From the Beginning Again: Looking Back

I should explain that while this is dated as the first post of this blog, it is not. I am currently 6 months beyond my pregnancy. Zachary is six months old.

I started this blog for several reasons. I endured a pregnancy much like my pregnancy with Zach with my oldest son, Evan. As the years passed, some memories of the ordeal seemed to stay almost palpable, while others softened and blurred around the edges. I remember wishing I would have kept a journal so that when I tell Evan he is a miracle, he will have tangible evidence as to why this is true.

I began my pregnancy with Zachary as being ignorantly hopeful that I would not have to endure the same experiences.The first trimester made this even more believable. Somewhere nearing the midpoint, as with Evan, I began to experience a sort of deja vu, and the battle with a dysfunctional uterus began. The names and faces, the times, and the treatments available changed with the passing of eight years. The experiences remained largely the same, all the way down to the boys' birth weights, which were only a few ounces off. So with this in mind, the blog became less about documenting the story of his birth for Zachary and more of a catharsis for me.

I was in my final year before entering medical school, a dream I have had since childhood and was finally making a reality for myself. I was a borderline workaholic. I was a complete control freak, type A, know-it all sort of person. And despite the fact that I had at one point wanted another child, after eight years without conceiving a little brother for Evan, my husband and I had given up. Suddenly, I was thrust from my life with a pregnancy that was unplanned and actually quite a shock to us.

I cannot put into words the place from which this was all written. It was my entertainment and my outlet for 4 months of bedrest. Four months of lost control, pain from both contactions and treatment for those contractions, fear for Zachary's well-being, and a deep sorrow for the life I had to give up. Add to that the financial burden of our family's sole breadwinner being grounded, the medical bills, and the guilt that was provoked from feeling anything but pure joy at the thought of my pregnancy, and you have a very deep, dark place. In fact, there was one particular phase where the only factor keeping me from suicide was Zachary's right to his life.

I try, many times over, to revisit this blog. To look back. I never can seem to do it. I would much rather spend my time moving forward with a little boy who is the greatest joy in my life. I don't miss the idea of medical school because it would diminish time with my baby. Where I surrounded myself with my job before the pregnancy, now it is simply something I have to do and that takes me away from Zach, which I deeply resent. Zach's presence in my life has had that much of an impact for me. When I first became pregnant, I remembered thinking God had horrible timing to wait for a point in my life where I had gotten past having babies. Now I know his timing was perfect.I needed to slow down in order to love and appreciate life with my amazing husband and my two miracles.

I am in the process of editing the blog. I had, on average, anywhere from 20 to 40 contractions an hour for the duration and, toward the end, did so with tachycardia, dyspnea, and a narcotic-induced fog. The fact that I was able to type all of this is still somewhat miraculous to me, but I did. And as a result, it is wrought with typographical errors and in need of some general corrections. Other than that, I plan to leave it largely untouched. Raw. Rough. To smooth anything over would defeat the whole purpose of me recording any of it.

The reason for the editing? I am having it made into a book for Zachary and myself. As if to say, "Look, kid! We made it through!" With that being said, I should say something to my angel of a baby boy:
Zachary, I love you more than words. There is no part of this that I would not do again just to have one tiny glimpse of you in my life. You are that worth it to me. Never doubt how loved and wanted you are.
And to my team of doctors, who have remained largely anonymous through this: I did this out of professional courtesy. but please know that each time I look into the gorgeous blue eyes of my perfectly healthy baby, I am reminded of you all. I hear your voices of reason. I see the art with which you knew what I wanted for my unborn child, even when my voice was saying something altogether. Of course I didn't want a grossly premature baby, even though I was begging you to end my misery. And I hear your voices, in the middle of the night, once again awakened by nurses who were staring at a recording of my contractions in panic. Ever calm, ever reassuring, ever reasonable, ever patient. Even when you had to be groaning on the inside at the mere mention of my name, I never felt this from any of you. Even when I was trying to refuse trips to the hospital or more drugs for the contractions. You guided me though some of the roughest waters of my life, thanklessly, and I will be eternally grateful. That your hands were the first to touch Zachary seems appropriate since his presence here is as much your work as it was mine.

So this is it. Zachary's story. My story. Zachary's journey into the world, and my fight to get him here. I am so glad I won.