Best and Worst Year Ever
As the holidays draw to a close, everything we see seems becomes inundated with remembrance, reflection, and moving forward. It's as if people only stop to reflect on their lives for about five minutes at the end of December in order to set their New Year's resolutions. I feel like my range of emotion and life experience has gotten so broad that sometimes I have to just sit and breathe and take it all in to stay grounded.
This year, 2013, was wild. I got to experience a healthy pregnancy, an easy birth (really, no labor and the whole thing took about eight painless minutes) and motherhood. I took an extended six-month absence from my job and returned with fresh eyes, more enthusiasm, and a close-knit work family. I continue to discover every day that I landed a total catch in Daniel. I trained for half and full marathons, felt great and didn't suffer any injuries. I got to hold Isla and feel her snuggle into my arms, smell the fuzzy top of her head, and feel her strong little lungs draw in air. I am thankful for all these things.
Of course, I also experienced the incredibly crappy stuff. I'll never forget the day that Isla was wheeled away to her first surgery, to get her PA banding procedure done at the tender age of seven days old. I passed terrifying hours knowing that her little five-pound body was split open on an operating table and that it was necessary to save her life. I witnessed her throw up food and fuss constantly through her swift and sudden progression of heart failure. I felt incredible frustration throughout her life, irritated by the fact that she was tethered to machines, that she laid on her back in bed all day, that I couldn't take her outside or feed her or even hold her without having a nurse rearrange her elaborate network of cords and cables. I felt innumerable waves of anger and jealousy hearing about other healthy babies leaving the hospital at three days old, laying on their bellies on living room floors, experiencing diaper blowouts in their car seats, bouncing on the knees of their grandparents, and growing bigger and stronger each day. I envy parents whose biggest decisions are whether to pierce their daughter's ears or allow the pediatrician to administer immunizations. I felt helpless as I watched her breathing get shallow and rapid in the last few hours of her life, and I feel regret that I didn't let the doctors try more extreme measures to save her. Every day I am plagued with "what ifs" and speculation, and fury at how life goes on as usual around me.
The good and the bad together have changed me in ways I never could have imagined; it's as if my heart has grown bigger in order to contain it all. I saw children much worse off than Isla spend months on ECMO, comatose and unable to be held. I've seen other sick babies go through terrible and scary periods, starting the same path Isla took of early signs of heart failure, transplant possibilities, and progressively stronger meds, who pulled through and continue to get stronger. I find that as long as I acknowledge the rage and jealousy that sometimes bubbles up out of nowhere, it passes and I'm left with feelings of gratitude for the times I had with Isla, for the kids who pull through and for the parents of healthy kids who get to experience the whole other side of the spectrum. I understand that all parents feel helpless at times and often entertain the "what if" thoughts. I empathize with people going through completely different experiences --divorce, losing parents, getting displaced, struggling with legal matters, substance abuse-- because I now see that everyone has their 100%, the point at which all of their mental, physical, and emotional energy is spent on something that is for whatever reason beyond their control. On some level I feel relief that Isla didn’t suffer or spend months in an induced coma. When we moved back home after she died, most the furniture and baby things we packed away didn’t hold much meaning because she had never been near it or used it.
I don’t buy into any of the hoopla about setting New Year’s resolutions, because I think it’s something we should do with ourselves every day. I know this year is going to be tough, probably tougher than the last as we go through her first birthday, milestones of her life, and the anniversary of her death. I doubt I’ll ever think about her less frequently or love her with less intensity or feel the pain of her loss less acutely. But good things are happening all the time, and I know there will be a lot of unexpected joys in my life this year. I’ve got three healthy, frisky and unconditionally affectionate dogs that throw a 60-second celebratory song and dance every time I return to the house. I have my health, and Dan has his too. He is starting EMT school in a few weeks as well as a new job at the VA. I might actually complete graduate school in August or December and finally get those “Mr. and Dr.” address labels I’ve been wanting for years.
Most of all, I am thankful for the abundance of love I get from all of you! Please keep it coming. We need it so much, and are eager to pay it forward.
