But, I'm sure I have a diagnosable anxiety disorder. Doing what I do for a living, I can spot that kind of thing a mile away.
First, a warning. If you
a) are currently pregnant or
b) don't want to hear about tragedy in general, you might want to stop reading this post now.
In my last entry, I alluded to the fact that I'm fearful about certain aspects of this baby-having business. First, there's the whole unknown factor. But, truthfully, I'm not that concerned about how it will all unfold. I'm trying not to hang on tightly to any one scenario of birthing my baby. Back when I was in the Peace Corps, I became good at having few expectations in a situation. You want to take a bus to the capital? Be prepared to wait for six hours because the bus driver's neighbor let his goats get out of their cage earlier that day, and the driver had to help corral them before leaving town. Life happens. I waited. After a while, I learned to expect and enjoy life's little detours.
Second on the list of often quoted fears about birth is the anticipated pain. Here's the thing about pain, though... humans don't remember it very well. I have no concept of how much pain is
a lot of pain, and therefore, I'll save that particular fear for the moment in which I'm screaming for an epidural. No, seriously, though, I do expect it to be painful. It's supposed to hurt to shove a human being out of your guts. I can't say I'm prepared for the experience, what with never having experienced it before, but I'm optimistic that I can handle it however I choose to manage it. And I trust in my husband to know my quirks and to manage the hospital staff, as needed.
So, that leaves the Big Third Fear. This is the one that wakes me up at 2:00AM. It's the one that gives me those photo flashback moments that terrify and paralyze me. It's something I wish I didn't know. Something I wish I had never experienced, but that made me more appreciative of life, overall. And I have no idea how to manage the anxiety and intrusive thoughts it gives me during these last weeks of pregnancy.
Back when I was in high school, I got hooked on Vietnam movies, both fiction and documentary. There was something about the tragedy that spoke to my deepest heart and made me so intensely sad. I had never experienced death in my life, personally, and the thought of so many families losing someone they loved took my breath away. And it became an obsession of sorts... focusing on other people's suffering. Just wishing there was something I could do to make the sadness stop for everyone involved. It just occurred to me that maybe that's partly why I have the job that I do now.
In any case, I eventually moved out of that phase and into my Save the World phase, which was made up of much of the same fascinations with hardships of others. It's been a long time since I felt that deeply for someone else's pain. I have training now to turn off that kind of personal involvement and emotion. And usually, it works for me. Most of the time.
As I near my due date, I feel my baby boy wiggle in my belly, and I fall more and more in love with him and the idea of holding him and watching him grow. It is now that I find myself mired in a memory of tragedy that refuses to be shut off.
In early 2006, my friends awaited the birth of their much-longed-for baby girl. We threw a baby shower and the atmosphere was all excitement and celebration. Exactly one week later, I got an early morning call on my way to the gym. She had had the baby, there was some distress, but things were being managed. Several minutes later, I received another call. The long-awaited baby girl had passed away just hours after being born. There had been no indication of any problems, and everyone was in shock.
I turned the car around and headed to the hospital. Once there, I stood awkwardly in the labor and delivery room with my friends and their baby who would never grow up. I was silent as I stared at her. A dead baby. Nobody knew why; it just was. And here are the memories burned into my mind... mother holding infant and sobbing as though her own life would end, father crying while talking to relatives on the phone during what should be a joyful moment, the wrong-ness of how still she lay, those little toes and the tiny pink hat they had put on her head. The images haunt me as I get close to giving birth to my own baby at the very same hospital.
Those next months were heart-wrenching, and I was very sad for my friends, during that time. But now, feeling my own baby inside me, and knowing that my friend must have felt similar wiggles and kicks, and had such love and expectations for her own baby... it leaves me stunned into renewed sadness for all of them.
And there is no erasing that experience... the knowledge that, even though all the baby books say,
"No matter what type of birth experience you have, you can be sure you'll be taking home a wonderful new addition to your family," it just might not happen. I find myself wandering around the house, imagining my friends coming in and taking down the baby gear we've been excitedly setting up... so that we don't have to endure doing that ourselves.
And I catch myself doing this. This is the diagnosable part. I know that odds are in our favor. But, I'm feeling superstitious and scared... and I just want my baby to be healthy and okay. I want to bring him home with his little sleeper and hat and carseat and blanket. And I want to snuggle him and feed him and watch him grow.
There's so much in me for him. I can't bear to imagine an alternate scenario... and yet, some days, it's on an endless loop in my head, which I can't seem to control.
