8. Reading and thinking and thinking and reading
/One of the hardest parts of being in this horrible, horrible limbo, is what to do with all the waiting. Everything that needs doing just seems very small and difficult. I feel useless, because my mind is constantly whirring around hundreds of outcomes and scenarios and memories of appointments or reports or statistics.
The hunger for answers is relentless. It just claws at me all day. And no matter what I read, or study or meditate on or repeat to myself, I just can’t fulfil it. All I can do is read the same reports, blogs, forums and articles over and over again, looking for something new. It’s a risky exercise. One day a discussion group makes me feel hopeful and like there couldn’t possibly be any reason that Junebug won’t make it. A day later, and the same thread seems to suggest the exact opposite.
Erin knows that my compulsion to constantly read about skeletal dysplasia—particularly pregnancy loss—isn’t a healthy way to spend my free time. He’ll walk into a room and calmly ask, “Cruzie, what are you reading?” and I’ll say “Nothing.” And feel as guilty as if he’d walked in on me sneaking a cigarette. He’s encouraged me to talk about it and talk it out, rather than getting quietly stuck in a spiral of anxiety. So, I’ll come out and tell him, “I’m reading a blog about a mum who lost a baby to thanataphoric dysplasia.” or “I’m searching for fetal growth charts to see how likely a growth spurt might be.” Or “I’m looking at ultrasound pictures of curved femurs.” Or “I’m researching newborn emergency respiration techniques.” None of it is 'light' reading. By definition and subject matter, it can't be.
Having one foot in each camp: miracle survival vs. overwhelming grief—is exhausting. But I’m almost more scared of finding out one way or another.
The less I have to distract me and keep me feeling light and upbeat, the heavier it all gets. But Erin’s always there, being brave when I don’t have the energy to be, never judging, always listening and finding the right words of encouragement to fill in the holes as they arise. And when neither of us can bring ourselves to be buoyant, there's animated children's films and terrible television and very loud feel good music.
I hate waiting, and at the same time feel like the wait is too short. I’ve been through enough days like this so far to know that I’ll find my way back above water soon, if not in an hour, or in a few hours, then tomorrow, or the next day. I just hold out for the littlest kick from Junebug and try to keep moving through the day, even when around every corner, there’s invisible quicksand.
