Maybe another baby?

So, are you guys going to have more kids?

This is the dreadful question that haunts my dreams and follows me everywhere I go.

"Johnny needs a playmate, a sibling!" "Maybe after your body recovers." "Two or three years apart is the perfect age gap."

When this is asked of me, I freeze up. I produce a nervous half smile, force out a fake giggle, say "maybe..." and turn around and walk away as fast as I can. How could they know how hard it was just to get through this first year with this perfectly easy child?

When this is asked of me, what I want to do is yell, "Don't you have any idea what you are asking? It's none of your damn business, you nosy jerk! Can't you see my pain? My Anguish? Why can't you understand that what you are asking is completely out of line?

Sometimes when I am at home with my husband and my son, something will happen and I will start to cry. I will be reminded that, yes, I want more children. The happiness that my son gives me compares to no other happiness and more children would absolutely make my life more fulfilling.

The truth is, I am terrified. If I become pregnant, I will be high risk, most likely on bed rest and definitely will undergo a mandatory cesarean. These things I am sure of. What I am unsure of is the pain. I don't know what the pain in my pelvis will be like from the weight of the baby. I don't know what the pain in my abdomen will be like with all of the scar tissue that has formed behind the ostomy scar. Would the delight of a tiny baby flutter outshine the pain?

I worry what will happen when I go off of my anti depression medication during pregnancy. Will the hormones make me happy or will I cower in a corner and have to have my grandmother come live with me to make sure that my first born is taken care of?

Yes. I long for more children. Will I get past my fears and be able to one day? I hope so.

Anxiety

One year ago, today, I checked into Ft. Belvoir Community Hospital. I was as pregnant as could be and even more excited. 

Tonight all I can think about is, "How has a whole year passed?" 

Unsurprisingly, I was diagnosed with anxiety disorder and post partem PTSD during my extended hospital stay in November 2013. I have a wonderful therapist and a wonderful Psychologist that I have working with me to treat these disorders. Last month I had a session with both my therapist and my Dr., and they were almost ready to clear me of my PTSD. They evaluated me the same way they did upon the first session and my results had improved greatly. 

Two days ago Johnny and I were playing and he stepped on my midline incision scar (the one that was used to create the ostomy, it runs vertically through my naval) and his little toes pushed in a litttle bit too deep. I felt a burning, almost tearing sensation. I was immediately transported back to a moment in the hospital when a nurse was pulling tissue and packing from that very wound. I could hear whooshing IV machine, I could feel the air filled hospital bed. I could even smell the sterile air.  There were two nurses arguing across my body about how the wound was being cared for. My heart began to race and I asked for Ativan for my anxiety.

This was a PTSD flashback and I hadn't had one in months. My husband was concerned. He thought Johnny had hurt me. I was paralized to the floor for about ten minutes, weeping. I told him I had a flashback and he understood. 

I can't stop time but I want to rewind it. I want to go back to one year ago, before all of the pain. I want to tell the Dr.'s what to do differently, tell them to do a ceserean. I want those first three months with Johnny back, only without a fog of pain medication. I want to breast feed my baby. 

His birthday is tomorrow, October 29th. He was born at 9:51 P.M. We went home on Halloween. I have a ball of anxiety deep in my stomach about his birthday. I don't know how I will feel, how much of the day will be spent crying. I want to remember his birth as a joyous moment, because it was! It was the most triumphant and beautiful experience of my life. The events that took place in the weeks after are what cause me such pain. 

However, when I close my eyes and travel back to the birthing room, the first thing I hear is my flesh being cut like a chicken breast between kitchen shears and the first thing I see are the bright lights being switched on so that the Dr. can see where she is sewing. I have to push extremelly hard past those things to hear his first cry and remember my tears of exhaustion and happiness and wonder.

I want to go back. It's al I can think about. I want these emotional scars to go away. How can they when I see the physical scars every day and all I want is to go back?