This new year began with sickness. My kids were sick, I was sick, my husband was sick, repeat. Something felt wrong with the pregnancy from the start, but I downplayed it as being my own nervous self. I didn't dare utter my fears through doctors visits and three bouts of the flu. The holidays were spent with my eldest not being able to shake this cough she has. As she got worse, so did I.
I started looking at environmental factors, then our diet, then put it down to that time of the year with recirculated air ducts bringing colds and flu to everyone. Then it happened. I got even more sick. I couldn't keep anything in. And I lost the baby.
That wasn't the worst. It was the way it was drawn out with so much sickness, and then seeing my baby with no heartbeat. No movement on that screen showing what should be a healthy baby. Two days later the actual miscarriage happened...
And then I had to be rushed to the hospital. I wouldn't stop bleeding. I kept fainting. The night dragged into a mass of sweet and kind souls who saved my life, a coworker paying for our hospital parking fees, my two year old crying because she wanted so badly to be with me...so instead she slept on the floor next to me, my seven year old asking why I couldn't just have the doctors put another baby in place of the one I just lost...
That first week was a blur of doctors visits, emergency rooms, iv's and nothing but love for all the people who put me back together again. There was also the unexpected feeling of, I can't be Superwoman anymore. I had other things that needed doing, but if I wasn't out of the hospital, it didn't matter.
The first two weeks were the hardest and most trying. Walking up or down a set of stairs made me nearly pass out. Every meal was premade by my husband before he went to work. My kids and dogs got to snuggle with me every chance they could since I was mostly in a chair or lying down.
Week three was harder. The feeling that I was getting better was there, but my muscles ached and I felt like I was swimming through jello yet in order to walk. My words were still mixed up and transposed with others, but my slurring had stopped. I could form somewhat sentences, but it was hard.
Week four felt like it was hopeful. Then everyone in the house got sick again. Two steps forward, fourteen back. I would be up with one kid or the other for quite a few days at that point. One of the teachers at my eldest's school thought she was staying home or asking for the nurse since she was worried about me...which unfortunately was not the case. She was just sick too.
During this time we started my eldest on inhalers. It is looking like she may have the beginnings of asthma. She responds well to the inhalers though. And once again, I get to look around at environmental and dietary issues that may be contributing to her illnesses.
More time passed. My two year old turned three. We were all sick. My husband turned 36. We were all sick. Valentines day, sick. 100th day of school, nearly missed because we were sick.
This year has sucked it big time. But for this past week I have had the strength to do the chores, to do some baking and tidy up the messy household since the maid took off a couple of months. I even tried to fix the sewing machine that still gives me a tension headache.
Life may have been sucking it, but this is not a complaint. I'm here. I'm happy to be here. I have a lot more to finish. And it will get better. Through all of this, that's all I have repeated to myself:
I'm not done yet.