Wednesday, June 23, 2010



Last night after we had put the kids to bed and cleaned up the remains of the family birthday party my husband looked at me and said "Can you believe our baby is two?"
No I couldnt.
As I tried to fall asleep my mind wandered back to two years ago.
After nine months of intense vomitting and depression I had finally given birth to my baby boy.
The puking was supposed to stop. The pain was supposed to stop. The depression was supposed to stop.
Try telling that to a big mess of placenta that is left in your uterus by a bunch of inept doctors from a joke of a medical clinic.
I tossed and turned replaying every awful moment of the month that followed.
The horrible ambulance rides.
The blood clots the size of the human liver.
The IV's and medications and people looking at me with blank confusion when I asked
what was wrong with me.
The ten days in the hospital with visits from my children and newborn baby whom I feared would not know me.
The hours of waiting for someone to figure out what was wrong with me.
The frustration of a husband who wanted his wife home.
The amazing help from friends who pitched in to help.
The nights of fear in the hospital as machines beeped and hummed all around me, wondering if I fell asleep would I start to bleed again and never wake up.
The blood transfusions, the weakness, the thoughts that my world had stopped but outside that window the rest of the world went on without me.
A diagnosis, sugery, a promise that things would be better now.
When I returned home I held my boy, let him sleep beside me, talked to him, sang to him. Tried to make up for the time we were apart despite my lack of energy.
More bleeding, returning to the hospital days later and being told nothing was better.
My girls thought I was going to die.
My husband thought I was going to die.
I thought I was going to die.
I have never cried more in my whole life.

Then I had to stop thinking about all of it. Erase it all from my mind before I started to drive myself crazy.
Because I am fine.
My boy is fine.
My boy is two!
He is funny and happy and wild and sweet. He loves Toy Story, and running and wrestling with his sisters and the new puppy. He is delicious and dramatic and tender all at the same time!
Happy birthday J-Boo.
We love you!