It has been nearly three weeks since I gave birth to my beautiful baby, Keller. In a lot of ways, I still can't believe that he did not survive. I find myself looking for him, either down at my belly or in our house. I am looking for proof that I didn't just imagine him and it is during those times that I look at his pictures and things from the hospital and I remember that he is in Heaven and it is now my task to go on living without him.
For some reason, I keep looking for some aspect of all of this to be easy. It's like I have a sense of entitlement for SOMETHING in this whole mess to be simple and not too difficult. I keep thinking about what has happened and I realize that everything about this is difficult; there is no "easy button" as the CEO of Staples would like us to believe. Once I remind myself how futile the search for the mythical "easy button" is, the more I am resolved to live the best life that I can even though it is hard.
That said, would it be too much to ask, really, for some part of this whole situation to come easily? I am committed to living each day and putting one foot in front of the other, but does it really have to be so difficult? It seems like every day involves some-sort of difficult task or event that must be overcome so that I can make it to the next day and task. It makes me wonder how I am going to make it through more days and more tasks if everything is so difficult to manage.
In the past week, I have done several difficult things. I attended a barbeque with my church friends and even managed to enjoy myself. I went to the local grocery store for the first time, with Matt's help, and managed to get everything on my list without crying and leaving the store. I went back to work, and with the help of my awesome co-worker, was able to make it through the day. I was even able to help with and attend the wedding of one of my best friends. All of these tasks seem to be relatively simple, but they were difficult for me because they involved being with people and focusing on something other than myself and the pain of losing my son.
This week also marked the first time I had to explain to someone, in person, what had happened. I was out to dinner with a friend when the waitress said, "Wow, you don't even look pregnant when you are sitting down." I had to explain to her that I am no longer pregnant and that my son was stillborn. She felt bad for asking, but I assured her that I am so happy to live in a small town where people actually care enough to ask about your family. It reminded me just how much Keller was anticipated and wanted by people all over the state and especially in my little town of Deer Lodge.
One of the most difficult things that I did this week was attend my follow-up doctor's appointment. I walked in to the office and went through the routine that I had become so accustomed to over the past 9 months. When I met with my doctor, she was very kind and gentle with me. She explained that my blood work had come back perfect and so had Keller's. She said that we were both in perfect health and that Keller's death was being officially named as a cord accident. She asked about my physical, mental, and emotional health. I told her that physically I am healing fast and that I am actually doing okay mentally. I then told her that I am still very raw emotionally, but that I am seeing a counselor and writing about my experience. Then we talked about Matt and I's desire to have more children in the future. She asked that we wait a year, but said that she would be supportive if we decided to try sooner. She said that physically I would be pretty ready to get pregnant in about 6 months, but that I should make sure that I am healed completely both mentally and emotionally before trying to conceive. We then talked about steps that would be taken to ensure my health and the health of our baby the next time I get pregnant.
Following my doctor's appointment, Matt and I had a serious discussion about having more children. We decided that we are both still committed to going through the whole process again and becomming the parents that I know we can be. We decided that we would consider the doctor's advice, but that we would not put arbitrary time limits or constraints on when we would start trying again. I told Matt that I would know when I was emotionally ready to have another child when I could honestly say that I want to love a completely different and separate baby. At the moment, I just want Keller. When I think "I want to have a baby" what I am really thinking is, "I want MY baby, the one that I carried for 9 months and gave birth to." Thinking about a baby, without picturing Keller's beautiful face, is not something I'm capable of right now. I am optimistic that I will heal to a point where I am ready to move forward and love my future children with the same earnestness and devotion that I now focus on Keller.
When I think about going through another pregnancy, with all of its physical and emotional ups and downs, it gives me severe anxiety. I think about all of the prenatal appointments, the preparations, and the anticipation and I can feel my chest get tight. When I am able to get a handle on myself, I remember that nothing about this is easy, so why would thinking about getting pregnant again be easy? Maybe I need to continue to work on accepting the difficulty of this situation and remember that very few things, that are truly worth it, ever come easily. As Matt says, "Maybe things that you don't have to work for, that come easily, are things that you probably shouldn't have in the first place."
Perhaps it is time to give up the quest for the "easy button," accept the situation for what it is, and look at the future knowing that it will be the most difficult battle that I have ever faced. Perhaps it is time to look at those things that are difficult and realize that difficulty isn't necessarily a bad thing. It's our difficulties in life that give us our strength, our character, and our resolve to improve things in the future.
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