for good or evil
memory can go both ways
a tough decision
Every time I sit down to blog, or even to write just for myself, I think that I will write the story of my pregnancy, how it all went wrong, the hospital stay, Ike-a-saurus' birth story, the NICU story, everything. I envision it as a kind of cliff-hanger million-part series. I plan to write just until I can't take it anymore, and then I can pick up where I left off a few days later.
But I can't do it. It's still just too hard. I've started to wonder if not talking about it would be a good way to go. Just put it behind me, kiss Ike-a-saurus on the head, and move on. I don't think that's something I can do, though. It feels like a story that needs to be told, if not to just excise it from my head, to put it out in the ether for other people to read – people who are going through a similar thing.
It feels like, if the only way I can karmically pay back the Universe or God or whomever, is to spread the story then I better well get to it. If carefully illustrating the true pain and scariness and elation and worry is the only real way to pay back the friends and family who sacrificed so much for us – the only way to even begin to try to show them how their efforts kept us bouyant in a time of drowning – then, again, I better get to it.
I sit here, and as I type, I see the scar on the outside of my left wrist from the first IV that was hastily installed when I hurried to the hospital in late July. I can find two more IV scars, but just barely. For some reason that first one is darker than the others. It's going to stick with me, I think. And when I see it, I always think, "I need to tell the story."
The other day, I went through the blog and read some of the posts from that time, and there weren't that many. It's amazing how much love and support we got with just a handful of "things are really bad" posts. No details, or only minor details, and yet, everyone knew we were in need.
I have not really been in need in my life before. And now that things are settling down, I don't know how to transition back. Day-to-day, yes, I do know. Our family is closer than ever. Friendships are bonded with the super glue of shared terror and shared elation. But emotionally – emotionally I am having a bit of a hard time knowing how to be OK again. How to not be scared, how to say thank-you, how to be OK with the fact that my thank-yous will never be enough to really say thank-you.
So I want to write it down.
But I can't.
I will one day, or, really, over the course of many days. But not yet.
I just wanted to let you know it's coming.