On Adela's 7th birthday, 7 days after learning I was pregnant again, I began to miscarry -- or so I thought. Hunkering down into that cavernous emotional space that held me safe during my first miscarriage, I told Rodney it was happening again. He cried and I carried on and made an appointment with the doctor to get everything "taken care of" once more.
Three days later, we sat in quiet awe listening to an echoing heartbeat. I can't believe it, I said. Rodney laughed. But then the doctor found a mass in my neck. Yes, we have a baby in there, he said, but there's something else we need to look at. And we need to hurry.
A week later, my doctor called with an urgent request. The imaging results were in and I needed a biopsy. Soon enough, I was laying on another table, watching a needle enter my neck. The results were inconclusive. After another round of imaging, more tests and appointments, and 6 more months of pregnancy, the specialist said we'd need to remove most of my thyroid to determine whether or not the mass was cancerous. If it was, they'd remove the entire system during surgery and I'd need radiation. Don't worry, he said, we'll wait until 4-6 weeks after delivery.
The first month after hearing the heartbeat and finding the tumor was otherworldly. It's a complex equation for the body to take on -- growing a life and carrying the unknown. After too many sleepless nights, I decided to focus on the pregnancy. I wanted to give the baby and her tiny development all of my energy and thoughts. The dark spot in my body, the scary mass, would not receive my care or attention. Naturally, I wanted the baby's body to grow and thrive, even at the expense of my own.
Heidi was born at 5:07pm on August 19th to a room full of people who will love her always. She is now 4 weeks old. On Thursday, we will begin peeling back the layers of this next mystery...and we will schedule my surgery.
There are few things I want to do less than have surgery while caring for a newborn. This phase of my life really isn't about me -- it's about keeping our tiny girl going. I feed her, I soothe her, I put her down for her naps. Really, I haven't stopped to think about myself or my own needs in quite a while (which presents its own challenges, certainly). So, why the extra attention? Why now? There is no space in my emotional mind for the fears to re-enter. How will my girls fare if I am sick? And, even though the chances that I might die of this are remote, my own mortality skirts the periphery of my vision, teasing out even greater fears. It is not possible for the heart, mind, or body to reconcile delivering and then caring for a new baby, raising a 7 year old, loving a partner, working for a living....and contemplating death. I'd rather not do it....and so I don't.
But, the practicalities of what lie ahead are daunting. I wonder how I will move my exhausted body through even more medical intervention. Will I still be able to nurse the baby after surgery? How long will I be in the hospital? How will my family handle the possibility of radiation? Too many questions, too few answers right now.
Today, I set out for a quick trip to the local grocery store. What should have been a 5 minute drive took me into the foothills of Chico. In retrospect, I was giving myself some perspective. Relax, let go, aim higher, and just keep breathing. That's all I can do anyway.
And so, as I have during the many transitions of motherhood, I am settling in to the still slightly uncomfortable "new normal" of our lives, piecing together the fun, happy, laughing moments into a picture that looks and feels like real home. Occasionally, I struggle with the baby blues, slipping into the bedroom for a quick cry in the afternoons, but I let the exuberant laughter of the new big sister, whose transition is sometimes heartbreaking in and of itself, carry me over and through the troughs.
It is life, I remind myself. Messy, chaotic, loud, boisterous, unpredictable. It is fragile. And deep down, under the shadowy moments that sometimes cloud the surface, it is love holding us together.
I resolve to do what I need to do. If that means surgery, I will do it. If that means facing down an inconvenient and frightening absence from my family, I will do it. Truly, if I have learned anything over the past 7 years, it is that the best way to care for my children is to care for myself. Though this lesson is flying high above me, kite-like, tethered to my thoughts by only a thread, I will reel it back in soon enough to find the topsy-turvy balance I know is under all of this tumult. Really, when I think about it, that is my greatest challenge.
One foot in front of the other. The rest will follow in due course. All will be ok..... :)
~ Katie
Title quote from Anne Morrow Lindbergh's Gift From The Sea, 1955, p. 97
