Learning to let go

This Saturday just gone, I burnt my hand.
I was in the kitchen, working with some isomalt for my Cake International competition piece. Isomalt is basically a sugar derivative. To use it, you have to melt it down to the correct working temperature, which is above one hundred and twenty degrees. In other words, it's really bloody hot.

I've been trained in working with molten sugar, and I know how to avoid incidents. But occasionally, accidents happen.
I was checking my mould and the side split slightly, spilling liquid isomalt across my left hand.
Immediately, I put my hand under the cold tap and let the water run. Lil Monster heard me cry out when it happened, and rushed to my side, where she was a major help. She got me my phone, so that I could do some research on burns, as well as getting me paracetamol. She stayed with me whilst I was on the phone with NHS 111, and helped me through the flat, so that I could ask Wheelz to take me to A&E.

Wheelz and Lil Monster were fantastic, getting me to the hospital in record time.
I have nothing but high praise for the NHS, as I was triaged and treated very quickly, as well as being given supplies to dress my wounds.
The burns aren't too bad, thank goodness. A few second degree burns, where the isomalt touched me first, and a splatter pattern across the top of my palm and the base of my fingers in first degree burns.
The problem, of course, was that I was thoroughly wrapped in bandages, rendering my left hand pretty much useless. I hadn't even realised how much I use it on a day to day basis until suddenly, I couldn't.

Having to take a step back, and let people help me, has been a real learning curve over the last few days. I struggled to carry things, couldn't feed the cats properly, preparing food was too difficult. Basically all of the things that I'm used to doing, both for myself and my family, I couldn't do. Wheelz and Lil Monster had to step in with sorting dinner, feeding the cats, arranging the washing etc.

In fact, it started even earlier than that.
Usually, when we go out, I take a bag with me. My bag usually contains (this is not a complete list):
Phone
Keys
Purse
Wheelz's phone
Wheelz's keys
Wheelz's purse
Water bottle
Cereal bars
Boiled sweets (in case Wheelz faints)
Lip balm
Tissues
Pens
Paper/Notebook
etc.

Lil Monster had to pack a bag instead. I walked her through the basics of what I usually tow around with me, and she packed it into her hastily emptied PE bag.
The journey to the hospital was quick, and easy.
The next obstacle was parking. Usually, when there's a pay and display, I'll go over and sort it. If I don't have change, I'll find a nearby shop or food stall and make a small purchase in order to make change.
Lil Monster never usually has to think about this, as it's always handled. Thank goodness the pay and display was broken and we were allowed to park for free, because her distressed toing and froing was quite stressful to behold.

Next came the wheelchair. It seems so easy when you think of what needs doing. Remove from car, push into seating position, remove brakes.
But I couldn't do any of it. I just stood there like a lemon, unable to help with it at all, because it takes two hands. It hadn't ever occurred to me that Lil Monster didn't know to grab the seat cushion. That she didn't realise that Wheelz needs the brakes off if she's walking with the chair, and on if she's going to sit in it. Push down on the seat bars to put the seat in place, but make sure it's not too close to the car, so it doesn't hit it.
I felt micromanaging, because I felt as though I had to walk her through each step of what I do as a matter of course. It was a weird feeling, and one that I wasn't at all keen on.

For the most part, things at home have been OK. From Saturday afternoon, when we got home from the hospital, until last night, I was given 'invalid' status. So saying, I was off duty for my usual have to's, and would need helping out instead.
I'm not a very good patient. I have developed a fierce independent streak over the years, and having this stripped away has been a real learning curve. I've had no choice but to sit back and let other people help me out. I've had no choice but to let go.

And it's been hard. I suppose, because of the things I'm used to handling, I've developed my own way of managing things, and it's been difficult to let other people take charge. I've had to bite my tongue a few times, when things weren't being done in their usual way. Because not-my-way doesn't mean wrong (with the exception of weighing out cat food. Lil Monster has been overfeeding them, hence the four piles of cat sick Wheelz and I had to clean up last night).
I've been off duty for two and a half days, and nothing has fallen apart. We're all still standing.
Lil Monster really stepped up for me, and it was heartening to see.
So maybe me being forced to let go hasn't necessarily been a bad thing?

Having said that, my invalid status expired at midnight, so it's business as usual from here on out.

Dear N (potential trigger)

Sometimes, I wish I was mute.

That's not true.

Yeah, it kind of is.
Sometimes, I wish I couldn't speak, so that I wouldn't have to speak. Because sometimes, in our home, to speak is to pick a side. And to pick a side is to start a war.

For whatever reason, you argue less with me.
This is shitty. I am thrust into the middle of every argument, because without my presence, they descend into shouting, crying, yelling. Admittedly, even with my presence, this happens, but moreso when I'm not around to translate.
 It's so fucked up that I'm needed to do that. She makes sense. She does. She speaks with clarity and precision, as she's had to over the years dealing with you. She makes sense.
 You, on the other hand, play dumb. Is it because you like the attention of both of us? Is it that if you're going down, you want to drag me down with you? What makes you argue for hours and hours over the smallest word choice, until I have to get involved and dumb it down to three letter words, because it's half eleven and you need to go to bed?

I hate having to get involved, because it means that, whatever I say, it will be twisted and warped until it barely resembles my original words. I hate getting involved, because if I try and reason out either viewpoint, I feel as though I am betraying the other. I hate getting involved, because I'm so exhausted. I hear the same arguments, all the damn time, and nothing changes. I ask why, phrasing it in a million different ways, to hear I don't know, in that awful dead voice. I hate getting involved, because it makes my stomach clench and my head ache and my shoulders crunch up to my ears.
I hate that a simple question, a basic conversation, can lead to now; all three of us in separate rooms, feeling various levels of hurt.
I hate feeling like it's become one of my burdens to try and reform us, after Hurricane N has visited. I hate feeling like I hate my younger sister. Because I do feel that way. I do sometimes feel like I hate you. I listen to the things you say, and see the way you act and I think, God, why are we still living this? What epic mistake did we make that karma is paying us back, this hard?

I'm so tired of this. Of feeling so empty inside, so dead.
Sometimes, I feel as though you are a leaky bucket. You can never be completely filled. But instead of asking for help patching yourself up, you go around punching holes in everyone else, so that they hurt, too.
There are days when I wonder why we didn't make you go and live with your dad, last year. Logically, and when I'm feeling capable of looking to the future, I think it's probably a good thing. Your dad is actually not dissimilar to mine, and I know how hellish I found it living with him.
When I'm not feeling capable of looking to the future, I curse the fact that a train didn't come last year, when I was standing on the tracks, looking for a sign.
I made a promise to myself that I would be the sister to stick around, I'd be the one who was there. Sometimes, I can stand by that. Other times, I think I was a fucking idiot to put that on myself.

I don't know how to keep doing this. I don't know how to keep being there. I'm so tired of this. I'm so tired of feeling like I can't ask you to do anything. I'm fed up of dreading the time I know you'll be home from school. I hate the feeling of pure terror that fills me when I think about the upcoming summer holidays.

I don't know how much of it is in my control. I've spent hours, in my own head, trying to work out what more I can do to help you. Trying to figure out which parenting book to read, so that I can get through to you. Hanging around on parenting forums, trying to see how other families have coped with children like you.

The idea that some of it is not in my control, that it's in yours... I can't actually bear to think about it. Because sometimes, I'm not sure that you can change.
Sometimes, I'm scared that this is just... you.