Post Op Day 1

I think this event has been traumatic enough that I am grieving it. Or maybe these major life events cause a process similar to the grieving process. Either way, I am in the "Anger" phase.



The nurses and doctors had been hopeful that AJ would spend minimal time on the breathing tube. Unfortunately, she had a delayed inflammatory response and a high heart rate that prevented that optimism from coming to fruition. It's day 2 now and she's still on the tube. Yesterday morning, however, I woke hopeful that I would be holding my baby before the afternoon. So, when it became clear that this would not happen, I started to get angry.



I spent much of yesterday trying to find an outlet for this anger. I'm angry at the situation, clearly. But there is no satisfaction or relief in that. There is no outlet for the tension. I tried to be angry at the docs and nurses who were delaying the removal of the breathing tube. But, I watched them go about their business and knew that they are only doing what is best. I want to hold my daughter, but I don't want to rush into something that could be a mistake and potential set-back.



I tried to be mad at Dave. We'd taken a break from the ICU to jog on the nature trails behind the hospital. After our jog, we were sitting under a shade tree, stretching and watching the fountain in a nearby courtyard. I told him that I'd been trying all morning to be angry at him. He replied, "Well, then you'd have to be mad at yourself too."



"No, I'm not angry at you for Aleida's condition. I was trying to be angry at you for taking me jogging on a trail that was mostly uphill."



He laughed. "Oh yeah. Sorry."



"I can't be mad at you though. Because I feel better."



"I knew you would."



"But I think I'm just looking for something or someone tangible to be mad at. There's no one."



"You could be mad at God."



"If I really believed in him...But even if I did, a real Christian isn't supposed to be mad at God because you are supposed to trust in his will."



"Damned if you do, damned if you don't," Dave said. "That's almost enough right there to turn an agnostic into an atheist."



So my quest to find something to be mad at failed. I couldn't blame this situation on anyone. It just was.



I caught myself standing by Aleida's bed as she went through a cycle of relative wakefulness and struggled against her tubes and made the crying face but couldn't actually cry. And I noticed that I just kept thinking, "Nobody should have to go through this. Nobody should have to go through this." I meant myself. I meant my baby. I meant my husband and his parents. Nobody should have to go through this.



What does that mean, though? I'm going to get philosophical, but the situation calls for it. If nobody should have to go through this, then nobody should have to go through anything difficult that isn't a product of their own decisions. Nobody should have to go through natural disasters, illness, injury, oppression, loss. But I wonder, without the suffering, would we even notice the joy? Would we feel it as strongly? Isn't part of our enjoyment of the weekend a product of the work week? Would great food taste as good if we had no experience with bad cafeteria fare? You cannot have peaks without valleys. And I believe, the deeper the valley, the higher the peaks seem.

So I know that once this is all over and we are back home, the everyday routine will be sweeter. Our quiet moments will be more cherished, and I will be more grateful for each little smile.

In the mean time, though, this sucks. Nobody should have to go through this. But I've been thinking about what I've heard them ("them" being psychologists and talk show hosts) say about self talk. You can improve your outlook by consciously changing your inner monologue. So, instead of saying to myself, "Nobody should have to go through this," I've been trying to actively tell myself, "We will get through this and be stronger because of it." And when it's all said and done, I'll be the mother who wakes smiling for the nighttime feeding and finds joy in a poopy diaper.