Aftermath

I've put off writing this because maybe if I don't put it on paper, write it down, then maybe, just maybe it never really happened. Maybe I can erase it from my memory and pretend that I have a normal life. But as I sit down staring at this blank page, I realize that I never have really gotten over it. No matter how hard I try and forget, it's constantly staring back at me in the mirror.

It's been over two years since I told you that my doctor told me I couldn't ever be pregnant again. It's been almost four years since I heard him say those words, and not a day has gone by that I haven't been reminded of those words in one way or another.

It's June of 2016. Next month the twins will turn 4 years old, and it still feels like yesterday that I was giving birth. Just yesterday I was injecting myself with hormones in preparation of getting pregnant. Isn't technology lovely these days? Reminding you of all the things that have happened in your past, whether you want to be reminded or not. Earlier today I hesitantly clicked on "on this day" on Facebook to be taken to those posts. It's always a gamble. Will it show me something I want to see? Will it show me something I wish had never happened?

Today's reminder was this post:

June 5, 2011 at 9:55 PM

"Tonight I survived my first injection of the mock cycle. I can't believe things are finally moving along and before I know it I will be pregnant, hopefully with twins!"

Part of me wishes that I could go back and yell at the girl making this post. The me I was then is so naive to the rest of what I could look forward to with this process. What exactly would I say to her, if I could say anything? Would I tell her "No! Don't do it! You don't want to have twins!" Or would I say, "You're going to get through this, just have faith." Would it change anything? Would I have had a different outcome? Would I be sitting where I am today if I hadn't gone through with it?

Truth is, I like where I am right in this moment. If I changed even a single thing, the butterfly effect may take me away from this spot. Sitting in Tucson, AZ on a Sunday evening with Spotify playing an acoustic covers playlist while I finally tackle writing about what happened after I had the twins. Telling the world the rest of the story. I almost typed, "the rest of my story" but there is still so much story out there for me to live, for me to write and to create.

So what happened? Can I really never get pregnant again? I suggest you sit back, get a comfy blanket and perhaps a hot chocolate and definitely a box of tissues to get you through the rest of this section of the story because Lord knows that I'm going to need it to tell you.

Those five words I heard the only smart doctor in the hospital say that night still replay in my head many times over, often on a daily basis. "You can't get pregnant again."

The next few days are a blur. My mom may be able to tell you better what happened next, but I'll do my best to recount what I've been told, and the things I remember.

I was checked into the cardiac wing of the ICU, barely able to stand without my heart rate spiking and causing alarm after alarm to go off and nurses to rush into my room. They tried to tell me that I needed a catheter so that I wouldn't have to get out of bed to use the bathroom, but after her (the nurse) trying to put one in and it being almost more excruciating than labor itself, I refused. Instead, I was given a portable toilet literally next to my bed that I needed more than one person's assistance to sit on every time. This must be what rock bottom felt like. Having to have someone lift me out of bed just to pee, the thing that for the last 22 years or so I had been able to do without assistance.

My body had all but given up at that point. I laid in bed for days, dozing in and out of consciousness to use the "bathroom" and I think eat. I don't remember eating anything, or having an appetite to do so.

The doctors had read my echocardiogram and told me that the left ventricle of my heart was pumping blood at a 10-15% rate, when a normal rate was anywhere from 50-65%. I think they told my mom there was a chance I wouldn't survive, because my mom told my sisters that they needed to come see me... just in case. My dad, who had all but disowned me when he found out that I was going to be a surrogate even came to see me. It's all a daze at this point, I remember opening my eyes and seeing the look on their faces, like maybe it was the last time that they would see me alive.

I had been diagnosed with post-partum cardiomyopathy, and if it didn't kill me I had a long road of recovery ahead. That road including never putting my body through the stress of pregnancy again.

Because my body had an extreme amount of excessive fluid in it, I was put on a diuretic to release the fluid which meant more "trips" to the "bathroom" next to my bed. It was such an ordeal to even go to the bathroom, I ran out of energy quick. I didn't have it in me to fight to get better. I just wanted it all to be over with. I wanted to close my eyes and wake up and realize it was all a dream. Or maybe not even wake up at all.