Day Thirteen

Every year at this time, I suffer from a seasonal affective disorder. Depression runs in my family, and I'm pretty sure Clyde has it too. Anyway, the days are shorter and colder, my family is far away, and I'm not able to help with the tremendous responsibility of relocating. The kids are having to start a new school while the school year is underway. I can't be there when they come home after school to ease the transition. Jack will be starting preschool, Eric is almost potty-trained, and the older two are too busy to talk to me unless something is wrong. In the meantime, Ron is trying to get everything unpacked and hooked up so that life can get back to normal. There's the beds, the fridge, the other fridge, the washer & dryer, the stove, the cable, the internet, the phone... not to mention getting the kids enrolled in school and making sure they are eating well and going to bed on time. I can't imagine doing that without help. Ron is an amazing man to take this on by himself.

Out here in Utah, the seasons are changing and the weather is increasingly colder. The more things change, the harder it is to stay upbeat. My heart just aches and it feels like I'm carrying around lead weights. I feel like I want to fall asleep and just stay asleep until it's over. Some days, I'll come back to Owen & Maki's place at the end of the day and realize that it's 8:30 at night and I haven't eaten anything since the bowl of cereal I have for breakfast. I've tried grocery shopping, but nothing looks appetizing. That's so unusual for me. Last night I spent a good twenty or thirty minutes just trying to come up with something that I actually wanted to eat for dinner. I ended up force feeding myself some polenta, and that was all I could do. Even my chocolate and Diet Coke habits are waning. I am down to about one or two cans a day, and I rarely finish them. We have Halloween candy already, but I haven't been able to snack on it. I stood there last night and this morning, staring into the pile of candy trying to figure out what I wanted, but ended up just walking away. There have been times, on my way home from the hospital, that I've considered grabbing something in a drive-thru, but I can't think of a restaurant that sounds good.

Most of the clothes I have with me are clothes that I planned to be lounging in at the hospital. I did ask Ron to leave out my maternity jeans and a pair of chinos, but that's it. I'm pretty darn uncomfortable almost all the time. The last time I weighed in at the hospital, I had gained 18 pounds during pregnancy. Thirteen days after Josh was born, I've lost almost all of it-- and he was only 3 of those pounds. My maternity jeans don't stay up and have no place to put a belt. It's very frustrating. Having trouble with clothes is a pretty small problem, but added to lack of appetite, lack of energy, loneliness, and horrible depression, it just adds to the weight I carry. With everything else going on in my life, I'd at least like to be physically comfortable.

Ron and the kids have been on my case about not calling them enough, but I can't handle talking to them. I miss them so much that it feels like I'm dying inside when I hear their voices. Jack and Eric are always running around in the background and I can picture them in my head. When I hear Eric saying "Mom" and "I love you" on the phone, or even just from somewhere in the house while I'm talking to Ron, I get this burning in my chest and end up crying again. I ache to be with them, hugging them and getting little kisses from Eric. I miss Clyde going on and on about Yu-Gi-Oh, and Heidi's bright smile when she's having fun. And I desperately miss Ron. I want to be wrapped up in his arms where I can just melt into him and make everything feel normal again.

The hospital has special social workers that help NICU parents with the tough issues they face. When they heard my situation, they looked into having Josh transfered to Vanderbilt Hospital in Nashville. It's several thousand dollars to move a NICU patient, but they submitted it to our insurance company just to see if they'd pay it. The wonderful people at Tricare don't think that it's important enough in my case

Josh is an angel. He's getting stronger all the time. Yesterday, I got to hold him skin-to-skin which is called "Kangaroo Care" in the NICU. He was curled up in a little ball on my chest and I swear he was no more than six inches long like that. His teeny little head was right up against me and I had the imprint of his tiny ear on my chest afterward.

On Monday, a bunch of babies in the NICU are moving to the new hospital, where a far more advanced NICU has been constructed. The new facility is spacious and private, so I'll have less beeping around me when I'm with him. Unfortunately, it's much farther away. The babies are being moved by helicopter, and I'll be notified of the time he's to arrive so I can get pictures of him landing.

Tonight is the tour of the new hospital for NICU parents. We meet in the main entrance at six-thirty, then have dinner following the tour. The event is for parents only-- no other relatives. This means there will be nineteen couples, and me. Oh well. This will all feel like a very sad dream in a few months.