Healing Hurts

That's really all I have to say right now. 20 days after surgery, my body is working hard on becoming whole again. My 10-inch incision is shrinking as my belly slowly contracts back to what it was before pregnancy (is "contracts" an ironic word to use, when you don't have a uterus?) Every day I'm a little stronger, but every day something new seems to hurt. The pain of nerves waking up, ligaments knitting themselves together, cauterized veins and arteries casting listlessly around (I imagine) to find a new home.

I think healing is like that. The stronger we are, the more we can feel. For almost three years, I've regretted going into "denial" after my sons' birth. I lied to myself about my feelings and pretended that I was okay with it all. I wasn't. Anxiety and depression seeped under my door like a cold fog, chilling me with an insidious and demanding pain. It took months (even years) before I could look squarely at that experience and all those feelings. But in those early days, in the dark of winter with a newborn -- a new mother, with a new scar and a bunch of new problems -- was it so bad to blind myself? What's so bad about waiting until we're strong enough to feel it all?

So I don't know yet, what I feel about all this. I've tried to write about my daughter's delivery and surgery, but so far I can't even finish the Customer Service Survey I got from the hospital. I just don't remember -- or want to remember -- it all. So far I can say this: That I was hysterical with fear in the hospital admitting lobby. That both teams of surgical staff were poignantly sensitive-enough and conducted themselves professionally throughout the surgery. That I remained conscious, without crying or vomiting, for the entire delivery until I saw and heard my daughter (ten feet away from me under her own oxygen mask, because "she's early" and "her lungs didn't get cleared by a vaginal birth.") I remember saying "okay, Josh, I'm done," to the anesthesiologist (younger than me!) and awoke hours later asking to breastfeed my baby. That I did feed her, and fell in love so suddenly that it surprised me. That I hit unimaginable physical and emotional lows in the hospital, but came home, and started to get better.

That's all for now. The baby and I are fine. Having a newborn is demanding, but I remind myself that this is only "for now" -- my baby wakes up every three hours at night, for now. She nurses ravenously and then spits up in my hair, for now. She is sometimes unconsolable, sometimes precious. Sometimes her socks fall off and get lost because they are so tiny. For now. So we are fine. I find myself welcoming the challenge and not overwhelmed by the cold or darkness that I expected. For now.