I’m up early.
All day I’ve been thinking about that darn bee sting. Not only because my leg still hurts, but because it rattled me in a super specific way.
Here’s the thing: I get stung a lot. Not necessarily by bees, but I am way too familiar with the feeling of a sting.
I’ve been stung by people, by injuries, by toxic environments… I’m sure most of us have known the feeling of a sting at some point. But right now the thing that stings me and my family most often is Dravet syndrome. My 7-year-old’s seizures are so severe that any light, pattern, or texture coming into her line of vision makes her uncontrollably seize until it’s removed.
Every time I have to close the blackout shades, every time a new medication fails, every time I hear the kids in our neighborhood playing… Sting, sting, sting.
And like the bee taught me to think twice about my next walk, these other stings have taught me things, too. When the stings are painful you have to protect yourself from getting stung again, right?
So you set boundaries. You tiptoe around the bee’s nest, always hoping to avoid the next sting. Our only outings are the unavoidable: hospitals, doctors, and our parent’s houses where the windows and furniture are covered by black trash bags and white sheets. Our wardrobes consist only of solid colors. Recess is a thing of the past.
The anticipatory sting is enough to control every detail of her life, as well as mine.
A few friends have reminded me that the only constant is change. Things will eventually get better. Or worse. But they won’t stay like this forever.
I’m sure someday that stretch of sidewalk won’t feel so ominous. The weather will cool down and the bees will go into hibernation. Eventually that sting will be a faint memory. I’ll probably even let my toddler lead a lap around the block again.
So, I’ll continue to ice my leg to ease the pain. And I’ll continue to ease my daughter’s pain with baking, messy crafts, unlimited screen time, horribly painted manicures, and vitamin D supplements inside our cave-house.
And I’ll remind myself that someday things will change. These stings will become a memory.
Someday.
This week’s doodle was inspired by the SCBWI summer conference orientation last night. Jolie Stekly shared this quote. It’s the perfect reminder to keep going.
I’m thrilled to be diving into my third SCBWI conference this weekend. It’s such a wonderful and necessary distraction for my soul.