March, The Third Week

This third week of March
Has sure been a doozy.
It started with part of my tooth breaking off.
Ephram is having a hard time adjusting to the time change.
And I was up with him past 5am two nights this week.
Another two nights this week, I was up until just before 5am with my baby girl.
Who has (at least) three molars pushing through her gums.
Poor baby.
A trip to the dentist revealed a very bad cavity in the tooth behind my broken one.
So I spent two hours in a dentist's chair.
And hope that I avoided what would be my first root canal by the narrowest of margins.
1/8 of a millimeter, the dentist said.
I also had a cold,
That packed a fever,
And some lovely aches and pains.
My Charlie, who's been making some wonderful progress,
Experienced a complete behavior regression this week.
You don't want to know what that involves.
Trust me.
I don't either, to tell you the truth.
My bed was puked on and then peed on this week,
On back-back days necessitating sheets and quilt washed when I was running a fever.
And I threw out my neck somehow.
Leaving me incapable of turning my head to the left for a day,
And twinges when I did for another two days.

There's a lot that I could complain about.
But I don't feel like it.
Because I can't help but remember
My last third week of March.

31 weeks pregnant with my baby girl.
Every day spent at a doctor's office,
Sometimes two doctors, back-back.
Hooked up to machines to monitor my unborn baby,
My blood pressure,
My heart rate.
Blood drawn every day.
The knowledge,
Terrifying,
That it was bad.
I just knew it.
My luck was running out.
Desperation to save my baby,
Tortured by a body that refused to be normal,
Heartache from a need to be with my boys...
And knowing our separation was imminent.

Tomorrow marks one year from my hospital admittance.
It was the first night ever in his life that I did not put Ephram to sleep.
That fact crushed me more than anything else that night.

I wasn't told just how bad things got for me until well after the fact.
My platelets crashed, my renal activity declining,
I was told later that my doctor met with her colleagues
To discuss the very real possibility of a stroke,
Or worse.

I'll admit it now -
I was a total basket case.
I was so paranoid, of everything really.
They were smart not to key me in.
I tried very hard to focus on the positive,
But it was often too hard for me to do.
Which is not the face that I put on for most,
And definitely not the side I chose to show my friends and family.
Because I try to hold myself to a policy to not accentuate the negative in my relationships,
Of trying to focus on the positive.

In many ways that tactic left me very alone in this case.
And put the burden of my anguish on a select few
That I owe everything to.

Even then, through my despair and anxiety, I was aware of my luck.
I am so grateful that this greatest trial of mine also
Gave me a very real, tangible and beautiful reward.
And taught me so very much about
What I can do,
What I can face,
What I have been given,
And humility in knowing that I need help to do the most important things in life.

At first I could not help but to keep a list of
The Things That Pre-Eclampsia and HELLP Took Away From Me
When I discussed it with my select few,
I tried to make it a joke.
But really it wasn't.
It was a great coping mechanism.
No matter the unhealthy aspect of keeping such a list,
It was that list that finally allowed me to
Let go of my guilt over a situation that was truly out of my control.

You don't know how it feels...
Or if you do,
I'm sorry.
To see your baby lying somewhere,
Helpless,
And to know that the only reason
She is in pain
Is because I failed her.
Finally now, I can say that I know it wasn't my fault.
And believe it.

They say I should not have any more babies.
I don't know.
I feel like I'm missing another.
And I can say, now, a year away from that time
I would live through that six months of pain in a heart beat all over again
To be blessed by a lifetime with a beautiful baby.

Still,
When I had a pregnancy scare a month ago,
My only thoughts were terrified.
So clearly, I'm not there yet.
And maybe I never will be.

If there's one thing I've learned
Through my struggles with fertility
And trials faced through pregnancy
And parenting
It is that, His will be done.
And I trust His wisdom.
Because now, with distance,
I see all of the miracles brought by the way this came to pass.
And I know that it was meant to happen.

Lately the question I have been posed,
Over and over,
Is have I fully recovered?
Will I ever be recovered completely?
I have closed a cycle of coping,
Very recently accepting this ordeal for what it was.
I've let go of most of the anger that I held,
Much of it misdirected.
I let go of my list.
Sometimes I can tell people that
Her name is Macie Drew and she's 11 months old
And leave out the part about how she was 2 months early.
(Although I always think it to myself, even if it is not spoken.)

Overwhelmingly, I feel like I am supposed to have moved on.
Be grateful for what I have.
A beautiful, healthy, thriving daughter.
A family that is complete and together.
A body that is still ticking away,
And capable of sitting in that dentist's chair for two hours,
Of taking care of her little ones' needs.
Of pushing through the annoyance of a minor cold and a stiff neck.

Oh, am I grateful.
I don't know words that better express the feeling.
But I also have a very hard time not talking about what we survived.
And I know that it's expected that I let go of it.
But letting go of it almost feels like abandoning the struggle.
And forgetting the journey
That I'm so proud of,
That is one of my most defining accomplishments.

And I haven't been able to do that yet.
So I decided,
I'll write it down.
In the most honest and raw form that I can.
And though you can't see the tears that I cried as I typed this tonight,
They're here.
And they mean the world to me.
They aren't all sad.
They are happy,
They are grateful,
They are proud,
They are fulfilled.
They are in love for my daughter,
And my sons.
And in hope for the continued journey our family will take.

And now I'm making a promise to myself.
I'm going to leave these words here.
And do my best to leave the sorrow and self pity here, too.
Not abandoned, because they're recorded.
Because I understand that those emotions are an important part of the learning, too.

Lately I have been given, and seen, the opportunity to pay it forward.

To give to people the gift that meant more to me than all else last March and April.
The gift of hope.
Sharing our story, offering support to others,
Relating and listening.
That's where I'm focusing this energy now.


I'll continue to funnel my energy on the good that came from our crisis.
My daughter.
She'll celebrate her first birthday one week from today.
And I'll remember the struggle for her.
And because it defines me
And our family.
The worst of this past year will still be there,
But I'll share it only when it can help someone else.
I'm going to accent the best of this past year.
Because that's the legacy that I really want her to own.

So this March, this third week
It's been a doozy.
But definitely better than last year.
This week I escaped a root canal by 1/8 of a millimeter,
But last year my family escaped a worse fate by such a narrow margin.
And I am so grateful to be here to experience life.

My Little Princess

My sister Keira sent this dress for Macie shortly after we learned she was a girl,
Before any pre-eclampsia drama,
And it was not just the first dress we had for her,
But also the very first outfit.

At the time that I was placed on bed rest,
And even when I went into the hospital,
And thus - when Macie was born,
I had very few clothes for her.
This may seem strange,
But realize I was bed rested during the first week of the third trimester,
It really was still quite early.
I thought I would have so much more time,
But I didn't.

So, when Macie was born I had a few 3 month outfits,
And a couple of random gifts from family.
And this dress.
This beautiful dress.

This dress became an anchor for me.

I held it,

I pictured it,

I dreamt of my little girl.

That she would be born,

She would grow,

And someday I'd be able to put this dress on her.

When she was in the NICU,

I came home from the hospital and touched this dress every day.

Once, during that first scary and long week,

I held it as I slept.

I did these things to remind myself that she wouldn't always be weak,

Or small,

Or dependent on so much aide.

It turns out that in crisis,

I become a creature of habit.

In some ways, perhaps borderline OCD.

But I did what I had to do to keep my sanity,

To be strong when I was with my girl.

The day I put this dress on her,

I cried

In remembrance of another time. 

I realized that it was all true.

It wasn't a dream.

It was reality.

What a difference a few short months can make.

And what a strong, little (yet so big) princess my Macie has become.

Remember This

I was once a young girl,
Full of dreams of accomplishment
In music,
In crafted words,
In love,
In motherhood.

I always knew that trials would come.
But I also had faith -
That I would succeed.
Because I'm a good person.
And I try hard.
And by virtue of my desire.

Life happened.
With time I settled.
My music is for me
And a very limited audience.
My words are written here.
And I find joy and peace in what I have done with them.

In love I have all I dreamt
And more.

But in motherhood. . .
I won't linger on the twists,
The turns,
The torment that desire brought when I began to despair over
What was out of my control,
What I couldn't will into existence.
For a short time I believed it.
(I actually did.)
No children would come.
It was there.
It happened.
I learned to own it.
To hope even as I accepted.
And then, change.

Life brought Charlie.
Beautiful, radiant, full of life,
Quirky, mischievous, entertaining,
Charlie.

And before I knew it -

Ephram.

The biggest personal miracle I had ever known.

Strong, healthy, vibrant.

Part of me, and

Part of Andy.

At last.

Suddenly my luck in love had tripled,

Possibly even quadrupled.

And I, I did love my boys.

Both.

That was never a question.

But something was wrong.

I was sinking,

My grasp on life so very weak.

I panicked

About Ephram at first.

And then about Charlie

And Andy

And the house

And me

And...

Every. Thing.

The snowball grew.

I couldn't stop it.

Anxiety.

Overwhelming.

Fear -

Of leaving home,

Of death,

Of being scared.

I didn't realize -

Truly I didn't know - 

How big that snowball was.

How detached from myself I'd become.

How much time I'd given over to the fear,

To the obsessing,

To the depression.

I don't remember the day that I realized.

The day I accepted that it was not normal.

Not right.

Not necessary.

But I slowly started to climb up.

To turn away from the fear,

From the needless worry.

I often pictured an object in my parents' home.

A framed embroidery that I believe my aunt gave to my mom.

A woman in a rocking chair

And the words that I identified so strongly with...

Thank you, Ruth Hulbert Hamilton.

"Cleaning and scrubbing can wait til tomorrow
For babies grow up we've learned to our sorrow.
So quiet down cobwebs, dust go to sleep.
I'm rocking my baby and babies don't keep."

My dust wasn't just on my floors and furniture.

It was in me.

It was in the obsessions.

The cobwebs, my worries.

And they needed to sleep.

I pictured this piece several times a day.

I forced myself to focus on my children.

Not on what could happen to them.

Or what I wasn't doing right.

But on how I spent my time with them.

On our quality of life.

I forced myself to accept every invitation I received.

I panicked through most of my first outings.

But it got easier.

I found my way back.

I no longer hid from life out of fear,

I was living by moments

And committing them to memory.

And finally,

Motherhood was mine.

Far more satisfying than I'd ever imagined.

And I wanted more.

I dared to hope.

I willed it to happen.

And then there was Macie.

My precious, perfect, beautiful girl.

Such an experience.

I was reeling before she was even born.

I felt the anxiety tugging.

I felt it try to grab me.

I thought about letting it.

My baby was so sick.

I was scared.

And part of me was drawn to that feeling.

Like a bug bite that your hand keeps lingering near.

But I had committed when I was pregnant. 

A promise to myself.

To her.

To my boys.

I would not be absent, consumed by anxiety.

I would fight it.

And the circumstance of her birth should not change that.

I would remember how.

Be present.

Feel freely.

Let my heart fill up with joy.

Let the panic take no more than one minute at a time.

Breathe.

Write.

Talk.

Find the laughter.

Look in my childrens' eyes.

Hold them and picture warmth until it envelops us.

Remember the dream.

And that it is truly even more than imagined.

Remember this.

*As an aside...  Nobody mentioned to me that anxiety can be a form of postpartum depression until my Ephram was four months old.  Those first four months were confusing and terrifying.  I felt like I had very little control and by the time I understood what was happening, it had become so much more intense than it could have been.  I share these words and experiences here, although extremely personal, because it is therapeutic for me and because I hope they may somehow reach someone in a similar situation.