I wait for a break as week 3 of being housebound fast approaches.
I wait for a break today when a fellow mother selflessly drives up all the way from Waterford to me here in north Kildare to give me that 3 hours of respite I desperately need.
I wait to hear why I haven’t had HSE provided in-home respite for months now, only to find out the nurse and home aid who previously provide this service are no longer with that company and now there is no one available to help me.
I wait for a break for my son, Brendan Bjorn, who has laid trapped in his bed for over a month now with a pressure sore that has only worsened, not become any better.
I wait to hear from the county’s Tissue Viability Nurse so we can set an appointment for her to (hopefully) call out to the house and examine Brendan Bjorn’s painful pressure sore.
I wait…I think somewhat pointlessly…wondering why the powers at be have left us out here in the middle of nowhere with little to no urgent intervention and assistance.
I wait for a break in housing, dreaming one day that – please God, before it is too late – I will receive the news there is a suitable, safe, bungalow ready for us to move into and call our forever home.
I wait for nearly anyone to ring me with offers of help, alas, I wait mostly in vain.
I wait for arms to someday hold me so I can cry uncontrollably, finally releasing even a portion of the pain buried so deep within.
I wait for so many things to improve because without hope I will be lost.
And I wait to see how much longer I can go without breaking.