Recently, an odd thing has started happening. I've been waking up multiple times a night in a state of terrified panic. And everyone I talk to about it smiles and is happy for me.
Ever since Elliot was born, I’ve been a little worried about SIDS. Okay, I've been a lot worried about SIDS. Like way out of proportion to the actual risk.
The actual risk, in case you're wondering, is 7 in 100,000. I did not have to look up that statistic because I repeat it to myself multiple times a night.
Or maybe you prefer percentages: Elliot has a 0.007% chance of dying of SIDS. Pretty small. Doesn't matter, I still wake up tri-nightly to poke him and make sure he's still breathing.
To put my irrationality into perspective: When Hannah and I went through the standard prenatal testing for Downs syndrome, the blood tests showed that Elliot's risk was 1 in 300. Hannah was still thinking of doing an amniocentesis to confirm it, but I thought that was ridiculous. 1 in 300? That's basically zero!
And yet here comes SIDS, with a risk that's a hundred times lower, and it's ruining my sleep. What's going on? And why are all my supposed friends so happy to hear about these night terrors?
Ever since Elliot was born, I’ve been a little worried about SIDS. Okay, I've been a lot worried about SIDS. Like way out of proportion to the actual risk.
The actual risk, in case you're wondering, is 7 in 100,000. I did not have to look up that statistic because I repeat it to myself multiple times a night.
Or maybe you prefer percentages: Elliot has a 0.007% chance of dying of SIDS. Pretty small. Doesn't matter, I still wake up tri-nightly to poke him and make sure he's still breathing.
To put my irrationality into perspective: When Hannah and I went through the standard prenatal testing for Downs syndrome, the blood tests showed that Elliot's risk was 1 in 300. Hannah was still thinking of doing an amniocentesis to confirm it, but I thought that was ridiculous. 1 in 300? That's basically zero!
And yet here comes SIDS, with a risk that's a hundred times lower, and it's ruining my sleep. What's going on? And why are all my supposed friends so happy to hear about these night terrors?
Here's how it usually happens: I'll be talking to a friend about Elliot, and they'll ask how the nights are going. I'll start to vent about my sleep problem, hoping for a little commiseration. If it's a woman listening, she'll tilt her head sideways and get a slightly far-off look on her face. "Aww," she'll say. If it's a man listening, he tends to nod slowly and give me a grim smile of manly respect.
Neither of these reactions is what I am hoping for, which is 1) sympathy, or 2) a solution.
I’m not so obtuse that I don’t have an inkling of why people react this way. My panic attacks would apparently indicate parental bonafides. Which makes no sense whatsoever. How does sending myself into a frenzy--- at random intervals chosen by my subconscious--- help my child? And yet, everyone seems to think that these night terrors qualify me for Man of the Year.
That's right folks, the standards of fatherhood have fallen so far that not wanting your child to suffocate in his sleep qualifies you as a good dad.
Short of many sessions of therapy I’m not sure what will help this problem. I’m pretty sure that as he gets older (and develops the muscle strength to move himself out of potentially suffocating situations) I will calm down about this. But I'm still open to advice if anyone's got some.
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