All Stiched Up- Wednesday July 6th

I spent a lot of the weekend aimlessly worrying. We left my parents’ house early so I could be back at my home base, where I have a comfortable anxiety routine. Tom G woke me up at 6:00 am and I told him I was too sick to get out of bed today, let alone have a scary and potentially painful procedure done. He asked me just to shower, then we could talk. I emerged from the shower determined anew. Or too scared to not go through with it. I got dressed and we walked into the summer heat to catch a cab.

My breathing got more shallow as I stepped into the lobby of the hospital. The elevator raced to the 6th floor. When I saw my mom waiting in the hall I felt time-traveled back to the days we spent together in the NICU. The round reception desk, the mottled brown carpet, the branching corridors pushed my brain right back to those short, joyful, terrifying days when Tommy Jr was born and died. I burst into tears against my mother. She and Tom G exchanged worried looks and murmured soothing noises at me.

A nurse led my mom, Tom G and I into a small room and gave me instructions on how to dress in the gowns and store my personal items. After a brief flurry of activity I climbed into a bed with heated blankets and started waiting. The time crawled by as my surgery time got pushed back three times. The anesthesiologist and the interns came in to chat with us, and I started to feel more confident. Once I was actually in the hospital- in the gown- I remembered that I could do this.

Finally I was wheeled into the operating room. When I cried a little the anesthesiologist gently wiped away my tears and told me that the worst part was over. I spoke with one of the interns about Tommy Jr., she asked me questions and held my hand until I heard my doctor say, “We’re all done”.

The anesthetic slowly wore off and I was in a surprising amount of pain. The cramping that followed felt just like labor pains, which made my brain flash red with panic. I knew though, that the pain would pass quickly and now my little baby was stitched up nice and secure.

As I rested on my couch and Tom G indulged me by letting me watch “A Cinderella Story” with Hilary Duff, I tried to fight the enormous amount of self-pity that was building up. The cramps came and went like physical reminders that I wasn’t going to be a normal pregnant girl ever again. Despite my public insistence that I would just enjoy each day and be happy each moment the baby was in my belly, I just can’t help feeling sorry for myself.

Later that night I fainted. I felt really weird and nauseous and by the time I realized I was going to faint it was too late. I lost consciousness as I was trying to get into bed and smacked my head into the bedroom wall. Tom G and I both were pretty rattled. He usually can play it cool no matter how scary the situation is, but while I was sprawled out on the bedroom floor in a cold sweat I heard panic creep into his voice. We called the doctor who assured us that it was a pretty typical pregnant lady reaction to surgery, and in 15 minutes I felt much better.

This morning I woke up tired, but the cramping had subsided. I had a dull headache and a sharper awareness of the precious cargo I’m carrying. I feel like I should walk more gingerly and talk more quietly. But I was dreading this procedure, and I’m happy it’s behind me. Now I’ve just go to concentrate on sleeping well, eating lots of fruits and veggies, and learning how to pray.