It's been four and a half months since my c-section.
Mind-boggling is what that is.
Also four and a half months since Laithe was born, but that's a different post, kind of, or something.
I've specifically not written about this birth experience yet. I've left it out on purpose. After weeks of starting blog posts and not being able to finish them I gave in to the voice that said, give yourself a break and take some time to process this.
I'm not on the same healing path I was last time. The one that needed intense counseling. The one that necessitated long showers so I could just cry. Long drives with loud music and yelling.
This one is more of a dull roar. Less raw though not less painful. It just aches. It seems to be following my surgical healing experience. Where the first time I was afraid to touch my scar, afraid my body would break open at any point, this time I explored my scar. Massaged it and forced myself to look at it almost daily. Knowing that I heal better when my injury is not a mystery to me.
I was no less surprised this time. No less shocked at the outcome that meant that at the same time that I was newly-mothering my child I was healing from surgery. I had so incorporated the idea that I would have a vaginal birth into my reality that it took some effort to change that reality. There were, are, days that I need to remind myself that I have had two c-sections.
I was, am, also no less angry. No less indignant this time around. The anger isn't the arterial wound it was last time though. Again with the ache. Makes me slightly nervous- knowing how much easier it is to bury when it is just an ache. Funny thing, I thought the anger would have more to do with whether or not it was a "good" decision to have a c-section. That if I ever had to have another one and it wasn't a last-ditch effort like my first one I'd feel less anger, but no, not so much.
Many days I can get away with not really thinking about it. Not really dealing with anything. Thinking it's enough to deal with the dishes. Then days happen like last Thursday when I have this horrible knife-like pain in my lower back and realize it's in the exact spot my spinals were in. And I freak out because I've had a needle stuck into my spine three times. (the first one wasn't effective this last time, so they had to redo it) This can't be good for me or my spine. What if they did something wrong? Or when a friend had a baby a few weeks ago and I felt two things. 1. utter joy for her that she has a beautiful new baby and that everything went smoothly and well and 2. envy. sheer nausea inducing envy. The feelings are simultaneous. I kind of loathe that part of myself.
I work with grieving people every day, so I know that's what this is, but of course it doesn't make it any easier.
These kind of days irritate me. They make the rest of the week tough. But they should because these are the kind of days that require us to try and heal, right? They force us not to be static.
Early last week Guthrie and I were in the attic. The attic that I can't quite manage to go into without some sort of grief or anger or something gnawing at the back of my mind. There are still several things up there that are left from when I was preparing for a homebirth. In particular a picture I'd posted by the tub for focusing on if I needed it. I threw it away and Guthrie questioned me on it. I told her it was from when we were going to have Laithe be born at home. She looks in the trash can and looks me squarely in the eye and says, 'mama I'm sorry Laithe wasn't born here in our house. I hope your next baby is born here in our house.'
She, in particular, forces me not to be static.