Not from the beginning

Where do you start writing a story that is so much bigger than yourself? The logical place is from the beginning, but I think I’ll start here: the happiest moment of my life:

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Well, besides this one:

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My son placed on the skin of my chest nestled into my bosom for the first time. This moment came months before it should have but seemingly centuries after.
There I was, new mother, jailed in the same room for days with a prematurely empty cut open and resewen womb, with nothing in my arms except an IV keeping me in bed. Would 24 hours seem like forever after waiting seven months? Yes, when there should have been 2 more, there should have been 2 more. From the mounds of pillows on my inclined bed I think, I say, “i can’t move, why am I so dizzy, the world is spinning, I just want food, no I want him, why can’t I have him, get me the pump! He needs my milk, he needs it right now, I need to pump! Save the drops, every drop, please, please milk come, come.” Magnesium, I thought that was just an element? No, it’s a torture device used to keep mothers away from their babies for hours. “Nurse, it is time yet? Not quite a few more hours, then you have to be able to get out of bed and into a wheel chair” I stubbornly have michael help me into a wheel chair before the nurse comes and have to get back in bed because of the pain. “why can’t I move, this hurts so bad, i’m still dizzy, why am I so dizzy, you gave me too many pain meds!” They never gave me two pills at once again, but they still delayed me, they delayed me. More time, more time away. Laying there I turn to Patient husband, “I don’t feel him kicking anymore, it’s weird. I want to feel him again. He should still be there. He should be here with me.” Michael gets me an extra gown to wear on my back down to the ISCU, covers the wheelchair with a blanket, and I start my transition to the chair. I had such high hopes…”I get to hold him, I get to kangaroo, i read about it and I need it now”. We get down there and go through the process…sign in, name tag, wash, wash, find the room, meet the nurse, get the report. Rules? Why do I have to follow rules to see MY son, he is mine! I think this, but really i’m nervous, I have to follow rules it’s in my blood, i’m nervous to do something I’m not supposed to, i’m nervous to touch my own son, flesh of my flesh, this is wrong. “Can I kangaroo him?”, Kind nurse, “well it’s almost shift change and you can’t be in here during that time, and you can’t hold him that way during vital checks and you have to hold him that way for at least 45 minutes at a time or the transitioning stresses him too much” My head spins, rules, rules, tears well up, “But i’ve been waiting so long for this I have to” Kind nurse, “Oh i think there is time, there is always time for kangaroo care, i’ll give you the 45 minutes let me get the comfy chair.” I settle into the chair, prepare my shirt to be lifted off to place him on my bare chest and to cover him back up. She lifts him up, he is just in his diaper, no need for clothes for a tiny human in an incubater, puts on his tiny hat and lays him on his momma’s bosom. Kind Nurse, “now cover him with these blankets, i’ll take his temp periodically but usually the mom keeps them very warm.” All I can do is cry, and close my eyes. My chest heaves and i try to calm down, i want to enjoy this moment, i want to settle down and not shake him with my moving chest. Patient husband sits quietly taking pictures, knows this is my moment and my time and it’s about keeping Pascal calm, retaining energy. I cry for Pascal, for his giant cloth covered IV arm, his tiny, bony thighs, his small fuzzy head, his perfection in miniature, his tiny breathes on my chest and closed tight eyes, my empty womb, my swollen ugly body and face, my empty womb. I cry because i’m so happy and relieved to finally be at this moment. I cry because I know God’s plan is stretching me to my limit but I don’t know how far that is and i’m scared. I’m sitting there in so much pain, i need more medication but I don’t want to leave. The nurse lets me break all the rules, feeds him in his tube while he is on me, takes his temp seeing he is so very warm, inviting me to stay hours if I want. Patient husband loves his wife and knows she cannot physically stay hours… not yet anyway, so at his biding I allow Pascal to be taken from my yet again. They have to unpaste him from my chest, he was glued to me with sweat and love and I felt empty again. I cried all the way out of the room and back upstairs. This is not how it should be, none of it is. I need to pump, I need to pump again. It’s all I have to give. I will come again tomorrow. I will come again always….

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One comment on “Not from the beginning

  1. Heather Price on said:

    Beautiful, precious experiences. So glad you’ve chosen to share with the world. I can already see that writing your stories is a healing balm. Our God is so big, so strong, and so mighty! I can’t believe how tiny Pascal was in these photos, and how big he was when we visited at Christmas!

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