He Comes to Me

These last couple weeks have been hard but not for the reason you may immediately assume. Yes, it's been tough and busy and ballbreaking with my sister's kids but the upside is that they have slowly gotten into a routine of sorts and as my sister is doing well things should be on the upswing for them shortly. I love those shorties so much and damn if resilience hasn't been their middle name for the last two years; they deserve two healthy parents and all the happiness in the world. As do all children.       

That said, the exhaustion and chronic medical issues aside (and as a brief aside, I tried to find a new infectious disease doctor recently and after chatting for a few minutes he essentially declined to welcome me into his practice; THANKS FOR NOTHING, FUCKER!!), these weeks of August have clobbered me emotionally. This time last year, it was August in Mississippi (and...shut up, wiseguys; I know it's August in Mississippi again this year, heh) and I was hugely pregnant, due in mid to late September. We were as most new parents expecting a first child - nervous, excited, giddy and scared. So scared, I was. Not so much Deels although he had some jitters. But looking back over my entire pregnancy, fear is what marked it the hardest.

I didn't find out I was pregnant until I was almost out of my first trimester. I had been working, driving a truck over the road, just doing my normal thing. Which, in trucking, included crawling under trailers, climbing onto trailers, kicking tires, getting filthy and generally working like a dog. And loving it. But it scared me when I found out I was carrying a child because suddenly everything that was just part of the day, terrified me. I was scared of getting hurt, of hurting the baby of putting myself unreasonably in harms way. Some of those terrors were alleviated when Deels came to work with me; I was never alone and had another set of hands to do the heavy lifting, so to speak. But never did the fear wash away. In fact, I came home and got off the truck around Mother's Day because I had become such a Scary Mary (and though he never said it in so many words, an absolute nuisance to Deels). Traffic angered me, people invading my space enraged me and the never escapable fright of something, anything, hurting the baby made me rightly insufferable.

I thought, we thought really, that taking an early leave would be best; Deels could continue to work and as we had gotten quickly married shortly after he came to my company, we knew insurance wouldn't be an issue (HAHHAHAHAA 940k later, how witty we were, honestly). Nothing to do but take it easy, kick back at mom and dad's (this was just MONTHS after Katrina and the loss of oh everything I owned) and gestate me a baby. Easy as pie, right? Wrong.

I worried, constantly. No real reason, every test, all scans were fine. Unfortunately, none of the Drs I had in that time gave more than a passing thought to my telling them that I had had a dreadful experience with MRSA in the spring of 2005. No worries there, right? Riiiiiiiight. Nothing ever really calmed my mind for long. Deels being home and talking to the baby was awesome. He was so open to the idea of a child, so hopeful. I was anxious, sometimes (heh) hostile and never able to really calm down, relax and get mentally prepared for a child.

Things came to a head at the beginning of September. My due date wasn't until September 23rd but right around Labor Day I was convinced I was in labor and off to the hospital we went. You can read more about that visit here but suffice it to say, I came home still pregnant. And mad as hell. I KNEW something was wrong. KNEW. I KNEW he needed to be born and I KNEW it wasn't just, as was said so patronizingly at the hospital, that it wasn't just that I, ''didn't want to be pregnant anymore'' but more so that I needed my child to be born because I KNEW. I didn't what I knew but I KNEW, you know? Right.

Most of you reading know how this story ends. If not, you can read up on it here, here and  here, and here. Long story, actually incredibly short story, short, Jackson was born infected with MRSA and died a little over a month later. The pain is palpable, every single day. Maybe it's true as some say that it gets easier or lighter or less consuming as time passes. I haven't a clue because that hasn't been my experience but then again I remind myself I am less than a year into this but then comes the secondary thought that yes, less than a year. We should be looking forward to a birthday celebration for our year old son, picking out ballons and hats and a theme and the gross over spending that comes with a party specifically for someone too young to know, at all, what it's about.

Phew. I've already worn myself out. Will split this into two posts. For everyone's sake.

Comments

[thordora]

I'm so sorry. :( I can never, ever imagine.

[Heather]

This is was my first year "without" as well. I don't know about the whole getting easier thing, either. I always told people that I keep waiting for it to get easier, but thus far, it still seems every bit as crushing as the instant I got that phone call... I keep saying I will see a grief counselor, but have yet to do so. I hear that telling yourself your missing someone is on vacation isn't healthy, or some crap... I hope it's true - that at some point, we can look back and smile, even if it is through tears. That at some point, the grief doesn't barrel down on us like a freight train and leave us obliterated in its wake... I wish you and Deels all the best through the heartache. I think the two of you are going to come out together, stronger than ever, and with little footprints on your heart. I hope you can find some small comfort and solace knowing that we're crying with you.

[Erika, Plain Jane Mom]

I just can't believe it has only been a year for you. It seems like something that huge should take up more space in Time.

[mrs incredible]

I've been through it, and you never really get over it, but you do find a way to incorporate it into who you are and keep it sacred. Over there. Too the side. Not to be held and looked over too often, for the sake of peace in your everyday life, but influencing all of your decisions from that point on.

Thinking of You.