I Need a Hand to Help Build Up Some Kind of Hope Inside of Me

I have been carrying my pain fairly well for the past few months.  That does not really mean it hurts any less that my daughter died, but it does mean I that I know I can survive it and have been able to continue living life while carrying her.  It means that there are really hard days, especially around certain dates, but they don’t have to be hard months, they can just be hard days.  It means I can cry and miss her and be angry she is gone, but also be grateful to be Mira’s mom and find joy in my life. It means I can feel full of hurt and pain some days, but know it won’t kill me, and better days will come. I had been doing fairly well.

Then August 2 happened.  About a week and a half ago, I had foot surgery.   I have been being treated for pain in my foot being caused by an extra bone that shouldn’t be there since the beginning of February, and with no other treatment options, I agreed to surgery.  The surgery itself went well, no complications and I am healing as expected.  The pain was terrible in the beginning but started improving after only a few days.  My mental health on the other has taken a hard hit.  This is not something that people often talk about, but problems with depression or anxiety after surgery, especially when general anesthesia and opioids are used are, not uncommon.  Add in a diagnosis of PTSD and history of anxiety, and I was certainly high risk for postoperative depression. 

I have been wanting to take the time to write about this, because I know writing helps me.  But also, because I hope to spread some more awareness with this post.  I am always looking to spread awareness of infant loss and the grieving process with my posts, but with this one, I also ask you to think about how triggering situations affect anyone with PTSD, no matter what trauma lead to the diagnosis.  And I ask you to be aware of the level of anxiety and depression that can occur after receiving anesthesia and/or certain pain medications.  These are things we just don’t speak about enough. 

Anyway, I had been doing fairly well.  Then I scheduled a surgery where I was aware I would be surrounded by triggers.  I spoke to my doctor and nurses ahead of time, which I HIGHLY recommend to any other loss Mom who finds hospitals triggering, and they really were wonderful.  I prepared myself the best I could, but I was still feeling very anxious the day of surgery.  I was able to manage it all internally well, until we walked up to the elevators in the hospital.  This was a different hospital that I had Mira in, but it didn’t matter.  As we walked up to the elevators, there was a sign right next to them telling you which floor to select for Labor and Delivery.  And suddenly I wasn’t in York Hospital anymore.  That how PTSD works, at least that is how it feels for me.  I flew through time and space, and suddenly I was pushing the button for the elevator at CHOP praying for it to go slow, stall, anything for more time with Mira alive in my belly.  And from there it was a hard, hard day. 

I went back to the pre-op area and answered all the questions.  I made sure they received the notes from my doctor about my PTSD.  I had my vitals taken and an IV started.  It felt so similar.  I was told not to bring any jewelry, and I left everything at home except for my Mira ring.  I could not leave that ring shaped like baby feet with her name engraved and her birthstone at home, so I wore it knowing I would have to hand it over to Joe.  When the nurse asked if I had any jewelry (or a list of other things) I told her just a ring and asked if I could keep it until I went back and give it to Joe.  She said that was fine, then glanced down at it and saw the shape.  She then said, “That looks like one you need to keep with you” and wrapped sterile tape around it instead.  This nurse was amazing. 

I stayed very anxious, but in control until it was time for me to go back and then were a few nurses and other hospital staff around me all talking and my Mom and Joe saying good-bye for a bit.  Again, I flew back to CHOP and was saying good-bye before I went into that OR to have Mira.  I started to panic. The nurse anesthetist was wonderful too and I swear had that sedative in me before the first tear hit my cheek.  Then, I was able to stay calm as I was wheeled in the bed back to the OR and put under general anesthesia.

Next, I woke up in the post-op area with a nurse asking me about my pain.  This was the moment I was most nervous for.  I was so scared I would wake up confused and think Mira was there and then have the pain hit of remembering she was gone.  Instead, I woke up with the pain right in my face that she was not there.  All the reminders of the hospital were around me and it was like some corner of my mind was looking for her, but I knew she was not there.  I had to keep repeating to myself (in my head) over and over, “Mira is not here.” This helped me stay with reality.  A harsh, painful reality I wanted no part of, but reality still.  Being taken back to my mother and husband was hard, I got very nauseous and dizzy from the anesthesia and my foot hurt and throat hurt from being intubated, and all I wanted was my daughter.  My family and the nurses helped me through, and we were able to start home once my symptoms subsided. 

In preparing for this surgery I thought getting out of the hospital would be the big hurdle, but my anxiety has persisted over the last week and a half.  The opioids I was prescribed for pain made things much worse, but also having such a strong PTSD trigger does not wear off overnight.  I feel like I have taken a hundred steps backwards in my healing this past week or so.  I am anxious all the time, I am struggling to sleep, I am struggling with emotional regulation.  It is hard not to fall into the pit of thinking that it will be this way forever.  I know I can move out of this consuming pain and get to a place where it is easier to carry again.  I know I am not starting over.  It just that, well, anxiety is a liar.  It tells you that you can’t.  It wakes you up at night and tells you that you have made poor choices.  It tells you have done things wrong.  It tells you healing is not possible.  It tells you that you can’t have a good life without your daughter.  But I know anxiety is liar, so as much as it hurts, I know I can survive it.  I returned to work today and I did my job well.  A routine helps and I was able to not let my pain affect my work.  This is a start.  But when I returned back home the anxiety returned as well, and I know I have to keep working through it.  

I ask those who love me to pray this time of anxiety and pain will lessen and I will again be able to say, “It hurts to live without Mira, but I am doing fairly well.” 

I need a sign to let me know you're here

All of these lines are being crossed over the atmosphere

I need to know that things are gonna look up

'Cause I feel us drowning in a sea spilled from a cup

When there is no place safe and no safe place to put my head

When you feel the world shake from the words that are said

I need a sign to let me know you're here

'Cause my TV set just keeps it all from being clear

I want a reason for the way things have to be

I need a hand to help build up some kind of hope inside of me

And I'm calling all angels

I'm calling all you angels
(Train)