Auggie is becoming more active during the day time, and usually during late morning I feel him kick and swivel around. It’s like a morning tradition with him, sending little secret messages to Mom that he’s there and he’s coming and it’s the best thing.
Another morning tradition, a much earlier-as-soon-as-I-awaken tradition for me, is scrolling through the day’s Timehop feed and seeing what the past had to offer. Today brought up a blog post from 3 years ago, called Bad News. I remembered this post without having to read it, but I did read it, because of its new significance. It was 3 years ago today that I got the call from the Polk County Health Department informing me I did indeed get Lyme Disease that summer. The whole post was important for me personally to read, but this bit in particular is important for more than just me, I think:
Before I had even hung up the phone with the health department, I began to cry. Once the connection was severed, I burst into sobs. All of a sudden the migraines and aching fingers, the still-lingering spurts of numbness and soreness in my neck and face, the ever-increasing numbness of my fingers including the recently finicky middle finger….it all seemed much more ominous. Allergies and sinus infections and improper ergonomics when typing vanished and lymph-node dwelling, meninges-eating, Lyme loomed darkly in my mind. A future of decreased mobility, no children, and memory loss seemed certain. All through this I prayed, and quickly went to find my mom for more assurance.
That part about no children ate at me more than any other. It was echoed in the following months as I sought treatment through many paths and experts. Not that it was guaranteed infertility, but that it could be, and that it would certainly be “irresponsible” to try getting pregnant until 1-2 years had passed because my body needed that time to heal. No woman wants to hear that even if she wasn’t planning on having children. It’s like this essential function has been denied, stolen, taken away.
I’d already lived in that fear of biological failure because of the eating disorder, because of 6 years of amenorrhea and then a violent, monthly, return. Because of what doctors had already told me all this without the addition of Lyme could very well add up to mean.
I’m going to put faith in you that you’re recognizing the significance of this anniversary. As I sit and reread and relive those fears and wonderings, this baby boy, my son, is squirming to a point of adorable discomfort. I know that not every woman’s issues with fertility end this happy. I know (trust me, because of my bff Anxiety) that our story isn’t over and happy may not be where we land.
Even in my dreams of Augustine, he’s often with someone else and I’m desperately trying to get to him. It’s probably my anxious mind’s lingering disbelief working itself out. But just last night I had a different kind of dream, one where I did get to him. And I saw a wrinkly, red little boy with bright blue eyes and so much dark hair it looked like a wig, whose face broke into a smile the moment I leaned over his crib and said “Hello.”
Even if the timing of that old post and this one is coincidental, I think its helpful for me and for others to reflect on those dark moments in our past and recognize what beautiful light has come bursting through.