By @meriahnichols on June 17, 2011
There are two posts last year for May (pre-Moxie) and two posts for June on this blog. Only two. That period of time - from the day of Moxie's birth (May 7) ranging through July, sailing past August and well into September was an incredibly intense period for me. Intense on a level at which I think it quite literally changed my life. It was like walking through fire. Fire walking: rather excruciatingly horrible and yet when the other side is reached, life is just different. Different, in my case, in ways that I know in my heart to be deeply, wonderfully, deliciously good and right. This is where I was this time, last year. I was coming out of my week-long stay in the hospital, in which I spent over 14 hours in the emergency room, full of morphine, while doctors alternately forgot I was there or tried to figure out why I was paralyzed. In which they dilated and scraped my uterus twice. In which I hemorrhaged twice. In which a camera was placed in my innards via my belly button and a look-see was had, filling me later with inexplicable gas. In which I was on morphine and 3 types of antiobiotics and loads of other goodies. In which I couldn't walk. In which I escaped having a hysterectomy by a matter of hours. Hours. The hospital, where I did a lot of blessing for the good nurses that helped me go to the bathroom, that took care of me with a tenderness that should send them straight to heaven. And of course I mentally flagellated the awful ones - like that one that made me try to move myself onto the x-ray table even though I was screaming in pain and sobbing uncontrollably and my stupid pink robe kept opening and I was naked and felt like so much a slab of meat without any sort of control. I sent her to hell, the really bad kind of hell, wherever that is. In the hospital for a week, alone. Without my month-old precious baby that I was in love with and yet did not know how to proclaim her extra chromosome to the world. Without my 2 year old boy. Without my husband, my mother. But my friend Katie rushed over as soon as she heard I was there alone and stayed - and I'll always, always be grateful to have had her by my side as that doctor was telling me that she'd be giving me a hysterectomy. Thank you, Katie. Anne came later, brought me People magazine and God but I needed that! A nice big dollop of fluff! Thank you, Anne. It's been a year but the Placenta Incident still feels raw. Last July I struggled later to make sense of it all. A year later, I don't have complete answers yet I know what I have irrefutably learned, the bits that, as I said, have changed my life. I learned that life is short. That we don't know what may be around the next corner. That we need to hold tight and cherish - with every fiber of our being - those we love. That second chances may or may not come so fly when you can. As often as you can. Take leaps. Have no fear of moxie, or Moxie - courage in life and acceptance of disability will make a life juicier - and, being fearless, that much more enjoyable. I learned some things that will serve me well. Bring me a greater, deeper joy and sense of satisfaction with the life I choose than if it had not happened. I'm not at the point in which I can say I'm grateful for the Placenta Incident - it's still too soon. But I can see the good that I have learned. I am grateful for my life now. And I cherish the pieces that I once took for granted: being able to walk, run, jump, bike ride. Toss up Micah, Moxie, catch them, hold them tight. Nurse my girl. I treasure my strength, my body, this amazing instrument of mine. I know to slow down and savor things. Life can speed by too fast sometimes, a blur, a rush
Or achingly slow, as we people seem to have a tendency to get stuck, as Dr. Seuss says, in the Waiting Place - waiting for our lives to start, or whatever, not realizing that every*single*moment is Our Moment. A Now Moment. And we should not wait, never wait. Because it might be too late.