I Can Hear the Ghosts Calling

Yesterday I was looking at the pictures that hang on our living room wall from our wedding day two years ago.  I realized how different I looked from the smiling bride in the pictures, the woman who had no clue what life would hand her in just two short years.  Maybe I don't look different to other people, but I do to myself when I look in the mirror.  Looking at the picture and thinking about everything that has changed, I realized that I lost the last little part of myself that was still a child the day a doctor said the words "severe hydrocephalus." 

It's not that I believe I was naive, immature, or childish before this.  Having a brother with special needs, I am often told that I grew up too fast.  This may be true, but having wonderful parents, a part of me did remain a child long into my twenties.  That piece of you that still irrationally believes that your parents can make anything feel better, even if they can't fix it.

I've done all the "adult" things: paid the bills, fixed a broken sink, and earned a paycheck. I've taken care of a sick husband in the hospital.  I have seen pain, I have experienced hurt. I have gotten through to the other side of an abusive relationship.  I have taken a baby with broken bones out of the arms of his screaming father.  I have carried a crying toddler out of the home of a mother who promises she could get clean if she just had one more chance.  I have sat with a crying mother while she asks if her six year old will ever say "I love you."  I've listened to an autistic child tell me they do not have any strengths and have no friends.

Through all of that, and more that I don't care to mention, I believe this small part of me still remained a child.  But the day a doctor sat in a room with my mother, husband, and myself and wrote the words "severe hydrocephalus" on a piece of paper and told me to "terminate the pregnancy," that piece grew up too.  As the doctor used scare tactics to tell my mother and husband termination was best, I knew that I needed to be the one to fight for my child, whether the doctor was correct or not.  Over the next fews days, I felt and saw many around me give up on my child before everything was confirmed.  Joe and I held hope, but not many others did.  I began doing research and making contact with CHOP to get more information.  I found that most of the things the doctor said to scare us ("permanent damage" to me, and hints at death), were lies.  Joe and I made our position clear with friends and family, and did find a ton of support.  However, during those first few moments all childish beliefs that my parents, or doctors, were able to make anything okay, were gone. 

Children like to think they can do anything on their own and do not like to ask for help, especially older children who think they are adults.  Admitting you need help and accepting help shows maturity.  This is another way I have changed since that day in July.  Despite always knowing that my parents, and others in my life, would help me anytime I asked, I really preferred to do things on my own.  I would ask how to do something or for some advice, but I wanted to DO it myself.  Can't you just hear a child saying "I do it myself"?  I carried this stubbornness into all my relationships, including my marriage.  I would rather do things myself than ask Joe for help most of the time. 

My first gut reaction to being told about Mira's hydrocephalus really showed the extent to which I wanted to do things on my own.  Up until now, I've only ever admitted to Joe was my first thoughts were.  I decided that if Joe, the doctors, and my family pushed me towards abortion, I would leave.  I would go somewhere and see the pregnancy through to the end, and if I survived, I would come back after.  I decided that I would do this myself.  Of course, that crazy thought only lasted a few minutes, as I realized how much pain I could cause everyone else by doing that.  And no one continued to push for termination after we asked for a different doctor and began educating ourselves on our options. But my gut reaction to a crisis was to runaway and handle it myself, even though I have a wonderful husband who never made any indication that he would not fight just has hard for his child.

I found a picture in that basement

My face a hundred years ago

But I don't want to do like he did,

So full of pride and all alone

Escape is in my blood

Fear is in my bones

But I don't want to walk that road

Please help me?

Hold my hand, I can hear ghosts calling

Help me stand, even if the sky is falling

And I want you to know, I can't do it alone

Hold my hand, my hand, my hand

(The Fray)

Over the last 3 months, I have had to let go of all this "stubborn independence" too.  I have had to let Joe help me get dressed when I was too weak from "morning" sickness to do it myself.  I have had to ask Joe to help me walk up the stairs when the pain from no amniotic fluid is too intense.  I have accepted money from family and friends who want to help with CHOP expenses.  I have had to admit that I am not okay to people, rather than say I am fine.  I never thought that accepting/needing more help would be a part of growing up, but it really is.  A child says they can do it themselves, an adult asks for what they need when it is too much.  A child runs away to deal with things their own way (either physically or emotionally), an adult advocates for their needs and asks for support from others.    

Maybe over time I will find other parts of myself that are still a child, but right now, when I look at those pictures of a happy bride, I realize how much I have already changed.  And I know there is much more pain to come.  Thankfully, I also know that God, my family, and my friends are there for Joe and I.  Maybe I learned that my parents can't make my pain go away, but I also learned that if I accept it they, and many, many others, will help me through it.