Tuesday, May 20, 2014

Fragile Strength

Lately it seems I have been praised or applauded for my "strength" during the whole Harlow health scare.  I have never been one to take a compliment well and it seems I'm no different in this scenario. I know that everyone who has taken the time to let me know how proud they are of me, how much they admire how I have dealt with all of this, how they can't imagine how I am doing so well throughout these past 6 weeks...they all mean nothing but the kindest of words and intentions.  And I really appreciate all of them for that encouragement and support.  But it almost makes me chuckle to hear that everyone thinks I'm super strong or facing this battle head on.  The truth of the matter is...I'm not. Not at all. Someone posted on the #HealHarlow page a quote about not knowing how strong you are, until being strong is your only option.  I choose that one.  It's not that I wanted to be strong. It's that I HAD to be strong.  I tucked away every fear, every panic attack, every nightmare, every cry in the shower, every piece of bad news, those first few days, the words "we almost lost her"....I stored it all in a vault that I reserve for these situations. For about an hour or so, I allowed myself to fall apart in the beginning.  I bawled and hyperventilated and nearly passed out. I immediately went into that dark place, that I spend so much time trying to avoid.  I imagined Harlow not making it. I imagined how my life would be over. I imagined leaving the hospital without my baby girl.   I imagined walking back into our house and knowing that all the joy that once lived there, died with my angel. I went there.  For about 60 seconds and then I shut it all off.  I cannot go to that place as I fear I would never return. Some people say it's unhealthy to push feelings to the side, but it's my survival mechanism. It's the only way I could face my baby girl each day.  Visitors constantly broke down when they laid eyes on Harlow. I don't fault them in anyway. It's a natural reaction and although I comforted these people and reassured them that she was getting better...inside I feel I was desperately begging them to let it all out. Their tears could be mine for the time being.  Their sense of hopelessness could be mine as well.  Could I have broken down every single second of the 39 days we spent in the hospital? Absolutely. Would I have been entitled to that?  Of course. But thoughts become things.  I was terrified of allowing my mind to wander and so I blocked out all negativity. I blocked out those first few days and all the odds we were against.  I kept my eye on the prize. She would live. She would get better. This wasn't happening to her. Or to me.  Or to all my plans and dreams for us.  My life would be stripped of all it's purpose if she died. So there simply was no room inside of me to accept that fate.  Once Harlow was awake and slowly revealing bits and pieces of her old self and spirit, there was even less space for my weakness.  She was alert and very aware of her surroundings. She was affected when people became upset. You could read her face like a book.  So mommy only smiled at her. I only cooed and praised her and handled her with white gloves.  Perhaps that is what people were doing with me.  Building me up so I didn't crumble.  I thank them for that.  Harlow is alive. She is safe and slowly getting back into a routine. She has limitations and needs more care, but she is back in our home and our family is in tact. Have allowed myself to weep for all that almost happened?  Not quite yet.  There is still a long road ahead of us. She has more procedures and appointments and wound vac changes and months worth of medicine to endure. She knows this isn't normal. I do too.  But it's our normal for now.  And I am thankful for every bit of this time.  Thoughts become things.  I said she would live. I said she would go home.  I say now that her heel will heal. That she will recover quickly. That she will walk. That her calves and heels with keep improving and return to a somewhat normal appearance. I say it.  I believe it. I have to. Strength?  I'm not sure if that is what I'm exuding.  Hope?  Maybe. Need?  100%.  I begged for time. I was told only time would tell us if she made it. It was known that this recovery would take a long time.  I have that. Harlow has that.  When will I find the time to allow this whole experience to truly sink in?  I'm not certain. But I grew up witnessing my mom always being this pillar of positivity and happiness. She never showed weakness. I never saw her cry or appear hopeless. She always seemed like she had it all put together and didn't have the want, need or time to fall apart.   I am forever in debt to my mom for showing me this. It is the only reason I made it through 6 weeks of hell. It's the reason I refused to believe the odds. It's the reason I have that vault.   The trouble with hoarding all those emotions is that eventually, the door will open.   But it's still sealed tight today, tomorrow and every day til I feel Harlow is well enough for me to grieve for all that was almost taken from me. 

Thursday, May 8, 2014

Crunching Numbers

3- number of years we tried to get pregnant
4- failed iui procedures
1- successful IVF round
9- months of pure bliss and excitement
02/05/13- the day My child was born
1 hour and 15 minutes- amount of time I pushed
5:42- when I became a mother
5:43- when I met my Daughter...we didn't find out the gender
13.5- months of perfection and adoration, watching Harlow grow and become her own person
04.01.14- beginning of my worst nightmare
85- percentage of her mortality rate for 3 days
1,000,000- tears shed
23+ - number of IVs and drips
6- blood transfusions
1 in 3- odds of recovering
0- number of limbs she was expected to have in tact
2-PICC lines
8- leeches on harlow's right hand
4- surgeries
2- joy pink casts
12- nails she may lose...toe nails and finger nails
3 1/2- weeks we were in Pediatric Intensive Care Unit
38- days that we have spent in Medical City
0- nights I've spent away from the hospital
1- day till we go home
1- wound vac we take with us
6 to 8- weeks til all the skin grafting is done and hopefully healed
1- daddy who is ever thankful for his daughter's miraculous recovery
1- mommy who has mentally blocked out the beginning of this horrific journey, to attempt to heal
Infinity- the thank you' s we owe to everyone who has sent prayers, love, support, gifts, meals, visits, and continuous hope
3- the members of our family going home tomorrow
2- hands in full recovery 
2- legs, skin grafted and recovering
1- mother who will celebrate more than usual this Mother's Day, at the amazing fact, that she, against all odds, is still a mother today