I am approaching 7 weeks of bed rest. I thought last week marked 7 weeks, and then counted again to find that, no, I had somehow lost a week in there somewhere, and though the actual number of hours/days/weeks on bed rest shouldn't matter all that much, realizing I had miscounted felt like I had been duped.
I know that I have countless (up to 20 more) weeks of bed rest ahead of me, and that's okay, I am willing to do whatever it takes to get these snowflakes here and healthy, but for some reason yesterday, among all that conviction, I felt the sudden urge to get up and run away from all of this.
Well... to be fair I didn't really want to run away. What I really wanted to do was hop out of bed and clean my house.
Hubs has been working loooong hours this week (read 6:30AM to 11:30PM long with a few breaks in there to make me dinner etc.) and spent all last weekend doing construction on our house, so to say this place is a disaster area is quite the understatement. There are dishes in the sink that I want to go do. Floors I want to mop and vaccuum. A bored silly little black lab that I would love to take to run and romp and play in the leaves.
There are so many things I feel up to doing, but I can't.
I think if I felt more like crap, bed rest would be somehow easier to swallow, but barring some achey/crampy feelings, and the unrelenting morning sickness that I have somehow grown accustomed to, I don't feel unwell generally (although the last few days have hit me especially hard and I am wondering if I somehow a- picked up a stomach bug even though I don't go out anywhere, and b- am going to eventually get a bed sore because my rear and hips are really, really tender from all this laying around.)
Yesterday we got some really nice news, and though I can't go into it here, I was excited to talk about it with hubs when he got home. A few minutes before I expected him, the phone rang.
It was Viacord.
For those who don't know, Viacord is a cord blood banking service. This is how our conversation went.
"If you bank your child's cord blood," the rep was telling me on the phone, "and they need stem cells, they will always have a perfect match available to them."
"Yes," I said, "unless the child is born with leukemia in which their stem cells don't do them any good."
"Well," he continued, "babies aren't born with leukemia."
"My daughter was."
"Born with it?!"
"I've never heard of such a thing."
"Well I guess I am that lucky."
He proceeded to give me the rest of his spiel, and with every word that he spoke about cord blood and stem cells and leukemia, the reality of our situation sunk in deeper and deeper. We are not a "normal" expecting couple. We are a seemingly healthy couple who had a child born with leukemia and no one seems to be able to tell us why.
I hung up the phone and it all hit me - an onslaught of worries and fears about leukemia that I have somehow kept at bay these last 19 weeks with the exception of a few restless, mind racing nights. Up until now, I haven't allowed myself to go there. I have lived in this fantasy world of "that could never happen to us again," and then this call came in and I was forced to go "there", to that terrifying place, and I hated it.
When hubs came home he did not find his happy wife ready to talk about our good news, but instead a a petrified mess blurting out in tears that maybe I was a fool. That maybe God tried to send me a clear message by destroying my tubes and I was too cocky and too proud to listen. That maybe He was also making this pregnancy so difficult for a reason, and I was just too damn thick to understand.
Hubs listened patiently, in his normal agnostic-married-to-a-guilt-ridden-catholic sort of way of not understanding my relationship with/fear of God, yet totally respecting my right to my feelings, and then he told me he didn't think that was the case, and that it's okay to believe the snowflakes will come here healthy, and happy, and whole. He told me this in a way that felt somehow rehearsed, and showed me that beneath his tough exterior he was scared too, and when he left a few minutes later to start dinner, I felt like crap for having gone "there" with him, because I know he, too, tries so hard to push those fears from his mind.
So there I was - not feeling very well, sad, overwhelmed, frustrated by the belief that I can't be like the seemingly 99.99% of this world who say to themselves, "let's have babies," and nine happy months later are blessed with crying pooping wonderfully healthy little children, and then the anger rolled in, and the depression and anxiety, and I re-traced every step I have taken on this struggle paved road to motherhood and sunk deeper into my hole.
Basically I was having a pity party.
An out and out, true blue, feel sorry for myself and nothing and no one are going to get me out of it pity party, and that's when I saw it - a message posted by my amazing friend Lisette to her status.
"Don't let the sadness of your past and the fear of your future ruin the happiness of your present."
And as I read those words, something amazing happened - they started to feel true. So I read them again, aloud, over and over. I read them until they pushed away the clouds of self doubt, and fear, and anxiety, and though I had been shaken to my core by my frustrations of the day, and the conversation with Viacord, and these last two years- I allowed them to sink it.
Yes I lost my child to leukemia and no one knows why.
Yes I am scared.
Yes I don't know what the future brings.
But right here, right now, I am pregnant, and these snowflakes are growing and doing well, and that is a blessing not to be overlooked.
Yes it is okay for me to allow myself to feel hopeful once again.
**This Friday is our big anatomy scan. If you would be so kind, please send my snowflakes your good thoughts/prayers/positive energy/happy karma etc. etc.