I didn’t cry yesterday. It was the first day I haven’t cried.
I don’t cry when circumstances are worrisome. I don’t display my emotions; they just settle like a poison in my gut.
I didn’t shed a tear when I was speaking to Emmanuelle through her isolate, “cheering her on”. I cried when she was passing in my arms; I don’t think I even sobbed until two hours after her passing.
I’d prefer to cry each day because, during this hell, if I can’t cry it usually means something is going or could go wrong.
I hate the NICU “roller coaster”. I knew the downs would come; everyone warned us there’d be ups and downs. During the first several days, I was on pins and needles waiting for a down. And as soon as I stopped living like that and actually breathed: DOWN.
Don’t worry; she’s pretty stable. I wouldn’t be writing if she weren’t because – well – I shut down when things are tense.
People ask me how she is doing. I never say she’s doing really well or everything is great. The best I give her is “pretty stable” or “quite stable”. Daddy told me a few days ago that I’m hard on her. He didn’t mean it in a mean way; he understands where I’m coming from. But I am hard on her. One slip – one tiny slip – and my world crashes.
Prematurity. Reflux. Infection. Have I mentioned that I hate the word “brady”? I want them to S.T.O.P. De-sats: Those need to stop too.
This week was a little hard. Her respiratory support was decreased. We can actually see her face now. The doctors like to challenge the babies; I just want to see good stats. Often times, those don’t go hand in hand. I can’t explain the ins and outs of each day at the NICU. I don’t like writing down what she experiences because I don’t want it documented; I don’t want it to be filed away somewhere that Rowan had these preemie experiences.
I’d just prefer to cry over the loss of my baby and this NICU stay.
I’d prefer my emotions remain stable enough for me to cry.
Actually, I’d prefer none of this.
People get ticked when Christmas “stuff” starts to appear rrrrrrright after Halloween. I usually don’t care one way or another. But this year? Bring it on. Stop being a grinch. The closer we are to Christmas, the closer we are done with this bull shit.
I want the weeks to pass. I want the bradys to stop. I want my baby to be healthy enough to actually be here instead of in my womb. I see her struggle sometimes and tell myself, “This is all my fault; she’s supposed to be safe in my womb right now. They’re both supposed to be safe in my womb right now.” And please don’t encourage me by telling me it’s not my fault. Trust me, my guilt is a. not going away anytime soon and b. is the least of my worries right now.
I am hoping we are on the up. There are too many days within the last month that I never want to experience again.
I hope I can cry today.