Struggling

I won't be able to finish this post.
The feelings are too raw.
I'm struggling.
I've been struggling.
I have a feeling I will continue to struggle.
Every day is a struggle. Some worse than others.

A lifelong close friend brought her sweet beautiful baby girl into the world early this morning. Exactly 6 months and 2 minutes after I gave birth to Shiloh.

One of my best friends will give birth to her third child this coming Friday, her second son. I'm so soooo happy for both of them. Especially the second as this pregnancy had a huge scare and was difficult for awhile, I'm so happy for them and so glad he's going tone ok!

But as happy as I am for them, I'm so incredibly jealous.

I know PTSD is real. I know I'm struggling with it. I know all my feelings aren't fair. But I can't help it.

An example-When one of my friends found out her other kids wouldn't be able to see the baby until they came home from the hospital the second day (hospital flu restrictions, no one under 18), she expressed how upset she was because she wanted the hospital bed pictures and those moments. I'm sure would of been upset in the same situation. And she's 100% entitled and right to feel upset for it too! Her feelings are valid and real.

But it felt like a punch to the gut. I would of given anything to even have a hospital bed picture with just me and Shiloh! To of had the chance to be upset over this. To of roomed in with her. To of taken her home on the second day. To of held her for as long as I wanted..or even for five minutes. To of smelled her head. To of heard the nurse proudly announce her weight and length. To of counted her fingers and toes. To of changed her first diaper. To...anything. All of it. Tuck and Ry didn't meet her until she was 15 days old. I wanted all those moments most take for granted.

Instead, moments after she left my body, my room was completely empty. The bassinet in the corner..remained empty. My belly, just moments before bulging and beautiful, was doughy and empty. My arms and hands were empty. I had no pictures, no moments, no memories.
My entire hospital stay, the only evidence in my room that a baby had been birthed was a breast pump I was hooked to every 2 hours and a rapidly filling trash can of blood in the bathroom. I was devastated. I imagined having this wonderfully painful natural labor..instead, I had dozens of bags of different medicines pumping into my veins and a forced epidural for if/when I would need an emergency cesarean because she might code inside me.

Instead, the room was silent except for the hushed and practiced commotion of the NICU team. The doctor was silent as he quickly cut the cord and handed my precious baby away, before I could even get a glimpse of her. The nurses didn't look me in the eye, as they were also unsure of her status. If she was okay..if she would even live. There was no proud "congratulations!" expressed by anyone at all. There was no proud announcement of her stats. Instead, there were frantic nurses and doctors working over her tiny body to see if she could even breath, if her heart was beating, if her lungs could function.

I dreamed of her birth and the moment I saw her face and held her close to me. I never imagined it would be hours and hours later before I saw her for more than a quick glimpse as they rushed her up to the NICU, further and further away from me. I never imagined I would hold her for the first time with a dozen wires, leads and tubes coming off and out of her body. I never imagined her first source of nutrition would come from a bag and a syringe of TPN and lipids. I never imagined I would watch them poke, prod and squeeze blood out of a foot smaller than my pinky, out of s hand smaller than a baby doll's. I never imagined I would watch them frantically try to find a vein that wouldn't burst or collapse for yet another IV. Or that I would watch them put a tube down thru her nose to her stomach, and then  tube feed her my pumped, fortified milk, one precious mL at a time.

I never imagined that instead of those wonderful leaving hospital pictures of mom and baby being wheeled out together, that I would be walking out and leaving my baby with strangers for an unknown amount of time. Over and over and over. I walked out and left her 31 times. It never got easier.