This past month has been a little crazy (I actually started writing this on July 28. It is now August 22/23). On July 21st I had an outpatient procedure to repair an umbilical hernia that I have had since my pregnancy with Teddy. The only reason I got it fixed was because it was hurting all the time and I knew I had to do something about it. I didn't want to get it fixed because it reminds me that he lived inside me and was here, a part of me. My poor, weak abdominals had separated with Logan and never fully repaired, making me susceptible to this. But all that is okay because it was a reminder.
But I had to get it fixed. The surgeon went in with robots and put in a 7cm mesh so that it (hopefully) shouldn't happen again. My previous repair after I had Logan was much simpler, he just went in and stitched it up with a tiny little cut in my belly button. This time it is 3 slices into my side and one also in my belly button, which means more pain, swelling, and longer recovery. Woo. To make it all worse, I have developed an allergy to most adhesives, so I have a really bad reaction with any sort of surgical tape, glue, or strips. All the doctors know this, but I have only had 1 surgery where they used an appropriate dressing that didn't make me want to go insane from the itchies. This time they used glue. It just really sucks and means I have to be on Benadryl and try not to wear things that touch the wound, and I had to take off the glue before I really should.
All that to say I have been feeling pretty off, and on top of it, we received the toxicology report in the mail 2 days ago (well, July 26). Somehow I just knew that it had come - I keep my ears open like a hawk whenever the mail comes, and on Wednesday I just knew. We haven't opened it. Right after it came I decided to finally eat a little lunch and immediately took a 2-hour nap. My body and mind were definitely not ready to face this reality. I don't know if I want to open it. It won't change anything. I thought I would feel relief when we spoke to the doctor a few months ago, but all that did was make me feel even more guilt, shame, and hopelessness. We still haven't opened it. I put it in Teddy's file in our filing cabinet and refuse to look at it.
I was speaking with my psychiatrist yesterday about how I am doing, and I just broke down. "I thought it was supposed to 'soften!' That's what people kept saying, but it's only getting worse." I cried to her, and determined that I can't just sit around and wait to feel better. I have to do things that make me feel better. Going to an AA meeting, working out, eating healthy foods. Doesn't that sound fucking easy?? What's the problem? I find myself sitting on my couch thinking, "Just get up and do a simple 30 minute workout. It will be over quick and you will feel better." And then I just keep sitting there because the energy it takes to simply put on my shoes is just too much... My baby is gone, my precious boy. How am I supposed to do anything that feels good?
Today is August 23rd, 2023. Teddy would be 23 months old right now, and we should be preparing for his 2nd birthday party. Instead, here I am, still in my pajamas, trying to find the strength to get up and put on my shoes to do a simple 30-minute workout...
Today, Teddy, I will do it for you. I will work on getting healthy, for you, and for Logan. I used to feel so much guilt when you were alive, for not being as active as I wanted to be because of all the pain I was in with my hip and my back before my surgeries. Well now I have had my surgeries and I am fucking wasting it. Wasting my time by not living the way I want to. I can do this. I need to do this. I will do this for you, today. I love you, my precious bear. Forever.
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