a year ago

i've been trying not to write this post, but i know that i should. i know it's important to document the bad as well as the good. but i've been trying to think of a way to describe how i feel without having to remember how i feel. i've been trying to write my own history without acknowledging to myself that it's my history. it's not working.

a year ago, my pocket started going to the hospital a lot. she lived at the children's hospital for days and weeks over several months. it was a truly horrible time. really, the worst time of my life. i never wanted to be one of those moms who had one of those kids. i'm not good like that. but i tried.

i tried to be strong and positive and do what i needed to do. i tried to be a warrior mom and fight for her to have the best treatment, best care, best room, best pain medication, best nurses, best therapists, best technicians, and best doctors. i tried to make sure that she was as comfortable as a baby could be while she was restrained by straps, hooked up to machines with tubes in her body, and kept in a metal crib that looked like a prison in a cold room that smelled like antiseptic. i tried to make them stop waking her up at night so much so that she could get as much sleep as she could in that sad metal crib. i tried to decorate her room with photos and bedding and stuffed animals so that the people who treated her would know she was loved and they would treat her accordingly. i tried to nurse her even when her body was too weak to eat because i needed her to know that i hadnt abandoned her even though i was letting these people hurt her all day and all night long. i tried to learn as much as i could about what was going on with her little body so that no one could neglect her health or mistreat her without me knowing. i tried to be the favorite mom with the cutest kid on the floor so that everyone would be nice to her. i tried to be polite as i told off her doctors when they pissed me off.

i tried to hide bad news from family and friends so that i wouldnt have to see or hear the sadness and disappointment in their eyes and voices. i tried to forget that i had two children at home who i didnt see for days and days on end because i had to choose who i could take care of and they lost. i tried to forget that i chose one child over the others, because good moms dont do that. when they did come to visit, i tried to pretend that i was glad to see them, but really it just stressed me out more. i went 23 days without going home because i really didnt want to remember the life that was there. i tried to forget that my husband was missing too much work to stay at home and watch our kids. i tried to ignore how hard it was for our parents to keep flying out or driving up to help watch our kids. i tried not to feel like a failure to her father and grandparents because i had grown a broken baby. i tried to make them feel better when they cried. i tried not to complain.

i tried not to feel like a failure when she didnt get better and i couldnt help her. i tried not to feel like a horrible mother when i held her down so that they could do procedures that helped save her life. i tried to comfort her when she was in pain and it was because i had let them do something that hurt her...again. i tried not to hate myself when she looked at me one day and i knew that she didnt trust me anymore. i tried to be grateful to everyone who helped her, though i was resentful that it took them so long to find out what was wrong. i tried not to let it break my heart when she hit milestones in the hospital, like eating her first solid food and rolling and standing. i tried not to cry when i had to fill out three months of her baby book while she was there. i tried to make it sound sweet and nice that the significant people in her life those months were strangers. i tried not to be angry. i tried not to be sad.

pocket is a lot better. she hasnt gone to the hospital in a long time. that makes me happy, but only cautiously happy because bad things happen to sweet little babies every day. i try to forget how hard it would be to go again because i know it's a possibility that she might have to.

i wish that i could say something positive about the experience, but i can't yet. maybe next year.