This was a very strange Mother's Day. I woke up only to get ready and go to the hospital, where I stayed with Joel until 4pm. Then I came home and had supper with my family. I then spent the rest of the evening playing video games.
I think that playing video games might sound really callous when your son is in the hospital. I have to tell you that it is a great way to keep your mind from useless fretting. It is something I have found that I can not do and still think about my problems. It is a great escape. And that is great when the only thinking you can do is not the kind that can help make decisions, or deal with your sadness, but only take you endlessly in circles trying to figure things out.
I have absolutely no idea what is going on with Joel right now. I am baffled by what is happening, and ceaselessly mulling it over really serves no purpose. So I played video games. A terrific escape, though I think my husband really wonders if marrying someone who is also a "gamer" was really a good idea. All you gain through a more game-tolerant wife, you lose in having to share your x-box!
And now I am hear blogging. But I am not going to blog about what is currently going on with Joel's health, because as I have stated, I haven't a clue. Hence my blogging is really another way to keep my mind from stewing, and hopefully get me in the mood to go to bed, as it is getting late.
A while after Joel was diagnosed I wrote a poem (not saying it was actually any good) about how the whole thing with his terminal disease was for me like a horrible kind of "labour" (as in when you have a baby). I called it "Reverse Labour."
Lately I have really been thinking about that all once again. Because this whole thing is for me like long and drawn out sort of birthing, but instead of gaining a child, I lose one. My son is going to be "born" into another world, but not the one I am in. I feel the pangs of this "progressing labour" growing stronger as time goes on, signalling the ever approaching event that I dread.
I somehow managed to have both my children without the pain relief of an epidural. One I managed by choice, the other was purely on account of how fast it happened, and believe me, I'd never have had the ability to say no to one that time, if only I could have had the option!
The first time, I went without the epidural because even though it wouldn't cause any real or lasting harm to my child, I knew that it would be a slight advantage for Caeden if I could make it without one. So I did. In the first while, it was not too hard. The pain was manageable, somehow, and I could remind myself that it was best for baby if I could bear it. It is amazing what you can do for your child even when it is only a small advantage you are giving.
By the time things started to be so painful that I could barely keep myself from asking for an epidural they offered to break my waters. When I consented they did so, and pitched me headlong into some really serious 9 on a scale of 10 sort of pain that was so bad it was all I could do just to hold myself together, and if others had not been around to support me, I don't think I could have gotten through. And epidurals were no longer an option!
When it comes to Joel, I feel I am heading for that "transition" time. I don't know if we are there yet, but I feel the pangs, I think it is coming soon. I think rough times are ahead. I think the pain and sorrow may start coming faster, longer and harder, just like those contractions do.
Right now, the pain is "manageable." This is why I can be there for my friends who are also sorrowing. It sometimes makes me sad. It sometimes does cause me pain. I could take the "epidural" of just escaping and ignoring it all, distance myself from my friends and the sadness and try forget it. I think it might be a bit less painful. But I'm not sure in the end that it would be the best way.
Right now, I can do it. I don't think the pain is going to "damage" me anymore than those dreadful labour pains damaged me. Highly unpleasant? Yes. Do it for "kicks?" NO.
But would I hang in there for my friends? Yes. Yes. It is worth it. They are, in a strange way, the people who will be my "Douala's," my birth helpers, when I get to the point where it is really time for Joel to be delivered. So now, while I can manage my own pain, while I can face it and deal with it, I will be there for my friends. I'm saying no to epidurals and escape. Friends face things with their friends. We bear burdens with each other. And so fulfil the law of Christ.
One day, I will not be able to do this. One day, I will be so rocked by pain, I will not be able to focus on anyone else. My own pain will be all I can see and feel. I may very well need my "doulas" to be there encouraging "breathe! Breathe, come on keep breathing!" There will be no escape, no epidural, no way out but to bear as best as one can until things finally ease a bit in that never ending night.
And this time, there will be no happy greeting of my little one. Instead of the happiness and relief, I will instead be left empty-handed and very sad. At least I will have a circle of kind and understanding faces about me.
One day Joel passed out of me, the only home he had ever known, into a new, strange, but wonderful world where he was greatly loved. Some day he will make a similar journey. He will be released from my care again, in an even greater separation. It will be as painful for me, emotionally, as his birth was physically. He will be passing on into an even more wonderful world, and to an even more wonderful love.
For right now, I can be "here" for my friends. And one day they will be there for me. It's what friends do.
"No one has greater love than this, than to lay down one's life for his friends." John 15:13.
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