My daughter, Maggie, turned 3 today. I am filled with the typical incredulity a parent feels in watching their child transform before their eyes: “Where has the time gone?” Yes, these three years flew by in a blink. But, fellow Flamingoes, I am also haunted by these three years. I am haunted by memories of her birth. The day Maggie was born was, hands down, the hardest of my entire life.
It began as a typical Wednesday morning. I woke up early, that infernal pregnancy bladder stirring me to pad onto the cold tiles of the bathroom floor, praying I would be able to snooze another hour or two before getting up and ready for work. I’ll admit now, I noticed an abnormal leaking of fluid. But in a split second, my fatigue talked my brain out of its alarm. I went back to sleep… Blissful, ignorant sleep.
As an OB/GYN Nurse Practitioner, it was seemingly impossible that, seven hours later, one of the attending physicians in my practice diagnosed my rupture of membranes. It was impossible, of course, because Maggie wasn’t due for another 3 ½ months. When I arrived at the hospital, I was told that my daughter would be born a “micro-preemie”, the medical term for the smallest and most fragile of premature infants. At 26 weeks gestation, the staff quoted me statistics: Maggie had only a 60% chance of survival, and an almost 80% chance of long-term medical complications.
Oh, how I fought for my girl! With each contraction, I begged God or The Universe or Whomever to stop the nightmare. When one of the Labor & Delivery nurses mentioned that keeping calm could sometimes slowed down labor and improved my baby’s heart rate, I achieved an almost Zen-like calm. I fought against The Darkness. I focused on The Light- the hope that labor would stop and that I would be able to keep my tiny baby safe.
The following morning, I spiraled into despair when the doctors told us there was nothing more they could do (Funny, I always thought that phrase was the stuff of movies…), and that Maggie’s arrival was imminent. I lost my inner Zen. I remember looking numbly at the roomful of doctors and nurses, at my mother and my husband, wondering why everything was so loud: “What is that noise?? Please, quiet down, I need to focus.” It was months later that I realized the sounds were my own wails and cries as I begged them all to save my daughter. The Light was gone, and my heart shattered as my one pound, nine ounce baby girl made her way into the world. I did not feel joy. I did not feel gratitude. I did not feel love.
And so, a 105 day vigil began. I stumbled through The Darkness, working full time and going to the hospital at night. Maggie came home from the hospital in mid-August, a week after her due date. She was small, had severe reflux, and had a feeding tube threaded through her nose down into her stomach. Our family struggled through Physical, Occupational, and Speech Therapy appointments. We saw countless GI specialists. By her first birthday, Maggie weighed only 12 pounds, was not able to sit up on her own, and had no teeth and very little hair. Nutritionally, she would not survive without intervention. We made the decision to have a feeding tube surgically implanted into her stomach, as well as a procedure to control her vomiting and reflux.
It was a dark, dark time.
Because of her precarious entrance into the world, and the months and years of medical struggle that followed, Maggie’s birthday is an emotionally difficult time for me. In the days prior to her birthday, I battle nightmares, sudden bursts of tears, and panic attacks. Call it Post Traumatic Stress, Depression, or whatever you want, but The Darkness is a powerful force. So how do I find The Light in these days? Will I ever enjoy my own daughter’s birthday?
I decided to make this year’s birthday different than the first two. I’ve learned that it’s important to embrace, but not dwell in, the pain of my memories. To recognize it, but not to relish in it, I suppose. I began, over the last several days, to seek out The Light. Every moment with Maggie was like one speck of Light. Each of Maggie’s goofy giggles, her sweet smiles, her funny quips about the world (She would like you to know, there are NO dragons living in our house…), is ammunition against The Darkness. There IS joy here! There IS gratitude here! There IS love here! I collected them like stars and held them in my heart.
Tonight, during an early bedtime routine (because, you know, birthdays are EXHAUSTING work when you’re three…) I held my Maggie in my arms. We sat together in the pink rocker in her nursery, and she asked for a song. I hummed and sang and rocked until she relaxed against my chest. Her breathing found its sleepy rhythm, and her full head of crazy blonde curls tickled my neck. I smoothed her butterfly pajamas across her warm back, and I breathed in her freshly bathed Maggie scent. Suddenly, my eyes pricked with tears. For once this week, they were not the tears of painful memories. The tiny stars in my heart rushed together and exploded brightly. And it dawned on me that I never had to look for The Light, it’s been here all along…
SHE is The Light.
And you? Who or what is your Light in the Darker times? And how do you find it?
