Last time and next time ...

August is almost over; I can see the light at the end of the tunnel, and I'll just assume and hope it's not an oncoming train and instead is the start to a peaceful few months.

This year's August anniversaries have left me feeling vulnerable - especially after experiencing some rather vivid flashbacks to two years ago. Moments that had slipped from my memory suddenly returned and, unfortunately, some of the details that emerged weren't things I ever wanted to think about again. I didn't want reminders of how distraught both Mike and I were during those gruelling 54 hours of Ryan's struggle for life. I didn't want to relive any of the horror, but it found me anyway.

I've thought a lot about those things I wished I had done differently with Ryan. When you're in the middle of your unfolding tragedy, you can't expect to have lucid thoughts - especially when your mind is still unwilling to accept or believe that "this" is happening and that it's happening to you. Back then, it was like I was some wind-up toy that kept going and going. I *had* to keep going; there was no other choice.

I also realized the other day that if I lose another baby, I'll already know how the whole process works. I didn't know anything when Ryan died, because who the hell thinks through something as unimaginable as a baby dying. But, I'd be able to glide through the process the next time. I'd know what things to not waste my precious time on, and what things and moments to cherish. I'd know to call bereavement photographers to capture the fleeting last moments with our child. I wouldn't allow the nurses to keep me from visiting my baby. I'd insist that my angel be dressed in the clothes that were intended for his homecoming, instead of being wrapped in a generic blanket. I wouldn't allow the nursing staff to tape my baby's lock of hair to an index card, never to be stroked again. And, I wouldn't allow myself to feel rushed in saying my final goodbye to my angel and spend more time just gazing at his tiny face and stroking every little wrinkle and dimple.

I hate how rushed everything was back then. Or at least it felt that way because it seemed we never had a moment to sit down and take a deep breath. Every minute was spent in consultations with surgeons and doing our best to make sure that at least one of us was at Ryan's bedside. Even then, I feel I wasn't able to spend enough time with him due to being hounded by my nurse for stats. (I often forgot that I, too, was a patient of the hospital and needed care as well.)

I guess what I'm feeling is perfectly normal, but who the hell knows anymore? It's so confusing and frustrating and I wonder if I'll ever understand any of it.

Yeah, I went there

As I was hurriedly running my errands this morning, I ended up making a turn that led me to the most unlikely of places: the maternity center where I delivered Ryan.

I didn't turn that direction by accident, if that's what you're wondering. I'm not exactly sure why I went there, but I did. It was as if the car was on auto-pilot and that is where it was programmed to go.

Admittedly, it was a little strange pulling into that familiar parking lot. Stranger still was that parking was limited and the only available space was the EXACT one Mike and I used on that glorious day back in August of 2005.

My labor and delivery nurse, Robyn, has been on my mind a lot lately - probably because she recently asked my OB about me and he relayed the message to me. When my OB told me of Robyn's inquiry, I thought it was very sweet that she even remembered who I was, considering how many moms, dads, and babies pass through the maternity center doors everyday. And, although my ultimate pregnancy ending wasn't what I had hoped or expected it to be, everything that led up to Ryan's delivery was wonderful - mostly in part because of Robyn and her caring bedside manner.

As I made my way through the parking lot and toward the building's entrance, I kept asking myself if "this" (my visit) was a good idea, or would I be further torturing myself, considering that once I stepped through those doors, I would be up to my eyeballs in everything baby.

I took a deep breath as the doors slid open, stepped through, and made my way to the front desk, where I asked for Robyn. She wasn't immediately available, so I just stood there awkwardly and looked around.

Everything was the same as I remembered it. I could see the hallway and the door at the end of it where I was wheeled for my C-section. I caught a glimpse of the room I stayed in before my transfer to the "big" hospital. And, I saw the NICU where Ryan spent his first few hours of life.

But, despite all that, I was surprisingly calm and didn't shed a single tear or swallow any lumps in my throat.

Once Robyn came to the front desk, we stood and chit-chatted about everything that has happened in the nearly two years since I was a patient there. We talked about Ryan, babies, fertility, grief, my announcement business, and hope. And, while in the midst of talking about such profound and emotional things, new parents passed us by with their new bundle in tow and my heart didn't cry. Not even a whimper.

Robyn and I wrapped up our conversation - she has new lives to welcome to the world, after all - and I walked back out those sliding doors with my head held high. My fortitude in handling that visit really surprised me, because I was terribly afraid I'd turn into a blubbering mess after just a few minutes, once my own painful memories came flooding back. But, I didn't.

I don't know what compelled me to go there today, but I'm awfully glad I did. And, maybe I'm a lot stronger than I realize or give myself credit.