The day has come. I knew it was coming. I felt it. This time of year always brings that feeling back – that trepidation, that anticipation, that anxiety. Except for wanting to celebrate a certain Share member’s birthday today, I could skip completely past today and not miss it at all. I guess you could actually apply that to the next two and a half weeks. So bear with me, please. I may not be as cheery and full of humor as normal. I am trying to stay out of the funk. It helps knowing you are all here, knowing what I am going through, and caring and giving so much.
I wonder if I will ever be able to wake up on the sixth of September and NOT think about what day it is, NOT remember what happened on this day six years ago, NOT feel the guilt and pain of remembering. Six years…..a long time, but then again not. Still not long enough to NOT remember.
Six years ago today – and it was even a Wednesday like today – our nightmare began. At a little after 6pm, a simple trip to the bathroom turned to a fear I’ve never felt before. An act that should have been normal changed my life when I saw blood and was sure, so sure in my heart, that my baby was dead. I didn’t even know this tiny person yet, other than the comforting kicks and rolls that I frequently felt, but yet he was mine – my child – and my fear for his life was as real then as it is today. Six years ago today, I found out what real panic was. My brain took a vacation – I couldn’t think. I can’t believe even now that I took the time to call the doctor’s after hour services and more time to wait for him to call me back, and even more time to call my husband a couple of times in between. Would it have really made a difference? No, not in the grand scheme of things. But still…..who does that? I know I’m not the only one who did it that way, but now I could just kick myself for even bothering. And what kind of doctor tells his bleeding, 23 week and 4 days pregnant patient to DRIVE HERSELF in rush hour traffic, 45 minutes back to the hospital that he had rights at?!!!!!! See, some anger is still there, six years later. Again, would it have made a difference at that point? Probably not. That hospital didn’t have any more capability of “handling” a 23 weeker than the hospital I ended up at that day.
Six years……..I am thankful that my son is alive today, and is doing so well. I am thankful that we were able to hold off his birth for 2 1/2 weeks past this fateful day. I am thankful that his prematurity actually gave me more purpose and a mission in my life, and that it brought me to all of you. But today I remember the beginning, and it still hurts.