14 years ago I was 8 1/2 months pregnant, laying on our couch, at 2 am, counting the minutes between contractions. [Don't worry. I detail breakfast better than the childbirth part. It's safe.]
The kids were asleep, as was Dad, but since I had done this three times before I wasn't worried. 10 minutes, then it went to 8 minutes and so on through the night.
No big deal. Pooldad woke up at six a.m. and asked "So, am I going to work today?" I calmly replied "No. Let's get the little ones off to school and then call the doctor."
We did and the doctor told me to come in right away and to not eat anything before I got there.
Did I mention I had done this before? We stopped at a local diner and I had the best french toast, hashbrowns and chocolate milk ever. I knew I was going to be in labor for a while and darned if I wasn't eating. Yum. I can still taste that french toast. [I had to throw that little tid bit in. That was some really good french toast. Let me tell you.]
Anyhoodle, when we got there, low and behold, I was in labor and 5 centimeters dialated. That was at 9 am. Not to be too specific or personal - our little sweetheart was born 8 hours later. At 4:51 pm on September 4th, 1997.
Yep! Today is Wallene's 14th birthday. I couldn't be happier for our surprise [and believe me, she was a surprise] and the joy she brings to us every single day. The best part of my day is 4 pm, when she walks in the door from school with all her stories and jokes and whatnot.
She is a gift that I never expected after I was blessed with Pooldad. It was like God decided to double my great luck and reward me with more smiles that light my world! YAY!
The reason for the post title? Tonight I sit here at 2 am and I am in pain. Extreme pain. Pain that I can't solve. Not because I am in labor or I am getting a gift that will enhance my life, but because I have over extended myself for the love of all my babies.
Now, that sounds very "woe is me" and "aren't I great?" But it isn't meant to be. It is actually the opposite.
There are so many things I want to do that I can't. There are so many things that I need to do that I shouldn't and sometimes I forget [ignore] that I can't. I CAN'T DO IT. And when I say I CAN my family gets all cheery and pulls out the wheelchair and off we go! I see how much they want it and I can't say no.
A combination of things converged this week to absolutely wreck me. I try to be happy, happy [okay, the last post doesn't count] but usually I am. In real life and on my blog. Skippy has a reason.
I am mad at myself. But also sad, because I can't DO. Sad because I know how important it is to them that I try. Sad because I fail. Sad because they all still want to believe I am not sick and it will be okay. I appear physically healthy when I don't move. Sad because I can't lift my arm and walking hurts. Mad because we don't have health insurance. There is no way to manage this pain. Frustrated because I am awake at 2 am and can't sleep. For the pain. Heartbroken because I am dying and THERE ARE NO ANSWERS.
Crying because I can't go back 14 years and start all over and make it turn out different. If the doctors had just figured out why my anemia was so severe when I had Wallene [or Natalie, JR or Squirrel] I wouldn't be in this mess. Or if I had just pushed harder for a diagnosis. Why? Heck, I had great insurance with all of them. They could've done so much more.
I guess the pain is relative. You can feel immense pain and be rewarded and you can feel intense pain and feel as though you are being punished.
It just depends on how you choose to view it I suppose. I am running out of the strength to see through this pain and look at the rewards I would receive. The happiness of my family. The excitement when they get Mom back for a moment or two. The pain is outweighing the payoff. That makes me saddest of all.
It is almost too much Tadpoles. I just don't know what to do anymore.