(*new version with added verse.)
During my pregnancy, I felt what I called "waves" of grief as I tried to wrap my mind around Brooklyn's condition. Sometimes I hoped so hard that the reality would creep up and smack me pretty hard...when I saw a child in a wheel chair or as I watched my other girls happily dancing around the room together. No matter how much time had lapsed, it still took me off guard.
It still does.
I often wonder if that is a sign of denial or if it is faith. I guess it's a fine line.
I have always considered myself a pretty logical person -- one part optimist; one part realist. I can handle my emotions and am pretty good at expressing them. I am definitely not one to bottle things up.
Well, this past week, I realized that I might not be as logical as I thought. Nope... it turns out I am human after all.
About a month ago, we met with Brooklyn's urologist, who confirmed that she was indeed eliminating completely and didn't need to be cathed. Hooray! BUT, her bladder was abnormal and borderline spastic, so she suggested a low-dose of Ditropan (Oxybutynin) to relax her bladder and perhaps elongate it a little. The hope was that this would give her a better chance at potty training some day. We didn't have to give her the meds, but it was a proactive measure that could help Brooklyn in the long run. We would have to start cathing her twice a day, but my husband and I agreed it was the right thing to do. It honestly didn't seem like such a big deal. Or so I thought.
At first, the excuses were easy. My husband had just had knee surgery, and I was running the house solo while also playing nurse. I didn't need one more thing to deal with, so I put it off...the meds and the cathing.
Then I finally got the prescription filled, but I forgot to ask for a syringe. And I somehow forgot the next 10 times I went to Target.
Finally, I remembered the syringe. But I still didn't give the meds or cath. And I was running out of excuses.
One night last week, Brooklyn was having a particularly fussy night, and my husband asked me if I had been giving her the meds and cathing her. "No," I said quietly.
He then suggested we cath her to see if that was the problem. I tell you that the second he cathed her, she stopped crying. Like instantly.
I looked up at my husband and the tears were starting to form. "I'm sorry," I whispered. One look at me, and my husband understood. He then offered to give Brooklyn her meds and cath before and after work until I was ready. I nodded in agreement, and he handed me Brooklyn and said perhaps I needed some alone time with her. I felt so weak. So ashamed.
As I held Brooklyn that night, I cried. A hard, grieving cry.
And then I prayed. I asked for forgiveness, but in all of his awesomeness, God didn't give me guilt. Instead, He gave me peace and grace and strength.
And you know what? The next morning, I cathed Brooklyn and gave her the medicine. I didn't like it, but I was at peace.
I know that this is not the last time I will grieve, but I also know now that it is okay to feel that way. In fact, it's normal.
I...no, WE, are allowed to be human. It doesn't mean we don't love and accept our children for who they are; it just means that it is hard sometimes. It's also a reminder that we are ONLY human and that we can't possibly do this on our own strength.
"Do not grieve, for the joy of the LORD is your strength."
~Lisa (@ Heaven Sent)