When Excitement Costs Too Much

I have a friend who always asks if I’m excited about an upcoming event or opportunity.

She is always surprised when I respond with a simple, “No.”

It’s not that I’m ungrateful.

It’s not that I don’t recognize the opportunity.

It’s not that I don’t want to be excited.

It’s that excitement costs too much.

In time.

In energy.

In brain space.

And those are resources I don’t have in abundance.

It’s hard to explain this life as a medical mama to someone who has never lived it.

How do you explain how many tasks must be completed and how many hoops must be jumped before an event ever takes place?

Before most people pack a suitcase, they think about outfits and shoes.

Before I pack a suitcase, I think about:

Medications.

Neb treatments.

Extra supplies.

Backup supplies for the backup supplies.

Where the nearest children’s hospital is.

What happens if Kolin has a seizure?

Whether I packed enough of the right things to prevent an ER visit in an unfamiliar city.

How do you explain how quickly your child can go from “healthy” to being in the PICU within a matter of hours?

I’ve lived that shift.

I’ve watched stability evaporate.

When you’ve experienced that kind of whiplash, your nervous system never fully settles again.

All of the "What ifs?" lies just beneath the surface.

I am a planner.

On paper, my year looks organized. Major vacations, therapy intensives, specialist appointments, they’re all mapped out.

But on a smaller level, I live week to week.

Task to task.

As I balance this life as a widowed medical mama.

Doctor’s appointments.

Medication refills.

Ordering supplies.

Insurance calls.

Neb treatments.

Therapy sessions.

Everything must be managed. Everything must be anticipated. And I am the only one carrying the weight of it all.

How many times have I canceled a flight because I needed to take Kolin to the ER?

How many times have I declined an event because he wasn’t feeling well?

More than I can count

.

So I’ve learned not to attach too much emotion to what’s ahead.

Why do I wait until the last minute to pack?

Because I know how quickly life can change, so why waste energy unnecessarily?

Why do I wait until the last minute to book a flight?

Because there’s a very real chance I won’t make it onto that flight.

Hope, for me, has to be measured.

Guarded.

Practical.

And if I happen to make it to the event?

I’m often too exhausted to fully enjoy it.

Because I’ve already spent the bulk of my energy getting there and I am drained… physically, mentally, emotionally.

Monitoring symptoms.

Rechecking medications.

Preparing for worst-case scenarios.

Carrying the quiet weight of knowing that if something goes wrong, I am the only parent here to navigate it.

Excitement requires margin.

And my life exists in the realm of uncertainty.

Where anything can happen at any moment to change the day’s plans.

So when I say “no,” it’s not bitterness.

It’s not a lack of joy.

It’s realism shaped by experience.

It’s protecting my heart from the emotional whiplash of canceled plans and hospital bracelets.

It’s conserving the little energy I have for the things that truly matter.

I still show up when I can.

I still say yes when it’s possible.

I still try.

But I’ve learned that steady is safer than excited.

And in this life, this very unpredictable, beautiful, exhausting life, steady is sometimes the bravest thing I can be.