Before they diagnosed my esophageal disorder, I spent about 6 weeks in what I can only describe as hell. I was 8 months pregnant and couldn’t hold down food or water. I went to work and prayed that something would change. In the midst of that I experienced many sleepless nights. I spent much of that time reading, crying, taking showers, pacing and doing other erratic things to try to manage the anxiety I felt about what was happening to my body. I keep telling the doctors something was wrong. Towards the end, before they finally broke my water-I wrote this letter to my unborn son:
I know you’re in there, pushing against my pelvis and well, that just rocks. I must say, the last few weeks have been very, very difficult for me. You see, I like things to flow and well, the last few weeks have been full of flow-just not the sort I was hoping for. The last few weeks I have coughed up more mucus, vomited and generally been deprived every option for nutrition as it has violently expelled from my body.
You however, are still very happily attached. At our last ob appointment the doc laughed about how far down your head is, as if at the right moment you’d decide this ship was sinking and jump off.
At this point, I’m not sure what to say to you. I’ve had several anxiety ridden conversations about how I’d love it if you’re hatch already, but really the underpinning of it has been:do what you need to do and I’ll continue to this disastrous road as best I can. I want you to be healthy and if that means you have to sap everything from me, so be it. I’ll try not to resist so much.
I must say that this is by far the most difficult thing I’ve ever done. I’ve never considered myself a pansy. I’ve always thought when it came down to it, I could do just about anything. I had enough evidence lined up to convince a jury that I was capable, but lately I’ve begun to question that belief. Frankly, this is one of the few times in my life when I’ve felt hopeless and overwhelmed. My friends joke that this is the perfect prelude to parenthood. I half laugh & nearly scream seriously are you insane? They all say it’s worth it, and somewhere deep down inside, I believe them.
Given it all, even when I feel pretty bad, I’m excited to meet you and I hope that you’re ok in there, because out here I’m a hormonal and dehydrated mess.
I can’t promise a lot but I can promise that I’ll take good care of you.
Love, your mom.