Another post about things I rarely talk about...
It is coming up on Nina's 13th birthday. It also happens to be mom's birthday too. It is a day of joy because I love my mom but it is also a day of deep sorrow. I do talk about losing a child because I want people to know that I understand that kind of pain. That they know they aren't alone. I think a lot about that day and the days following it. I was in the hospital for quite a while and almost died. Everyone seems to focus on Nina and her passing. How that affects me and how it affects everyone in my family. This is understandable but it still hurts. Death profoundly affects the living and I'm no exception. There's a lot to unpack from the experience and I feel like I've just begun the journey.
What seems to be occupying my thoughts lately is almost bleeding to death. I have nightmares about it somewhat often. It is odd that I think about ending it all but at the same time I'm traumatized by almost dying. I think it is more about the experience than the end result. I also think it is a constant source of pain because I've never really consciously acknowledged it. It was just something that happened during a shit show where I wasn't the focus. Trauma is wierd and also indiscriminate. Just because no one acknowledges it, doesn't mean it does not exist.
I suppose by telling at least part of the story, I can make peace with it.
It begins on what started out as a normal day. I felt a bit off but I ignored it because pregnancy was a bitch and I had felt off pretty much the entire time. Then I started to bleed, a lot. We rushed to the hospital where I was assured things were fine until they weren't. I was just feeling the first signs of shock from loss of blood when I was told Nina had died. I said something smart assed because I was dying too.
I was in and out of consciousness so I don't remember much. I was also on a ton of pain killers and couldn't really think. What I do remember is lying alone in a room that was freezing cold and way too bright. Stripped naked and drifting in between the comfort of blackness and the unspeakable pain of convulsions that I had no control over. I felt my very essence slip further and further away. I was frightened, genuinely. Overdosing, cutting, even staring down a train wasn't nearly that scary.
I spent several days in the hospital. I was in extreme pain but so knocked out that I didn't really care. The nurses were kind in that tiptoe around the truth sort of way. I saw things that weren't there, heard things that weren't there. I felt like I was already dead and just experiencing some latant after image.
I healed, physically anyway. Then I was ushered into the unpleasant business of dealing with Nina's final affairs. Sadly a great deal of paperwork and bullshit for a life that barely existed. Everyone focused on that. I never felt like anyone really acknowledged me. I felt guilty for asking anyone to. It wasn't about me.
Maybe, at least partially, it should have been.
