I have tried to start this blog about three times. I feel like I have so much to get out of my head, and being in rare form, I don't know exactly how to do that this time.
The last 6 months has been one of the most trying and difficult seasons of my life. That being said I am of the firm belief that it is good to share our trials. For one, I find it beneficial to write to get things out of my head, because I'll be honest,
sometimes being inside my head is a very messy place to be. Putting things in writing is my way of tidying up and some days it's my way of getting on my hands and knees and scrubbing. My experience has also taught me that when I am willing to be vulnerable and share beyond the surface, "how are you? fine" exchanges, I have learned I am often not alone in what I'm experiencing. No one is exempt from difficulties and trials in life, it's a product of living in a fallen world, but when we are willing to take the risk and share those struggles with one another we often find healing there.
So in the spirit of all that, a lot of the time I'm a mess.
Having a baby 2 1/2 months early is terrifying. The problem is, when we left the NICU, the terror of having a preemie didn't stay in the NICU. It apparently was the package deal no one tells you about. You get both the baby and the overwhelming fear that something horrible is going to happen to him. I have literally been fearful for him in some way or another since the moment the doctor held him up for me to see him for the first time. Now that I am home and he is doing well, the fear is not so much in the form of "what will the doctors tell me today," it now twirls its dance in the form of anxiety. A lot of what I fear has to do with losing control of that which might affect him and some of those things are just STRAIGHT UP irrational.
I've done anxiety before; I am no stranger to the panic that sets in without a trigger; the feeling of needing to flee but not knowing where I need to go to feel safe. It's not pleasant. I'm pretty sure that's why there is a multi-billion dollar pharmaceutical industry devoted to eradicating it at the brain chemistry level. I do anxiety well and even though my son's birth has been one of the most joyous events in my life, it has come with panic and anxiety attack shaped baggage.
Shortly before Halloween Danny and I attended a funeral for the baby girl of some friends we met in the NICU. I wasn't sure how I was going to handle the event. Surprisingly, I did quite well, FAR better than I would have thought. It was actually the decision that followed that brought on my first post-NICU anxiety attack. Where should we go for lunch? Shortly after posing the question I suggested we go to Chick-Fil-A. It's one of our favorite places. I wasn't 2.3 seconds beyond the suggestion that my heart began to race and I burst into tears. It actually kinda scared me that my reaction was so quick and seemingly out of the blue but it didn't take me long to figure out why. We had Chick-Fil-A at least once a week while we were in Sacramento with Riley in the NICU. The idea of returning to Chick-Fil-A made me feel like I would have to walk the hallways of Sutter Memorial to sit crib side of my son hooked up to a monitor wondering if we'd ever get him home. We ate at Chick-Fil-A that day, I felt I needed to do it to show myself that Chick-Fil-A did not mean NICU. It was hard. It came with a side of nausea and an "I don't really wanna do that again soon" after dinner mint.
The day before Thanksgiving I drove to San Francisco to visit a friend whose 4 year old daughter had been admitted to UCSF with leukemia. After my Chick-Fil-A incident I knew I would have to mentally prepared myself for the fact that I was heading to a Children's Hospital. I wanted to be there for my friend, she had been (and continues to be) a HUGE person of support during our time in the NICU. I did not want to find myself in the middle of another chicken sandwich franchise sized meltdown because I might hear monitors beeping, or see a collection of IV poles and be transported back to that time once again. My guard was up and I was going to be strong--that was until I used the restroom and washed my hands with soap that smelled IDENTICAL to the soap in the NICU. I had to scrub in with it multiple times a day before I was allowed to hold or even touch my baby. Bring on the racing heart and wave of panic.
Then we entered into the Christmas season. Danny and I went out to do some Christmas shopping one afternoon and on our list was an ornament for 2013. We were continuing the tradition my parents had started the year my brother was born--an ornament that commemorated an event from the past year. We tossed around a pregnant lady ornament, or a helicopter ornament for me, but struggled to find anything suitable. Then we stumbled upon a very fitting one--a trailer decorated with Christmas lights. It would commemorate our "summer in the trailer" as we lived downstairs from our son in the hospital parking lot. I no sooner picked up the tree trinket, that the excitement of finding something so tailored to a monumental event in our year, dwindled. Reminiscing of those days brought me again to that place and I was quickly whisked back to the anxiety riddled state I had found myself in before.
SERIOUSLY!? Chick-Fil-A, hand soap, and an ornament? All of them responsible for some pretty intense post-NICU anxiety.
As the time has drawn nearer for me to return to work, I return on Monday, the anxiety has only increased with the idea of being required to leave my son for so long during the day. Now, I have spent more than 8.5 hours apart from him--2.5 days in fact, but those were my choices not a requirement. Having the choice taken from me makes the task more difficult. It just does--it's a control thing.
I have a few friends who had their babies during the same season as Riley and a few of these women have begun returning to work. The difficulty of leaving their precious ones has been clear as they share about their day on Facebook. Despite the obvious anxiety attacks brought on by NICU related events, the constant ever-growing anxiety that has been brought on by anticipating returning to work has got to be significantly worse. I don't want to do it but I know that I have to and there is nothing I can do to change it. I am terrified to not be there for something important, to miss a milestone, or even worse to not be there, have something horrible happen, and wonder if my presence would have prevented it. Part of it is losing the neurotic control that I've maintained over his fragile life since we've been home, and part of it is that I am convinced women are not designed to be away from their babies. It's simply not natural. Throw in some additional post-partum hormones and, like I said earlier, a lot of the time I'm a mess. In fact, earlier this week I burst into tears while talking to Danny when I realized how difficult it must be for him to live with me during this time. He got me some Kleenex, put his arms around me, reminded me I would not feel like this forever, and told me that he loved me...repeatedly. I may be a mess, but I must admit I am an incredibly blessed mess.
I'm going back to work on Monday. I don't want to. Facing that reality has me fearful of so many things which brings about more anxiety, fueling the desire to not be away from him all the more. It's a vicious cycle really. But a friend of mine, one who has recently returned to work after her maternity leave, encouraged me with this truth: we weren't designed for it but
remember, God knew you would have to, and He made provisions for Riley.
Beyond that, He is making provisions for me as well. I'm trying to be ok with it. I really am working on it. In fact, I am meeting with a licensed professional who is helping me work on it. At the core of all of this angst and fear I am doing my best to cling to the truth in Paul's letter to Timothy:
"For God has not given us the spirit of fear,
but of power and of love and of a sound mind."
So I guess I share all of this because my life has very much been an open book, especially in regards to our journey home with Riley. For me it's hard to close that book just because the next chapter is slightly more vulnerable. When so much of what we see and share through social media paints our lives to be perfect we have developed a seriously skewed view of reality and I guess this is my way of trying to be real. Don't misunderstand me, I am so overwhelmingly blessed to be Riley's mom--few things in life have brought me such immense joy...and I've only been playing this gig for 5 months! But as messy as it is, this is part of the preemie process and my hope is that someone else will be encouraged knowing that when the trials that they are facing get the best of them, they're not the only ones.
My life is by no means perfect, so when you feel like you're not cutting it because you're struggling and everyone else is leading a life filled with rainbow crapping unicorns (sorry mom....I blogged "crapping"), you're wrong. Thinking everyone else has a perfect life based on their posts to social sites, it is as silly as thinking they have lawns covered with the rainbow turds of majestic mythical creatures. I guess this is just my proactive way of trying to help debunk the myth.
So here it is, I am
often a mess, but at the heart of it I am trying to cling to the truth
that anxiety and fear is not from the Lord and as my wonderfully
supportive husband has reminded me, I will not feel like this forever. So there it is. Be encouraged! My yard may have a few turds in it, but I assure you there is nothing rainbow about them.
