I’ve learned the value of patience. Not just waiting for the coffee maker, but eight years of waiting for our little man and little lady to arrive. Patience to sit up all night with a baby who had a nightmare and enjoy it. Patience with myself because I cannot get it all done. Typical parenting stuff.
Unfortunately, a large portion of my year was defined by just surviving. I almost died. Not many people know how serious my condition was when I was in the hospital, but I was close to not making it out. The thought of which absolutely devastates me when I think of it in conjunction with the two little ones playing beside me now.
I have never been tested as I was this year. My strength, my character, my ability to stay calm and move forward. I had the physical strength to recover. I had the mental strength to take it day by day, do what I needed to do to get better and not (completely) break down with the thought of missing their first month of life. I had the intelligence to listen to the doctors, abide by the nurses and to take it easy when I got home. I had the perseverance to maintain my milk supply for a month in between ct scans and surgeries. I had the motivation and ability to return to classes in September, when I had originally said I would. I contribute all of these in large part to the IHC and to the lessons I’ve received over the years.
My scars from this ordeal will never leave me. The difference is that I have the ability to look at them and feel pride and immense gratitude. The devastation of missing out on their first month is ever present in the back of my mind but it does not shape my thoughts or actions.
