So there was a part of our visit (mine and Link's and my mother in law, Diane's) out to Sacramento that I was not entirely prepared for.
There were so many balls in the air for this trip. So much planning, wanting, waiting. There were messed up travel plans, missed flights, insurance snafus, incompetent office staffers. I was wound so tight to make this happen for Lincoln, for us, that I was wholly caught off guard for the parts that were about me. ME.
Since my son has an X-linked genetic disorder, he got it from me. ME. Simply, I am a carrier. I've known that rationally since we got Link's diagnosis. I never really felt it emotionally until now.
Why I have anxiety, depression? Why I worry? Why I feel overwhelmed and have a hard time coping? Why I have always, always had a hard time reading diagrams and understanding things like floor plans for fucks-sake? Fragile X, that's why. Why my father was so reclusive, quick to anger & not very bright? Fragile X.
I'm not supposed to wallow. I don't want to wallow. But I'm still crying almost every day. Usually just a little bit... in the car, alone.
Not supposed to think about what could have been, just what is.
But. BUT. B U T! If I had known sooner. If. IF. I F!
I feel like I ruined my son's life and I fucked up Penelope. I want these musings to go away and find a nice tidy home in hell where they belong.
They took my blood out in CA and I sit and I wait for the results of my affectation with Fragile X. I imagine the various outcomes and try to apply some sense to my life (MY LIFE. ME. SELFISH BITCH.) with each one. My gut is that I have a full mutation on one of my chromosomes. My gut is that me and my baby boy are the same. My gut is that I have lived for 40 years as one thing and I'm about to find out that that thing never existed.