In Her Wake...

Chapter 1

The black sports car sped up the interstate as Jay, wearing his trademark sunglasses and shirt and tie, with jacket casually thrown over the back of the passenger seat, turned to his favorite satellite radio station where the fading sounds of a jazz song changed to a more upbeat brass favorite. A smile broke out on his lips as he remembered the once chic jazz cafe he had frequented on the weekends all through college. Sometimes, he was lucky enough to get to play a set and he found sublime joy in the moods that music brought about in the audience and reverberated back to him. His trumpet, put away until just recently, had been a natural extension of his own frame then. Back then he never could have foreseen how his life would turn out like one of those songs he'd rehearsed over and over, carefully hitting every note, playing repeatedly till it was pure perfection. That was how Jay liked things. Neat and perfect.

Far from the nerdy artist type, you'd never know about that particular passion. With an athletic build and dark tan courtesy of growing up in the sunny south, he seemed to be an easygoing guy. Along with his sunglasses, his quick smile and casual attitude hid his insecurity and need for perfection. But that had all been blown out of the water by the contents of the envelope sitting on the seat next to him.

It was postmarked six years earlier but he had only read it that sunny Monday morning after he'd spilled coffee on his crisp white shirt and discovered that his wife had taken all his other shirts to the cleaner. He knew there were a couple shirts still stored in that big walk in closet of a room that had once been a nursery for the twins several years ago and had become a “junk” room of things they'd get around to using, unpacking, or donating on one of their less busy days. He'd pushed by his wife's league golf clubs and the stacks of cookbooks that sat collecting dust so they sat as flush to the wall as possible. He smiled then laughed to himself at the hundreds of photos of the life he and Stephanie had built, spread out, the scrapbooking materials that had been casually tossed about the pool table that was more a counter than a place to relax and unwind ,the man-cave they finally decided to turn it into when both of their new promotions allowed them to put on a sizable addition for the twins to each have their own rooms. He smiled to himself when he remembered how they knew right from the start that their identical twin girls had very opposing personalities.

The pregnancy had been a difficult one for Stephanie. They hadn't planned for it to happen so soon after they got married as both were trying to work their way up in their respective careers. Still, when she told him he was going to be a father he'd grinned with excitement and pride. Then he held her as she cried that she wasn't sure she was ready for this or not. She'd been an only child and hadn't had cousins around to play with growing up. Instead of babysitting for extra money as a teenager, she delivered newspapers. He reassured her that once the baby was born she'd know what to do and her feelings would come naturally. That seemed to calm her for a few weeks till the ten week appointment when the Dr. put the doppler on her belly and not one but two heartbeats were heard. They'd done an ultrasound just to be certain and when she saw those two little blips she started crying again. Jay had to admit to himself he was a bit taken aback as well but when he stared at those two beating blips he felt a love he'd never felt before. He'd heard that there was no love like the love a parent has for a child. He also knew that the love often came at different times in the whole pregnancy process. Again, he reassured her she was going to do great. This time, though, she looked at him blankly as if he was crazy. Visions of being stuck at home with screaming, crying, tiny humans that couldn't talk or tell her what they needed were playing in her mind and nothing Jay said could push those thoughts out. Her thoughts raced to the publishing house she'd only just started at and how lucky she'd been to secure the lone opening they had. They weren't going to be happy about this. Who knew how long she'd have to wait before another amazing opportunity would appear? She'd wanted a baby. A Baby. Not Babies. And not this soon. Eventually. They both walked out of the Dr's office, each in their own thoughts as to what this would mean for both of them. He knew this was going to affect her life in a way it wouldn't affect his. Her fear and apprehension was written all over her. As he looked at her tear streaked face he felt sorry for her. He knew this wasn't her plan. It wasn't his, either, but he couldn't help but be excited. His visions were far different than hers and included playing lots of sports and maybe even music lessons someday. But it was his job to support her with everything he had now. She deserved that from him. She'd always stood by his side since the day they met early in their college careers. She'd always been there for him in every situation. He knew he didn't deserve her. Not her support or love.

After his betrayal almost two decades before, he'd spent every waking minute since those last three months of his college career trying, without being obvious, to make it up to her. She'd been nothing but good to him and it killed him to know what he'd let happen all those years ago would devastate her, especially when she'd practically predicted it happening right from the start. Still, he couldn't let her know she was right.

He practically tripped over the stack of old cassette tapes he hadn't had the heart to get rid of as he stumbled his way to the cool metal rack that held on it's arm a full length of old bridesmaid's dresses, two tuxedos and a kilt from a friend's wedding they'd both been told by bride or groom that they could “easily” find somewhere to wear those things again. Old jeans that Stephanie could no longer wrench herself into but still hung onto along with the hope that her latest fad diet would work. He finally reached the end and found his old “interview shirt” with tie draped over the hanger at the end. He hadn't worn it since he made the rounds after college graduation trying to secure a job in a market headed for the biggest recession in memory some would call it the New Depression.

As he glanced at the clock on the wall, he knew he needed to hurry to make it in time for his first appointment at his legal practice. He whipped off his tie and quickly unbuttoned his shirt. Still walking as he raised his arms up over his head he forgot about the stack of cassette tapes. He plowed through them like a bull in a china shop, tripping over his own feet and falling with absolutely no grace, scattering the tapes in all directions.

He hit the floor with a loud “doh!” worthy of Homer Simpson and crashed into a leg of the billiards table. Shaking it off, he started to rise when he realized that one of the tapes had made the long trek across the floor to land halfway under the pool table. He knew he was running short on time but the perfectionist in him couldn't leave that lone tape under the only neat, rectangular, clean,spot in the room especially when even Stephanie didn't realize that after she'd placed the stack haphazardly in the mancave, he'd gone back that night and rearranged the tapes in a neat straight line.

He stretched himself beneath the table and reached the smooth plastic case with his fingertips. Sliding a little further under, he almost had a grip on it when he saw a hint of white hanging down from the inside edge of the table. Sliding out from under the table he stood and walked to the other side and crouched down running his hand along the sleek underside until his hands came to a spot near the middle pocket where a lump could be felt secured with tape. With a gentle tug, down came almost two decades of secrets, skeletons and the enveloped letter sitting next to him in the passenger seat now. Along with it, the breathtaking realization...she knew.

A Foreword

Several months ago I started writing a novel. I was in the midst of a nervous breakdown and spiraling down into the deepest depression I'd ever experienced. This episode was different than the others I'd experienced since I was nineteen years old in that I also experienced extreme euphoria. I went days without sleep and wrote my little heart out while everyone else was asleep. I was convinced it was pure brilliance and that any who read it would be overcome with the bliss of pure emotion it evoked.  When I would get depressed I knew something was terribly wrong and that I needed help but when I was on a high of euphoria I didn't think I needed help from anyone.
I was diagnosed as Bipolar Depressed. I was given medication. I started seeing a therapist again. The meds evened me out so that I didn't have wild mood swings anymore. I slept at night. I got back into a regular routine of housekeeping and child rearing.
And my people were happy that I was "normal" again.
But I was BORED. 
The medicine took away my passion for so many things. It took away my clarity of thought. I lost my libido. I didn't want to write anymore. When I did, it was so generically engineered that even I was bored to tears by it.
To top it all off, one of the medications caused most of my hair to break off or fall out and caused me to gain almost forty pounds.
I began to miss the real ME.
So, I weaned myself off one of the meds and almost immediately my hair stopped falling out. I haven't gained any more weight but it sure is a lot harder than it ever was to get it off.
And now I want to write. I want to share. I want to create. I'm in that colorful cycle of grandiose thinking and I want to be brilliant.
But here's my conundrum (and the reason I've deleted so many attempts at novels), at almost 40 years of age I still feel like a kid who needs permission to write the stories I want to write. The last thing I want is to embarrass my parents or my children by writing about subjects that they have no idea I have any connections to. (I wonder if E.L. James worried what her family would think of her when she wrote 50 Shades of Grey?)
I've given my parents three grandchildren so I'm pretty sure they know I know about the birds and the bees. But what would they think if they read excerpts of just how deep my knowledge is?
See, the kind of stories I like to write (and read) are those about relationships between families, friends, lovers.  Emotional relationships and physical relationships and co-dependent relationships.
So, today, for the first time, I am giving myself permission to write what I want to write and I won't allow guilt to assault me anymore.
Hopefully, the next mood swing will hold off until I can get at least the first chapter written. I may publish it on this blog just to see what kind of reaction it brings.
Thank you all for letting me be me here on this page and not judging my self-centeredness. It's been said that the greatest relationship you'll ever have is the one you have with yourself. I'm just now starting to figure that out.
xoxo

Valentine's Validation

"It was real, wasn't it? What we had?  Even if our individual friends had no idea we even knew each other let alone meant something to each other?" I asked him with downcast eyes. If he was going to lie to me I didn't want to see it. I simply couldn't look up at his face from my kneeling position. For the first time in my young life I had been brought to my knees by a feeling of inadequacy and fear.  Those few minutes, almost two decades ago were captured like a photograph in my mind. What he did or did not answer doesn't matter. The feeling is all I remember. To this day, that picture pops up in my mind at the most unusual times.
I know I wanted validation but it was more than that. I wanted to know that the 100 percent of my love given was reciprocated 100 percent as well. To think that he felt even one tenth less than I had felt was like a blow to the gut.
I think what bothers me most, now, is that it's another one of my life's unanswerable questions. Worse yet, as a "grown-up" with a whole other life I'm not supposed to wonder about these things in my "real" life.
In two days, Carri will have been gone for four years and I find myself asking the same question. "It was real, wasn't it? What we had was real and important and life affirming? Even if our other friends had no idea that we were best friends and shared a whole side of life no one really knew anything about?" I come across her cards and letters and pictures and when I look at them I remember and am validated.
I'm lonely today. It's Valentines Day and my husband vacuumed out my van.  But I really wish I could call Carri and get some inspiration for the weekend because right now it looks pretty bleak.  At least when she was here I could talk and joke over the phone and hang up feeling renewed.
I just looked up at my bookshelf. There's a handmade Valentine from Carri's oldest son when he was about five or six years old. Gold glitter on the front. My heart just smiled. Maybe the rest of me will follow suit if I just start remembering that no matter what anyone else's opinions might have been, yes, It was real. I have the letters, cards, memories and glitter to prove it. 

Dear Carri,

Dear Carri,
It's almost that time again and you've been on my mind for weeks now.  I still miss you as much as I did the day you passed on. Actually, I miss you more. Four years ago, I had no idea what life would be like without your voice, your intelligence, your advice and your Presence.  I thought time would make it easier, somehow, but it hasn't. I've tried making new friends, even convinced myself that I could be a good friend to someone who might be as lonely as me but I have come to the conclusion that I'm just not in that place yet. So, what do I do?
I focus on the kids, of course. I've made them my whole Universe. Carri was supposed to start Pre-K this year but had an issue of chronic constipation that kept her out. That's just as well- I wasn't ready to be home alone yet anyway.
Oh, in case you were cloud hopping a couple months ago, I had a Nervous Breakdown. For real. A genuine, actual nervous breakdown.  I'd been spiraling towards it for months but kept going to the Dr who kept throwing pharmaceutical samples at the problem. It turns out that the last medication was actually toxic to my brain (the psychiatrist's wording) and made the depression worse than anything I've ever experienced in twenty years.
Carri, I wanted to talk to you so much. I listened to your voicemail over and over hoping that there was some secret clue buried in the 30 second message that would tell me how to heal myself.
Ian ended up asking his Mom from TN to come stay with us for a couple weeks to help with the kids while my brain detoxified from the anti-depressant and a new therapist worked with me.  I haven't been to church in months. The kids really want to go again so I feel like I'm depriving them but it's just so hard to sit in a pew and listen to how God "allows" things to happen. He doesn't "cause" them.
Oh, guess what I watched for the very first time? The Scarlet Letter. (The one with Demi Moore.) Man, were those Puritans harsh!
Later that week, I watched a two hour filmography on  the Kennedy's personal films. Remember Ethel? Bobby's wife? The one with the ELEVEN kids? Turns out she was a lousy housekeeper but everyone loved being around her because she tried to keep things fun. I used to wish I could be like Jackie-all poised, well-read and discreet. Now, I think I'll strive to be Ethel. I've already got the housekeeping thing down.
Remember when a letter like this was part of our everyday routine? Even when we got old enough to call each other whenever we wanted I still treasured every piece of precious mail from you.
You're probably wondering how the families are doing.  Well, Mom and Dad FINALLY sold their house in SC and will be moving with their 16 goats to  Athens, ME in the spring. Damon got married two years ago to a wonderful redhead that I adore. Robert and Samantha have their own place with little Mikey.  My Tommy is starting to outgrow his facial tics and he is set to audition for Chorus next week.  It's the first extracurricular activity he's really shown an interest in.  Ava is just like me. (Lord, help us all!) Actually, she's a lot nicer. She has a best friend and they talk on the phone everyday. Remember when we only got to talk every other Saturday for 20 minutes? And then there's my baby. My Carri. I say her name countless times a day and I'm reminded of you in each of those seconds.  She is a brown haired, brown eyed beauty and captures the heart of all who meet her. She's not afraid to sing and dance in front of people.
Life has gone on but it has changed so much without you here. I can't say how much I miss you when I know there are others who do as much and even more.
I miss you, my friend. I love you.
Till next time, I remain
Your loyal Supreme Ruler of the Blondes of the Universe

Helping My Sweet Friends Adopt a Baby

I am really hoping that you feel Carri's presence in this post. She was such a proponent for women whether they wanted children or not. She didn't even care when her car was stolen while she was at Meeting because she figured whoever took it needed it more than her. I'm appealing to you, my West Coast friends because they need all the help they can get. Please learn  about this couple with links to their blog and also to their gofundme.com campaign where, even if you can't or don't want to leave money for this adoption process, you can write words of encouragement.
Deep Breath.
Here goes:

Hello, friends of Leanne and Wes Munn! (And the friends you will become with them once you read their story.) My name is Tanya and I'm a friend of this wonderful couple- this Mommy-and-Daddy-in-Waiting and I just wanted to talk a little bit about this adoption journey from the point of view of this mommy who never felt it laid upon her heart to go that route the way the Munns have.

Getting pregnant was easy for my husband and I. Staying pregnant was another story. We mourned our losses and even thought that parenthood might not be in the cards for us. We only considered adoption once but once the financial aspects of it were explained to us we realized that parenthood might always be just beyond our grasp. I was beyond hurt and the hole in my heart seemed to grow every day.

For some reason, I was under the impression that you just needed to be a good person and a good couple with a steady income and a desire to be a mommy and daddy in order to be considered by a potential birth mother. What I've learned from my limited glimpses into the Munn's journey through the adoption process is that A) In the ten years since I made my first call to the adoption agencies, the financial aspect has only increased and B) Now, thanks to the Internet and sites like gofundme.com. It is now easier than ever to be a part of bringing together one of the greatest gifts God ever intended for a lot of our lives. I mean, if a man can get thousands of dollars from annonymous donors online to buy supplies to make the best potato salad ever, surely we can help to find a forever home for a sweet and needful baby. What's that saying? “It takes a village to raise a child.” Will you or someone you care about be a part of that village? Oh, how I hope you will. Once upon a time we didn't have to ask for a village to help. It was expected; it was freely and happily given and appreciated and absolutely essential. This is an essential time now. What will your loving heart have you do tonight, next week, next month? You mothers and fathers who remember that first cry, that first giggle, that first terrifying fever, that first time you left them in the care of someone else for just a couple of hours so you could feel like a grown up again.

What was your first step toward parenthood? Perhaps you were taken by surprise and you tripped over your dog and fell into the bathroom sink. Perhaps you used charts and thermometers and gave each other an obligatory hug before scheduling little Ryan's entire life on your ten year calender. Perhaps you put it all into the hands of God. No matter how it came to be, I'll bet that no one did a background check on you when your stick turned pink.

For Wes and Leanne the first step was to get Wes well after he was diagnosed with CML (a form of leukemia) five years ago. He's done it! We are all so glad he's still with us! The next step was to complete a long $500 preliminary application where they paid for fingerprinting, undergoing background criminal checks, a couple of adoption classes and , because they are going through a Christian Adoption Agency, they had to write out their testimonies. They've passed all those tests with flying colors. (I knew they would...) But now they need to move forward because, let's face it, they are stuck. Stuck in the financial adoption doldrums. Stuck in their beautiful home with an empty crib. They need to take the next step which is the Home Study with a Social Worker. However, the home-study is not inexpensive.. In fact, it's 3 times more than the application. Ouch!. And let's not forget, if they're chosen they will have to come up with at least $10,000 at the moment the baby is handed over.

I think back to when I was finally expecting my first child and how thankful I was that my co-pays and blood testing and ultrasounds were covered by my insurance. Nothing was due up-front and once my special son, the boy I waited my whole life to meet, was born I was able to make a payment plan that didn't strain our budget.These babies are already gestating in their adoptive parents' hearts. I wish this meant that they could get the kind of coverage that a biological parent can get but maybe one day...This is a very real concern for potential adoptive parents, as I see it, anyway.

The Munns are not only a loving couple, they are a hard working couple who both work at the same college. Wes teaches Anatomy and Physiology to Nursing students and Leanne is Assistant Director in Assessments. They give their jobs everything they can and take pride in working to help others. They put nothing, however, before God and they delight in making surprise dinners for each other, taking their dog for walks together, leaning hard on faith and are often quiet in their prayers for their hearts' greatest desire. So let me, their loud, unabashed friend, put it out there “They are ready for that baby!!! They are financially, emotionally and maritally stable. They are creative and loving and they share these gifts with each other and anyone who's lucky enough to stand in their light.” They simply don't have all the funds needed at one time. Again, think back to your own pregnancy or a friend's and ask yourself “Did I have to pay off that $10,000 at my check-ups?”

Wes is the best photographer this side of the Mason-Dixon Line (ok, that's just my opinion.) with great prices and a willingness to work wherever you need him to and Leanne often goes along as his more than able assistant. This is a couple doing all they can to get on that Waiting List. They're not just sitting around waiting for you to donate your hard earned money. They are thankful for every penny and all the love they feel everytime someone or their donation says “I believe in you and your family. Here's my donation.” It takes a village to raise a child. Yes, it does. But sometimes, it takes a village to make a family.

Here is the link where you can help out with either donations or words of encouragemnt.:

http://www.gofundme.com/5q94hw

Here is a link to Leanne's heartfelt blog:

http://calltoadopt-wesandleanne.blogspot.com

P.S. August is Leanne's birthday month and she is the biggest coffee lover. For her adoption challenge she and anyone who wants to help with a donation is being asked to forgo the cost of one cup of coffee a week until September 1^st. Thanks so much! I know you'll give it much thought and if it feels right to you, you'll find a way to help. It's the one thing I remember the most about the people out West.

Meltdowns, Melancholy, Mental Illness, Mania and it's Flip Side

Having a bad day....So bad that I just typed half a page and my pinky hit THAT button, THAT vengeful, hateful, spiteful key that I can never identify which erases all I've written and by the time I realize that I've made the mistake I've made another keystroke that prohibits the whole "Undo" icon process.
So now, to add to the drama of the day I'm mad at an inanimate object.
Earlier today I was on Cloud Nine, typing away on my laptop, excited to be writing something for some friends of mine (that they never asked me to do) that I hoped would help change some lives. These folks have been so good to me for a few years now, I thought maybe my words could make a positive difference at this juncture in their lives.  They so deserve to have some more blessings tossed their way after fighting CML (a form of leukemia) for years and hoping year after year to have a baby. I got all big-headed and realized that I didn't just want them to be blessed, I wanted them to be blessed because of something I did. See, me and God have had a unique relationship. I tell him what I want and He either loves me and gives it to me, doesn't love me and refuses my request, looks down on me and says "Meh. Next please." This time, though, I was certain He would be so impressed with how much energy and thought I put into it, even praying over it, that He'd bind it up with a gold ribbon and hand it over to all the good people waiting to be blessings to this couple.
Then I read someone else's blog whose topic was similar as my essay and hers was...better. So much better I almost ran out and bought the gold ribbon myself as a gift for her.
And then....
From the next room, a commercial (one of those extended ones that make you think they're an actual program) for Cancer Treatment Centers of America came on. All at once I was spiraled back to that time when I arranged for Carri to go check them out. She really only went to humor me. She really felt that she had all the same amenities in her hometown, just in several locations versus one. Because she was so smart I went along with her even though inside I was screaming "Please! Look at their statistics! Give it a try! Do it for me! Please, please, please!" (I did a lot of internal screaming back then. That might be why I turned into even more of a basket case than I started out as.)
Hearing the commercial, the deeply moving voices, stilled my fingers on the laptop. All of a sudden, for the first time in four years I felt something deep in my belly. I couldn't really identify it. Whatever it was, the lid was trying to come off and something was trying to come up. I began to be afraid. What was this? Oh, God, Oh Father, Oh Lord, please save me I think I'm dying! (It was at this point my husband looked up from his video game and ran to my side begging me to tell him what was wrong but I couldn't speak now.) A gasp escaped all on its own. Oh, no! What was happening to me? I'm on new medication. Could it be an allergic reaction? I couldn't even hear the commercial anymore. Ian's mouth was moving but nothing was coming out. Another gasp, this one more forceful followed by a sound my vocal chords have never made-a guttural wail that lasted about twenty seconds which terrified my husband and kids. Thankfully, daddy ushered the kids to their play area and turned up the tv and closed the door before repeatedly asking "Will you tell me what's wrong now? Tanya! Snap out of it and answer me! What's wrong?!"
"I....can't....talk....I....can't...I.... can't...do...this"
"Do what? What can't you do?"
"I...can't...let...it...out....it's...going...to....hurt....so...much!" Another wail.
"Please stop, baby. Please. What brought this on? I thought you were fine."
That's one of the problems, I guess. I've gotten very good at being "fine."
All of a sudden, I heard a voice in my head I haven't heard since the middle of the night phone call telling me that Carri died. "She's gone." I took it really well back then. I barely cried. I was just glad she was free of the pain.
Oh, God! She's gone! She's gone! (Mind you, this is years after the fact, 3 years
 to be precise.) I can't breathe! She's gone! We'll never see her again. Oh, how I want a trip out west just to stand  in the air she used to breathe, just to be near her friends, just to visit her favorite haunts and hikes and hot springs and try all those new crazy things that no one else ever got me to try.
The wails kept coming, the lid was blown, along with my cover of being just "fine".  Here's something funny: with all of my loyalty and love for her I've been accused of being in-love with her. Yesterday, I found a card from her that said "I don't know what makes this long distance love affair of ours last but I sure am glad that it has." We were best friends. We were blessed. And now I'm here and she's not. And I don't know how to put the lid back on. Do I talk about her to my new friends to keep her memory alive? Do I keep the memories to myself so as not to hurt my new friends?
So, it was GRIEF that exploded from the depths of my belly. It didn't kill me. It. Did. Not. Kill. Me. It did hurt like crazy but once it left my body I felt lighter than I have in a long time.
Now for the crazy part. In case you hadn't picked up on it: I'm bipolar and my meds are being adjusted. So far so good. I only sleep about three hours a night but my living room and kitchen have never been cleaner. My kids are happy they have a mom who doesn't go to sleep at 7 o'clock pm anymore. I'm even getting creative with food menus.
Well, I've stopped crying now so I think this catharsis has done it's job.
May all of you be well in every aspect of your lives. You are loved!

Birth of a Mother (Part 13) Wake Up Call

Part 13

Wake Up Call

Beneath heavy eyelids, the hazy room slowly came into focus. I was so groggy I was seeing double of everything and everyone but my baby. Where was my baby? Where on earth was I?

I saw Mom and Dad first, close together, their shadowy faces etched in worry. Mom? You look like you've been crying. You never cry. Oh God, what's happened? Where is my baby?

It was then that they looked up and saw my eyes opened and I saw the relief flood their faces. I saw Todd, my husband's best friend and the godfather of my new baby and he wasn't his normal joke-cracking self. Finally, I saw Ian.

I managed to croak out a weak, “What happened, Ian?”

“There was a problem but it's been taken care of, “ my husband said.

“I don't understand. What problem? What are you not telling me? Did I have surgery? What did they need to do surgery for? And where is Tommy?” my questions assaulting the quiet of the room.

The pitch of my voice was getting higher with panic. I was imagining the worst possibilities and the fact that no one was very forthcoming with answers was leading me to believe my fears were true. Dear Lord, I thought, please don't let them have done a hysterectomy. Inside, I was screaming for answers but my voice sounded faint.

“Ian, tell me what happened!”

“We'll talk about it later. You need to rest now, little one.”

He was talking to me like I was a child.

“No, you need to tell me now. I can't rest until I know.”

He brushed my hair off my forehead with his fingers and leaned in close to me with a pained look. “No more babies, little one.”

I began to cry.

“They did a hysterectomy?” I asked through my tears.

“No, baby. They didn't do a hysterectomy.”

My mom leaned to explain.

“Honey, the doctor says it's just too dangerous for you to have another baby. Another pregnancy could be fatal. I'm so sorry.”

I still didn't comprehend.

The doctor approached me.

“Tanya, I'd like to give you a shot of estrogen to help stop your bleeding. It will also help your uterus to heal without as much scarring. The only downside is that you won't be able to breastfeed.”

I had been looking forward to nursing my baby since my breasts had begun to swell. I had even dreamt about it. I knew how important nursing was in bonding and we had already been separated for several hours since his birth while I was in surgery.

“Do I have to get the shot?”

“It's entirely up to you.” replied Dr. Smith.

“I don't want it, sir.”

I looked up at Ian and asked if he was okay with that.

He said he was okay as long as I was.

I was thinking to myself that I needed to be as grateful for this baby I had been allowed to give birth to. He was what we had been waiting for all these months. All I wanted was to hold him.

Finally, everyone but Ian filtered out and I was taken to my room. Everyone kept trying to get me to fall asleep but I demanded to see my son.

Ian left to get the baby from the nursery.

The moment that tiny creature was placed in my arms, I was one hundred percent, over the moon, head over heels in love. I felt so guilty that he had spent the first several hours of his life with strangers in a bright nursery. I never wanted to let him go.

It was time to nurse.

Tommy had other ideas.

I went through three nurses and two lactation consultants and he only latched on once. I had two IV's full of strong antibiotics and who knows what else and I was convinced my colostrum must have tasted awful. After his first eager taste, he scrunched up his face and began to scream. (After a week of trying and constant crying-from both of us-we gave up on nursing and I pumped my milk for a month into a bottle which he had no problem taking.)

That first night in the hospital, I barely slept. I kept trying to feed my son but my efforts continually failed and the nursery gave him supplemental nourishment. By the next morning, I couldn't keep my eyes open. I had decided to have the baby room-in with me but Ian insisted that night that I needed to sleep or I wouldn't be any good to the baby. He took the baby to the nursery and the nurse slipped something into my IV.

I woke up, crying, to darkness and Ian's voice replaying in my mind “no more babies, little one. No more babies.”

One of the things that had gotten me through this difficult pregnancy was the thought that maybe next time it wouldn't be so bad.

I had spent so much of the last eight and a half months miserable with vomitting and back aches and heartburn and sciatic nerve pain that I'd been so ready for the baby to hurry up and be born. Now, he was here and I was never going to feel another baby moving inside of me. I would never have the chance to try and enjoy another pregnancy.

I began to sob uncontrollably.

Ian woke up from the tiny uncomfortable chair wedged in the corner of the small room.

“What's the matter cutie?” he asked attentively.

“I should have tried to enjoy this pregnancy more. Why didn't I try to enjoy it more? I'm never going to have another baby. My body is still defective! Our boy will never have a brother or sister. He's going to miss out on so much because of me and this stupid body of mine! I can't even nurse him! What kind of mother am I?” I blubbered.

I knew I was being self centered and that my hormone levels were going crazy and everything, literally, EVERYTHING, made me cry. The thought that my baby wouldn't nurse and I'd never have a chance to try again with another baby somewhere down the road was too much for me at that moment. I felt as though all my choices had been taken away.

Then they brought Tommy in and I held him close as I thought, “You are the only child I need. You are HERE and I will never let you think you aren't enough for me or anyone else.”