Tuesday, November 22, 2005
Death, or the possibility thereof, makes people uncomfortable. It makes them stutter and stumble and study the scuff marks on the toes of their shoes. What does one say when speaking to someone facing death when you aren't - hell, maybe you never have, so you feel awkward, maybe even guilty, right? But definitely speachless. Do yourself (and the other person) a favor at that point, don't try to force out something, and god damn it don't start flipping through the rolodex-o-platitudes for just that right little saying.
Now don't get me wrong, if there's something you want or need to say, something heart-felt and sincere, wonderful, say it. But not stuff like "everything happens for a reason" or some religious thing about how they're in a better place or whatever, ok? Someone said to me the other day, "God gives special children to special mothers" followed shortly by, "Well, He must know you're very strong, to have given you not one but TWO children with these defects!" As if this was a badge of honor I should wear. Know what's sad? I was talking to a therapist, a THERAPIST for fuck's sake. Where'd she get her little therapist license? K-mart?! Christ.
Yes, I'm angry tonight. I don't know why tonight more than last night or this afternoon, but I'm seriously just pissed off. Probably because I go to see the new doctor tomorrow and find out a definite date on the induction, which terrifies me. My reaction to fear is anger, always ha been. Never never jump out of a dark corner and scream "boo!" at me, because I will punch you in the mouth, cuss you out, and not speak to you for a month, because that shit just ain't funny!
Damned adrenaline or some such thing I guess.
Anyway, my point is that you folks, most of whom have never even met me, have been more intelligent and caring than that stupid woman. A therapist said 2 of the worst things I can think of in regards to my son's heart defects.
Let's be honest people, ok?
My son might die.
That has no bearing on whether I'm special or not, it doesn't make me strong, it makes me what? ...unlucky? cursed maybe? but not strong. And I refuse to believe that, if there even IS a god, that he goes flipping through the big book of people looking at the "S" section (s, for strong and special) deciding who he's going to drop the bomb on.
The truth is, I'm doing whatever I'm doing because there isn't much other choice, because I don't know any other way to do it. If I could stop it all right here and right now, I would. I'd hold my breath and stomp my feet and refuse. I'd stop the sun from rising if it meant my son would be ok, and the hell with how it affected anyone else. But there's nothing to be done. This isn't a sign of strength or specialness, it's resignation, or, well, as I like to call it:
Acceptance.
congenital heart defect
posted by Erin @
6:54 PM
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