Archive for 2014

No words…

March 22nd, 2014 | Josie

Birth is a mystery.  Words are not enough.”  ~Marie O’Connor

There are no words to describe this joy, true happiness!

Max Yih-Lon P.
Born 6:40 am on March 22nd, 2014 at 39 weeks on the nose
6 lbs 14 oz and 20 inches long… a total peanut of pure perfection!

 

Holding onto hope…

January 23rd, 2014 | Josie

Hope is that thing with feathers that perches in the soul and sings the tune without the words and never stops… at all.  ~Emily Dickinson

This has always been on of my favorite lines of poetry, right up there with József Attila’s “My heart is perched on nothing’s branch” (I guess I have a thing for bird references). The latter I’ve turned to in times of sorrow and despair, when I felt like there was nowhere for my broken, battered heart to land. I’ve felt that way less and less often over the years, thanks in very large part, if not in total, to the beautiful love I’ve found and this happy marriage I never expected to find waiting for me. After all my yearning travels and self-destructive love affairs, who would have ever guessed I’d find all the happiness in the world waiting for me back at the start? It still boggles my mind that I had to go such a long way round to find this kind of love and happiness and peace, even years later, and I continue to be amazed. My heart is no longer listless, landless; I once thought there would never be a time when I wouldn’t be drifting, perched at the edge of nothing, and am so happy and grateful that I cannot imagine feeling that way, ever again.

If the words of a Hungarian poet with borderline personality disorder who died tragically young are the mantra of my soul when I am sorrowful and feeling broken, Dickinson’s words are the balm. Even though she herself was troubled by depression and sadness for much of her life, I’ve always found so much hope in this little line, so much possibility. When the storm is raging and I feel myself setting adrift, as I have so much in the last weeks, the idea of that a small piece of hope can cling to my soul and, almost relentlessly, refuse to stop singing against all odds, that tiny idea carries me through the worst of it. Even as I continue to struggle through this new hurdle to a healthy, happy baby, and as I worry about the stress and the anxiety and the medicine affecting him adversely, I can’t help but cling to that hope singing it’s wordless tune. I listen and in the melody find the strength I need, the faith I need to trust that at the end of this tunnel there is a light.

Max is my hope, my light, and each time I feel him kick and squirm away in my belly, I find the day a little brighter, find myself one day closer to holding him in my arms at last. He is the hope that is forever perched in my soul, guiding me through the nothing.

Fear of the fear

January 9th, 2014 | Josie

“To fear is one thing.  To let fear grab you by the tail and swing you around is another.”  ~Katherine Paterson

I’ve admittedly had a lot of anxiety in my life… it’s hard to worry as much as I do, about everything, and not let it get into your head. But somehow I’ve always managed to deal with it, to keep things under control and not let the worries and the fears overwhelm me. 3 weeks ago, that changed, and I hit a wall with a terrible, horrifying panic attack on a Wednesday evening. Hours of pacing and walking, unable to calm down, let to a midnight ER visit that lasted until 5:30 am. Another day of pacing and panicking, with only a 1 hour stretch of sleep in over 48, landed us back in the ER. It’s been 3 weeks, and we’ve been to the ER twice more, and I’ve had 3 doctor’s appointments in 6 days. “Acute Panic Disorder,” likely brought on by the pregnancy. Blood tests show that I’m severely anemic (why this wasn’t caught sooner, I’m not sure) and possibly slightly hyperthyroid, which can “cause mental changes.” I have a new OB, a sleep doctor, a psychiatrist, and a therapist, all working to help me get better and keep Max safe, but I feel so betrayed by my body. I’m so scared of having another panic attack that I spend all my days on edge, and almost talk myself into them. Working hard to stay calm, eat and drink enough, and to take care of my body so that it can be a safe place for Max to be. I’m so scared that this horrible thing I can’t control, that’s all in my head but that I’m not making up or imagining, will hurt this baby we’ve tried so hard and so long to protect. I don’t understand how I can do all the right things and still always end up at the short end of the stick. I feel so bad for Charlie, for my mom, both of whom have borne the brunt of my panic attacks, walking with me endlessly for hours… as many times as they ask me not to apologize, I can’t help feeling guilty that I’m stressing them out or keeping them awake. I feel like I am a burden on the ones I love most.

I’ve done a lot of praying. Actually, I’ve really done a lot of begging lately, to please feel ok, to please keep me and my baby safe and healthy, and to please let me weather this storm intact. I spend so much time scared now, I just want to go back to feeling like me, to be excited and happy and not sad and terrified all the time.