Answers

Answers, clear, definite statements of the way it's going to be or should be. That's what I'm always looking for. I've been looking for answers forever. In school I sought the right answer to make the perfect grade, to please my teachers. In college I searched for the right answer for a major and after graduating scrambled to find the answer to what to do next. I become panicked when I don't feel like I have a clear answer, when I don't know exactly which way to walk, when I can't be certain that I'm doing "it" right.

And, now, as Brad wrote, no one will give us a definite answer. No one will tell me exactly how long this will all last, because no one on earth knows. There is no answer and I'm forced to live in this moment, in each moment with out the certainty of the details I crave or the validation of what I believe will be.

But it's not just the end I want to be able to know clearly, perhaps to see it so I don't fear it, but I compare my heart and thoughts and processes to others in similar situations. There it is. Something I can see in all of my life; I want to "act" right, too. But what is right when you are losing a baby? I read other mother's stories and fret over my heart feeling different from theirs. I read of them longing for live births and for as many days with their baby as possible. I question my love for Sully. I question my "rightness" as a mother. Because I don't long for that.

I kept trying to get our genetic counselor to tell us exactly what the things we saw on our ultrasound meant for Sully. What does it mean for him that the back of his brain isn't right? What does it mean that his heart has a clear hole in the pumping chambers? She gingerly described what happens when a baby is born without a properly functioning heart. It was a description of a baby who's heart must struggle, and the question of his length of life depended on how long that imperfect little heart could struggle before it let go. I don't want his heart to struggle or be so strained. It sounded painful. I wonder if he is born alive if he'll be in pain. I don't want him to be in pain or to hurt. As long as he is inside of me, my heart works for him. He doesn't have to oxygenate his own blood yet and send it out to his body so the hole doesn't really bother him right now. He doesn't struggle right now. In fact, I think he's quite cozy and happy.

I want for Sully to go from here, from the safety and comfort of my belly, to the safety and comfort of God's own arms. I want it to be quiet, hushed, not filled with the rushing to and fro of medical aid. I want it to be gentle for him, and as gentle for me as it can be.

And yes, for me, is it wrong to long for things for myself? In my head, the good and right mother sacrifices everything for her child. But I have found myself hoping that I wouldn't have to endure the full 40 weeks of pregnancy if it is truly to end the way it is predicted. I had hoped that the ultrasound would show us that an early release was coming. Instead we were told to expect to go full term, and it overwhelmed me. Is that selfish? Is that wrong? Shouldn't I want every day possible with Sully? I'm creating what the "right" way to be is in my head based on some journal entries of other women, on what I think others expect of me.

How long will I compare my heart, myself, to others? To hold myself up to some answer that doesn't really exist. My midwife reminded me yesterday that I can't do this wrong. Right and wrong - why am I such a slave to it? When will I learn to honor the integrity and validity of my own experience?