I’m sitting in a meeting where I am supposed to be listening to a colleague discussing a better way to illustrate a process and instead, my mind is running towards August. It happens when Isabelle decides to be active and test out her boxing skills under my ribcage. I think to myself “Please be strong, stay strong and grow so when they take you away from me you will be able to pull through because if you don’t I don’t know if I can take it and I don’t want to go there so please stay strong.” I don’t mind that she kickboxes and does somersaults. She is with me now, for this moment and I relish every movement, regardless of whether it causes me to inhale sharply or change my position. Isabelle is with me right now and as much as I hope she doesn’t have any other complications besides having half a heart, she may and I won’t know until she gets here. The most frustrating part of this which leads me down a panicked path is the fact that I won’t know the whole story until she is having her first echo on the outside. I want to believe that G-d won’t drop me on my ass but I didn’t expect to be in this situation either. My faith is tenuous at best and my relationship with Him isn’t where it should be, but knowing that we are living near the best hospital in the world for this condition provides me with enough hope not to disregard Gd altogether.
Most of the time, lately, I have been ok. I haven’t been stricken with panic so badly that I can’t breathe, or that I wonder if I made the right decision bringing her into this world that will cut her open and bring her pain for the first few weeks. Most of the time I just get through the day and do my best to remain hopeful in spite of what I read on message boards. But then there are moments, like today when I think “Please be strong so you won’t be taken from me.” I wipe away the tears, take a deep breathe and take another step forward.