So it's finally here. Tomorrow we take Micah to Primary Children's Medical Center and he won't come out for eight days. This is terrifying since last time he was put into the hospital for surgery he stayed unexpectantly for a month. It will also be a joyous time for us, if all goes as planned, because our sweet baby will no longer have a stoma. There will be no more ostomy bag changes, and his skin underneath will be able to heal itself of the skin ulcers that the bag has caused. We've worked so hard and seen many doctors on how to help his skin heal while we still have the ostomy, and nothing has seemed to help. They're scary and very painful looking, and it hits me in the gut every time I see what the thing that is saving him is also doing to hurt him. The mental vision and meditation that has helped me get through this stressful time is imagining myself rubbing lotion on his tummy, healing it and making it smooth again. Holding him to me and doing skin to skin with no bag there. Imagining the health that will hopefully come from this. Knowing that statistically his risk of enterocolitis is cut in half, sparing him pain and possible death.
It's been a difficult journey for Micah, as well as for my husband and me. It's been scary and filled with emergency rooms and hospital stays. This surgery will in no way end the things that Hirschsprung's brings into our lives. For a long time we will still have to worry about infections, his diet will be very important to his life, and he may not always like or want to follow his diet. Potty training will be hard, I honestly don't know how we're going to accomplish it. But it will be the start of a more healthy Micah and the start of him being able to do more things and make life easier.
The stress that has come with this has almost overwhelmed me at times. I've felt like I was going to drown in it sometimes, and felt completely at a loss thinking that there's no way I can do this. Feeling like I've failed at everything I try at. I've struggled my entire life with depression, and started self-harming in the sixth grade. My depression, among other things, landed me in a treatment facility after a very serious suicide attempt. At times going through this I've wondered if it would be easier to simply not live anymore, hoping for a dark nothing to surround me. Then I look into the eyes of my baby boy and know that simply isn't an option anymore. My husband, Urian, has had to hold me while I've cried at unreasonable hours of the night. I don't know how I could have made it through this without him. I've slipped back into my depression several times, and he's always reached his hand into the waters and brought me back to the surface. Between him and my son, I have the knowledge that, at least to these two people in the world, I matter and I am loved.
I would like to apologize to everybody I've yelled at or been short with the past week. There is no excuse. To those people, I would like to thank you for making me feel safe enough to get mad at you and yell at you. It isn't excusable, but I know you won't leave me if I show my stress and anger to. Thank you to those people for not taking it personally. Thank you for comforting me and, instead of distancing yourself, getting closer to me and supporting me even more. These people hold a beautiful understanding that not many people have, and I'm lucky to know so many of them.
I owe you everything.
So here's to tomorrow and the beginning of the next chapter.
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