I really miss the woman who lived upstairs before you took the residence over. Why? She was considerate and recognized that in order for an apartment building to live cohesively all of the dwellers need to get along and be respectful of the others. Love thy neighbor is an important lesson, even for non-religious folk.
You moved in during the summer, and at first everything was fine. You were a bit loud and you regularly parked on the grass instead of in the driveway, but we recognized that moving a large family is a loud, messy and often times, painful experience. I get it. We've also moved with four kids, it sucks. We hoped the noise would dull down once you got settled in.
It didn't.
It's gotten worse as we now look towards spring. Your dogs bark and howl when you are not home without pause. If you leave for sixteen hours your dogs will bark constantly for all sixteen hours. This is called separation anxiety. It's a painful issue for dogs, much like panic attacks are painful for us humans. When you're home the dogs don't bark, but your stereo seems to have only one volume: loud enough to rattle MY floor and windows. We have to endure a constant onslaught of crap 90s music that I had hoped to never hear outside of the 90s. It is so bad that the medical professionals who help my son and I have commented on it and have contacted authorities on our behalf (turns out there is a noise ordinance during the day, but police, code and the dog warden do not enforce it). There is someone in our house six days a week, and every day we get asked how we are still being nice about this ear shattering issue. Honestly, it takes quite a bit of effort not to yank your electricity and throw the pieces in the three feet of snow... or hire a hit man just for your stereo, good thing I don't know any hit men, but one trip into the underground society of our city will solve that pesky problem.
I'm not an unreasonable person, life is noisy, I also get that. Dogs bark, yelling happens and music is the spice of life. I'm a musician so believe me, I totally get it, and nothing is better then getting lost in your favorite song. Noise happens, and it happens fairly often.
This is just torture though, the UN would make a ruling about this. Speaking to you, authorities and the landlord has done nothing but aggravate me further. We have said we have a sick and dying baby, and I have told you I am severely disabled do to migraines, including ones that cause stroke and comas. Both of us, but especially my child, need a respectable level of quietness to rest.
Over the past few months I have watched my son turn from a happy and valiant warrior to a mess of pain, tears and seizures. As a last resort I am writing this. I am explaining to you exactly why I need you to turn your tunes down. This is my last attempt to be nice.
My son hit the genetic jackpot. He has a trio of rare and serious diseases, they are West Syndrome (a seizure disorder), Krabbes Disease (a degenerative disorder), and Dopa Responsive Dystonia (a disorder caused by lack of Dopamine, an essential chemical in the human brain). All of these diseases work together to deplete my son's brain and nervous system of needed hormones, chemicals and signals. However, we sort of got lucky, because the Dopa Responsive Dystonia (or DRD) keeps the Krabbes in check. The low dopamine helps ward off the breakdown caused by this terrible disease. We're not quite sure why, because as far as we know our little guy is the only recorded case of this, but regardless we got lucky, he got lucky. O has lived a year and a half past most Krabbes babies. He is on borrowed time and we would like to keep borrowing more precious moments with him. I don't want to know the particular type of pain that is caused by the loss of a child just yet. I am not ready for it, even though I know he will eventually pass.
Dopamine, and the delicate balance of it in his brain, is giving us more time with our baby. Unfortunately the only time dopamine is produced and stored is during sleep, then it is given to the body through a complex reward system (when a person does something, like raise your arm, your brain gives you a short burst of dopamine to reward your system for doing what it was told). Sleep is what is keeping my child's brain from turning into mush.
Yesterday my valiant warrior had another grand maul seizure, because he was exhausted. As a mother these terrify me. In the blink of an eye my baby is having rapid spasms, contorting, not breathing and his monitors are screaming at me, telling me that my child is looking at the gates of the afterlife. In the movies there is an air of panic, alarm, and fear. As a viewer your heart strings are pulled and you are on the edge of your seat, hoping your favorite character comes out of the seizure. This isn't something Hollywood makes up, the panic and desperation is real, but worse because this is my child. This is my heart and soul having the seizure, the baby boy I carried lovingly for 42 weeks and swore to protect and love until my last breath. My heart stops, I panic in secret as I act with diligence and swiftness, and I know that another part of my child's beautifully destroyed brain has just lost another bit of gray matter. Every seizure my husband and I are faced with "this is it," we pray that we don't have to have our other children kiss his cheek one last time.
After each episode, after he smiles weakly at me to let me know that he is alright and then goes to sleep I succumb to my own emotions. I throw up and then cry while shoved between the toilet and wall of the bathroom. I give thanks to my Viking Gods and ancestors for not taking my baby to Valhalla yet. Then a migraine and all of the effects of the migraine, including hallucinations, sink in. I can't curl up with my son though, both of us sleeping an unnatural and illness induced sleep, because your music is rattling our windows or your dogs are barking.
Today my son is grouchy and in pain. He is always happy and so full of light, but not today. My Alice-in-Wonderland hallucinations are still going strong and I spilled boiling hot coffee on myself because my askew reality told me I was out of coffee when in fact, my cup was full. I have also walked into no less then six walls.
I implore you- turn your music down, use headphones, take your poor dogs with you. I'm begging you, from one parent to another, let my baby get some rest.
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