October 22, 2014
The past few days have been rough. I don’t know why. No particular reason. Lots of little things. Colored by one not-so little thing. But I learned about that after the roughness started. So that’s not the cause. Just the cause of the continuation.
Last week, a friend and colleague stopped to chat. And by stopped to chat, I mean to commiserate about ART. She’s going through IVF. If I remember correctly, this will be her fifth round. She’s had two miscarriages. And everyone is pregnant. And I’m glad that she shared. I’m glad that she knows that I’m here to listen. Even if I’m one of the “everyone” who is pregnant. I know prayers, good thoughts, whatever positivity you wish to send into the universe on her behalf is appreciated.
So there was that.
And then, because my sciatica has been awful, I’ve been taking the elevator. This does mean I can stop and chat with our receptionist whom I hardly ever see now that Courtney takes care of checking the mail every day. (The stairs bypass the reception desk.) Our receptionist is due in December. (I told you everyone is pregnant.) So we were talking about being pregnant. And she doesn’t read my blog. So she knew that Sofia had died, but she didn’t know how. And I told her. And there are things I’m happier not thinking about, not remembering.
Friday night, I was okay. Until I climbed into bed. And then I started to sob. To weep. And I couldn’t stop. No particular reason. Just my brain thinking too hard. Worrying about things that aren’t worth worrying about. Being scared that I won’t love this baby as much as I loved Sofia. That this baby will grow up thinking that I’m trying to replace the baby I lost and that it can’t live up to my expectations. That it will be a boy and it will know I wanted a girl. That it will be a girl and will think it can never be as perfect as the baby who died.
So I called my mom. And she said that when she was pregnant with me, she shared the same fears with her mom. Grandma told her that love is not finite. That we will be amazed when we have that second child at how much more love there is to give.
We talked for a couple of hours. And I was finally able to stop crying. And I could breathe again. And I finally fell asleep. I didn’t sleep well, but I slept some.
The cloud came on Saturday. One of my cousin’s best friends has a five-year-old daughter. Jenna has been in chemo for a brain tumor for a while. Friday, she received a terminal diagnosis. The tumor is inoperable. And growing. (I thanked my mom for not sharing this info when we’d been on the phone Friday night even though Shawn had already shared it with her.)
And now I’m going through a work week of little things. I left my keys at home on Monday, so I couldn’t get into my desk to get to the full bottle of water. I knew I had a full bottle, so I didn’t pack one. We have an applicant who is making things much more difficult than they are. (When you finish the form, hit the “submit” button. Is that so hard?) The Dean is having his assistant reschedule meetings without bothering to do a busy search to see if invitees will actually be available and not, say, working an ER shift. The bathroom is too damn far away. (I told you my sciatica has been bad.) My phone decided it wanted to just text and take calls and not be a smartphone anymore. (I rebooted. That fixed it. Thanks for the suggestion, Daddy. I didn’t have enough brain power to come up with that as a possible solution myself.)
I’m having a hard time focusing. I know I’ve gotten some work done, but I’m not sure I could tell you what. And I sit here and can feel that I’m on the edge. One more thing and I’ll start crying again. And it won’t be anyone’s fault. Not really. I’m just having a hard time keeping my balance right now.