Year 2: Part 3

29 Jun

Lastly, Me

The nature of who I am means that my mind is always thrust between intangible times: pasts and fantasy futures. Now, is only important in how it relates to before. I am not a buddhist. I will never be in the now. I will always be dreaming of possible tomorrows and recounting (dwelling? agonizing over? deeply mourning?) the past. As such, I can only tell you about how I am doing right now, by comparing it to how I was a year ago.

It’s a little tough right now, but no where near as hard as it was this time last year. As the first anniversary of my trauma approached, I was so sad I could barely breathe. My daughter started walking and all I could do was feel sorry for myself, for the loss of my infant. I was in deep mourning for the me I was the previous year, happier than I had ever been, so full of purpose and optimism as I readied myself to give birth.

We all know how that story unfolds.

And now, some gory details that I don’t think I’ve shared before.

And at a year out, I still had pretty regular bouts of pain. I couldn’t feel my bladder when it was full. I was often incontinent. My pelvis would ache for days any time I had intercourse (never mind the fact that it took six months before I was successfully able to). My scar itched and burned. I had chronic gas and constipation.

Two years out, and I have regained much of my sensation in my bladder. I still leak whenever I have  a hard sneeze or cough. I may have a rectal prolapse, but don’t yet want to find out. A day of walking or lots of activity will leave me sore the next day, but it’s rarely debilitating these days, just generally uncomfortable. My scar still itches, and a flailing foot during a wild toddler diaper change has occasionally landed on my belly and caused me to well up. It hurts, but it doesn’t kill me.

Right now, I mostly mourn the finality of the childbearing question. The fawning strangers who tousle Lyra’s hair and say, “You have to have another one!” aren’t meaning to be cruel. They don’t deserve to have their faces flushed when I sometimes retort, “I would, if I could.”

I would. If I could.

Some days I hate the fact I can’t. I hate tamping down all those thoughts that pop up and say, “With my next one, I’ll do X differently.”

You only get one shot
do not miss your chance
to blow
this opportunity
once in a

You’re not going to believe me when I say that I’m doing okay. But this time last year I didn’t understand why I’d survived. Sometimes, my survival felt like a mistake. This year, I know that I’m here because there is one child in this world who was waiting to call me Mommy. And while it doesn’t sooth every hurt, it is: Enough.


8 Responses to “Year 2: Part 3”

  1. Garrett June 29, 2009 at 8:04 am #

    There are things I want to say about… well this whole topic really…. But, can’t bring myself to ever say. I am not entirely sure the reasoning behind it. I do know that I’m very afraid to say anything. I don’t know what would happen. I don’t know if it would be a relief/help to you or if would just be more of a burden. So when faced with a choice like that I tend to just choose the outcome I can predict (or so I tell myself) and wind up keeping my thoughts and feelings to myself. I keep waiting for the perfect time to say something. But, I don’t know if that time will ever come.
    I guess I can say that I’m more broken up about not having another child than you might suspect. Remember how good at repressing emotions I am? Yea I’m really good at that. If I actually started talking about it, I’m not sure how long I’d be speaking before my words would just become intelligible mumbles in a sea of tears. I’d probably manage to get out at least 2 words though.

  2. LindyLou June 29, 2009 at 10:19 am #

    Yolanda, you are so incredibly blessed to be Lyra’s Momma, and she is so blessed to by your little girl. I think because of what you’ve been through, you are such a strong and aware mother. You don’t take a single moment for granted. You’ve known from the beginning that she was your ‘one shot’ and you have risen to that occasion wonderfully. Lyra is an amazing little girl and I love seeing her grow before our eyes. She is unique and oh-so-special… just like you.
    Big hugs to you, I know you are feeling lots of emotions as her 2nd birthday approaches.

  3. Holli Wood June 29, 2009 at 11:35 am #

    Love you already! I know I haven’t known you very long but you have touched my life already and I care so much about you and Lyra! You are a wonderful momma and she is so incredibly lucky to have you! You do have a great purpose in this life and I’m so happy you are surviving your tragic ordeal! I’m here for you anytime! HUGS Holli

  4. Tammy June 30, 2009 at 6:09 pm #

    You’re posts always bring me to tears! You are an amazing person and an even more amazing mother. Lyra is very lucky to have you! You are right you survived because that sweet little girl needs you! Things can get tough around anniversaries each year but you are strong and can get through it…whenever you feel sad for another child you will never have just look at how happy the child you have is. If you ever need to talk don’t forget we are not that far away.

    P.s. I still have bladder issues when I cough or sneeze and its been almost three years since Kady was born. :o)

  5. jenni July 3, 2009 at 2:15 pm #

    One way of looking at such a dark time in the shadows is to see the growth of the soul and heart once you can step back into the light. I think this is what I am beginning to understand with my own trauma. Had it never happened I would never have the insight I do now in my own life and impact it plays on my children. I would never have the amount of compassion or appreciation for struggle without my own battle.
    I believe some of us are given a difficult life circumstance because we are strong enough to learn and grow from it. It is not pleasent or wanted, it changes us for both the good and bad.
    You are a survivor—you survived–and you live to tell us all about it so we can learn.

  6. maggie may August 10, 2009 at 12:38 am #

    this is amazing writing. i am so sorry for your loss. i had a miscarriage at 13 weeks recently and this is not the same thing, at all i know, but the shock…physical and emotional…it’s awful.

    your writing is wonderful.

  7. slouchy October 4, 2009 at 10:31 am #

    you are a warrior woman, you know that?

  8. Rachel October 12, 2009 at 2:41 pm #

    My heart breaks with yours. Thank you for sharing your heart with us!

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