March 1, 2018
I remember the call from the nurse with lab values confirming that my uterus was in fact “sleeping” like they suspected.
Wait, what? sleeping?
Let’s just wake it up!
Oh, that’s not how this works?
OK, let me grab a pen.
As I write down the letters and numbers, even as a nurse who should “get this”, I’m in a daze.
So what does this mean?
What do I do next?
Yes… I’ll wander around this apartment, stare at things, finish my oatmeal.
In a fog, the nightmare hasn’t set in. Maybe because I haven’t said it out loud yet.
Casey worked last night and is still sleeping.
Do I wake him up for this nightmare, or do I let him live in his dream a little longer?
Yes, let him sleep.
Hours pass, trying to not be alarming, I wake him with a shaky voice and tears welled up in my eyes.
I crawl into bed and tell him only what I understand, from the nurse and Dr. Google.
I don’t remember the words.
I do remember where I stood in that room, over that bed, in that apartment.
The tears, the apologies for not being able to give him the life he expected. The thought of never having little long haired, barefooted, hippie, Casey babes running around the backyard. His voice, his smile, his curiosity.
You don’t dream up this kind of dream as a little girl.
No one warns you about this.
This no longer define us, it is a part of us. Our journey. Ever evolving.
So much hope.