what a week
I'd call it a roller-coaster, except those come back up. This was more like a ride that spins you around so fast that you lose all orientation and control, and it just keeps going faster and jerking you around, all the while getting worse until you want to scream for it to stop so that you can lie on the puke splattered asphalt and never get up again because anything would be better than doing that again. I don't know what kind of name a ride like that would have, but that's what the last week was like. I've run the gamut of emotions.
Mostly it's been extreme sadness. Our hearts are broken and we are grieving. I've moved past the early days of extended bouts of uncontrollable sobbing. My eyes are no longer swollen and bloodshot or bruised from the pressure and wiping. I'm trying to get back to daily life- where I make at least a small effort to be productive and interact with others, but I'm having a hard time. I just can't make myself care if the floor gets swept (let's face it, I was indifferent before). I'm not inclined to go out because being in public means smiling at strangers and telling the nosy ones that it's a girl due in April or having to discuss what's going on with people I know. I've felt so lost and confused. Last summer I was so certain that it was time to have another baby. I didn't feel ready, but couldn't deny the promptings any longer. It's been hard to accept that we likely won't get to bring home this baby that I was so sure we were supposed to have.
There's been a lot of anger. The first day that we found out it would upset me when she kicked. Just a few hours before I had enjoyed those kicks as a sign that everything was okay. That changed so suddenly and it made me angry that I had been so oblivious, but also angry of how much more we're going to have to go through. Each kick was a reminder of just how much we stand to lose. I'm starting to appreciate them more, realizing that the longer she stays inside kicking me, the better our chances are.
A lot of my feelings have been selfish, at least the angry feelings. I'm going to get huge because the tumor adds about 1/4 to her body size and causes extra amniotic fluid. I went through all the morning sickness and exhaustion and now am uncomfortable and achy and have to sleep propped on pillows because of nightly heartburn. On top of everything, I have to have another c-section (and most likely a vertical incision). All of this and we might not even get to meet her, let alone raise her.
There's been a good amount of guilt, as well. What if I hadn't fought so hard against having the blood test that could have predicted this? What if we'd done the ultrasound 6 weeks earlier? Could they have seen this sooner and possibly treated it? For the most part, treatment is highly experimental, but there are a few hospitals in the country where fetal intervention is somewhat common with this type of tumor. We've been told we're not candidates due to the extent of related issues we're facing.
I've tried not to ask "why us?" but it's getting hard. With the guilt comes doubt. I try to accept that this isn't anyone's fault and that sometimes bad things happen. The question I'm having a really hard time avoiding is, "why us again?" I don't know what everyone else's trials are, but it seems that we've had an inordinate amount of challenging experiences since we've been together, especially when it comes to having children. I'm trying not to make any rash decisions, and we're certainly not doing anything permanent, but I don't know where I'll get the strength to face those possibilities again.
Other decisions are a bit more pressing, but not necessarily any easier to make. I never imagined we'd be discussing burial options at this stage of life, and certainly not for our child. How can you know if it is ever appropriate or beneficial for your two year old to see his little sister under these circumstances? In ways I am grateful that we don't have to make these decisions immediately. We can consider our options and weigh the benefits of each. We have time to shop for a good rate on the home equity loan we're going to need for the medical bills we'll incur in the hopes of spending even a few minutes with our daughter.
These lunatic ramblings are based on what will probably happen (though it was presented as almost certainly). Poor Howie. He's going to be the only child of a mother who was already a bit unstable and overprotective. This may push me over the edge.
Mostly it's been extreme sadness. Our hearts are broken and we are grieving. I've moved past the early days of extended bouts of uncontrollable sobbing. My eyes are no longer swollen and bloodshot or bruised from the pressure and wiping. I'm trying to get back to daily life- where I make at least a small effort to be productive and interact with others, but I'm having a hard time. I just can't make myself care if the floor gets swept (let's face it, I was indifferent before). I'm not inclined to go out because being in public means smiling at strangers and telling the nosy ones that it's a girl due in April or having to discuss what's going on with people I know. I've felt so lost and confused. Last summer I was so certain that it was time to have another baby. I didn't feel ready, but couldn't deny the promptings any longer. It's been hard to accept that we likely won't get to bring home this baby that I was so sure we were supposed to have.
There's been a lot of anger. The first day that we found out it would upset me when she kicked. Just a few hours before I had enjoyed those kicks as a sign that everything was okay. That changed so suddenly and it made me angry that I had been so oblivious, but also angry of how much more we're going to have to go through. Each kick was a reminder of just how much we stand to lose. I'm starting to appreciate them more, realizing that the longer she stays inside kicking me, the better our chances are.
A lot of my feelings have been selfish, at least the angry feelings. I'm going to get huge because the tumor adds about 1/4 to her body size and causes extra amniotic fluid. I went through all the morning sickness and exhaustion and now am uncomfortable and achy and have to sleep propped on pillows because of nightly heartburn. On top of everything, I have to have another c-section (and most likely a vertical incision). All of this and we might not even get to meet her, let alone raise her.
There's been a good amount of guilt, as well. What if I hadn't fought so hard against having the blood test that could have predicted this? What if we'd done the ultrasound 6 weeks earlier? Could they have seen this sooner and possibly treated it? For the most part, treatment is highly experimental, but there are a few hospitals in the country where fetal intervention is somewhat common with this type of tumor. We've been told we're not candidates due to the extent of related issues we're facing.
I've tried not to ask "why us?" but it's getting hard. With the guilt comes doubt. I try to accept that this isn't anyone's fault and that sometimes bad things happen. The question I'm having a really hard time avoiding is, "why us again?" I don't know what everyone else's trials are, but it seems that we've had an inordinate amount of challenging experiences since we've been together, especially when it comes to having children. I'm trying not to make any rash decisions, and we're certainly not doing anything permanent, but I don't know where I'll get the strength to face those possibilities again.
Other decisions are a bit more pressing, but not necessarily any easier to make. I never imagined we'd be discussing burial options at this stage of life, and certainly not for our child. How can you know if it is ever appropriate or beneficial for your two year old to see his little sister under these circumstances? In ways I am grateful that we don't have to make these decisions immediately. We can consider our options and weigh the benefits of each. We have time to shop for a good rate on the home equity loan we're going to need for the medical bills we'll incur in the hopes of spending even a few minutes with our daughter.
These lunatic ramblings are based on what will probably happen (though it was presented as almost certainly). Poor Howie. He's going to be the only child of a mother who was already a bit unstable and overprotective. This may push me over the edge.
posted by Valarie at 10:03 PM
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