It seems that I only write when I feel I must because the words are about to all come out anyway. I do that in relationships, too. While I have been accused of being blunt, I tend to hold back on negative comments or criticisms until I feel that it will be sin to not speak up, but sometimes I still bottle up my views for fear that I will be rejected, will hurt my friend's feelings, or that I will simply be rebuffed. It is complicated, this business of when to speak and when to be silent, when to wrap it in a pretty package, and when to be plain and simple. After all, once the words are out there is no taking them back.
In my last blog I mentioned being nearly off all anti-depressants. Well, I am there, and it is no bed of roses! I can see that in relationships, just as in my medical care, I have to advocate for myself, if you will, to make my needs, desires, convictions known. As much as I am tempted to think that my husband should just know what I want if he really really loves me, I cannot expect him to read my mind. This is sooooo hard. If I don't verbalize to him what is going on inside of me we can get into a passive-aggressive game and have lots of unfulfilled expectations. A little vague, huh? If it hurts me to bend over and clean the tub because of the recent surgery, I need to tell him I need some help with that instead of playing a game to see who will clean it first. This is a pretty simple example, but I can look around my home and see so many simple examples of lack of communication. These things pile up literally and figuratively until it weighs down a relationship with junk. I don't want this for my relationship with my husband, or with anyone else, for that matter.
I think I will give myself a gift of a bottle opener with an inscription that says, "pray and count to 10 before using." Maybe this will keep me in balance.
Monday, July 12, 2010
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
healing old wounds by reopening them
This morning I went to the medical records office at the hospital where I recently had some surgery so that I could get needed reports for the new surgeon whom I will see later today. I finally got the courage to get the records from the delivery of my second child. Courage was needed only because the delivery was nothing short of a nightmare, leaving both me and my baby near death, save for the grace of God and the skill and quick thinking with which He equipped our doctor.
Truly, I was traumatized that day when things didn't go as planned. Brock went into distress due to the cord wrapped around his neck, and Dr. Wood had to switch gears from the intended vaginal delivery to an emergency C-section. When she made the skin cut she found my little baby already out of the womb, in my abdomen, my uterus completely ruptured. Brock was blue, not breathing, limp, and had a low heart rate, minimal responses. The Apgar score was 2 out of 10, with 10 being normal! After resuscitation and 5 minutes of O2 his score was up to 7, and finally made it up to 8 after 10 minutes. Meanwhile, I lost approximately 1 to 1.2 liters of blood. Dr. Wood, bless her fast hands, stitched up my uterus and sewed up my body.
Tears stream down my cheeks now as I recall the difficulty with bonding to the child who was disinterested and wouldn't look at me. The next few years were filled with hours long screaming tantrums which, I learned today from a pediatric Physical Therapist friend, can be caused by birth trauma. He has been plagued by hearing difficulties, now mostly resolved, and some difficulty with learning. Though he is very bright, consistently scoring very well on standardized tests, he lives in his own world a great deal of the time. On the other hand, Brock can entertain himself easily with reading, Origami, science experiments and magic tricks. We are thankful that this year he unlocked a hidden musical talent and is playing the clarinet beautifully! We look forward to when we can afford the piano lessons he so desperately desires. At 12 years old he seems to finally be making forward strides in regard to his social awkwardness but still struggles with an over-the-top anger problem, with outbursts way out of proportion to the stimulus.
This summer has been a tough one for our family. I had to have surgery to repair a problem related to scar tissue from the above complications and from the later hysterectomy; my older son Brighton is in a brace due to an unstable fracture in his spine, and my husband's liver disease has been giving him some grief. All of this has forced Brock to step up and grow up. While I have struggled most of my life with depression, I am finally approaching being medication-free. The Son is shining, and it is a beautiful day, indeed!
Truly, I was traumatized that day when things didn't go as planned. Brock went into distress due to the cord wrapped around his neck, and Dr. Wood had to switch gears from the intended vaginal delivery to an emergency C-section. When she made the skin cut she found my little baby already out of the womb, in my abdomen, my uterus completely ruptured. Brock was blue, not breathing, limp, and had a low heart rate, minimal responses. The Apgar score was 2 out of 10, with 10 being normal! After resuscitation and 5 minutes of O2 his score was up to 7, and finally made it up to 8 after 10 minutes. Meanwhile, I lost approximately 1 to 1.2 liters of blood. Dr. Wood, bless her fast hands, stitched up my uterus and sewed up my body.
Tears stream down my cheeks now as I recall the difficulty with bonding to the child who was disinterested and wouldn't look at me. The next few years were filled with hours long screaming tantrums which, I learned today from a pediatric Physical Therapist friend, can be caused by birth trauma. He has been plagued by hearing difficulties, now mostly resolved, and some difficulty with learning. Though he is very bright, consistently scoring very well on standardized tests, he lives in his own world a great deal of the time. On the other hand, Brock can entertain himself easily with reading, Origami, science experiments and magic tricks. We are thankful that this year he unlocked a hidden musical talent and is playing the clarinet beautifully! We look forward to when we can afford the piano lessons he so desperately desires. At 12 years old he seems to finally be making forward strides in regard to his social awkwardness but still struggles with an over-the-top anger problem, with outbursts way out of proportion to the stimulus.
This summer has been a tough one for our family. I had to have surgery to repair a problem related to scar tissue from the above complications and from the later hysterectomy; my older son Brighton is in a brace due to an unstable fracture in his spine, and my husband's liver disease has been giving him some grief. All of this has forced Brock to step up and grow up. While I have struggled most of my life with depression, I am finally approaching being medication-free. The Son is shining, and it is a beautiful day, indeed!