Wednesday, November 9, 2016

The tension between resiliency and tragedy

This past Sunday, November 6, marked one year since the hysterectomy.  I'm proud to say that the physical wound has healed and I am back in my pre-pregnancy jeans, not as easy of a feat as I had anticipated having a higher than normal scar (zippers are seriously overrated; why did we ever move from elastic?!)

I have been doing my best to give myself time to grieve and time to process and hadn't really known what to expect my emotions to be like. I experienced muscle memory and my scar hurt for the first time in a long time. I'll also be honest and say I've been more irritable than normal lately. I recognize that the grief and devastation of this past year are not going away overnight, emotional and spiritual healing has its own timetable separate from physical recovery. I just hope that as the years come and go, the sting will be less and less and the grief will be balanced by ever growing gratitude and healing. I have learned that grieving is messy, it's not a straight line, and more than anything it seems to come and go, sometimes hitting you when you least expect it and sometimes surprising you that it's not as intense when you think it will be. 

I heard a phrase on the radio a few months ago that I thought exhibited this awkward place I currently exist in perfectly: the tension between resiliency and tragedy. The resiliency of the last year has been sometimes joyous and sometimes discouraging. My beautiful daughter has gone from the a tiny, swaddled newborn into the running toddler in front of my eyes in this one year and the willingness I have every day to continue to get up and go forward is deeply inspired by her and all the love and dreams we have for her. 

I believe the resiliency has shown itself in our pursuit of surrogacy. In the midst of the immense grief last year, I would be amazed to know that one year forward not only do I have embryos banked from a successful egg harvest, but our potential surrogate goes this coming Friday for her psychological evaluation and we meet with the psychologist early next week to do ours. If all goes well we are hopeful for a medical evaluation after Thanksgiving and hopefully an embryo transfer in just a few short months. 

On the other hand, the tragedy for me is that it took me a lot longer to have the incision heal than anyone had originally expected, even though I was using a wound vac. My hormones have only recently seemed to completely settle down to more of a normal pattern and November 6 was also the first time in a year that I could comfortably sleep under our duvet without feeling overheated, whereas prior to this whole ordeal I was constantly and irrevocably cold all the time. I'm also learning that it takes at least a year to recover from pregnancy in general without the complications I endured on top of it. 

I still feel a lot of guilt and some fear and shame - feelings of failure to my family and even some thoughts that make me question my identity as a woman. My womanhood has been bruised and battered and something that I used to take for granted, my womb, I have had to admit I mourn and placed value and worth within, even unconsciously and unintentionally. 

On a string instrument, the strings must be tightened to a specific degree to be able to play in key and in harmony with the other strings. If the tension is not right, they will not vibrate and resound properly and as such do not play beautiful music, but often play flat or sharp or even snap into pieces. My hope on this anniversary is that my journey in healing can be like that string - stretched, but not too tightly to break, and given enough room to move so I can make beautiful music of my own. The music I make is that tension between resiliency and tragedy. 






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