Superwoman

Superwoman has officially hit a wall.  In classic Molly fashion I have been plugging along at an ungodly pace and actually complimenting myself at how great I've been doing considering everything thats's on my plate.

With my cape whistling in the wind behind me I've been pushing myself and pushing myself to believe that if I can just maintain warp speed with a smile on my face, if I can just ignore the pregnancy just a little while longer and not let it slow me down, dig deep enough to stretch my patience with the kids just far enough to keep my yelling at them to a minimum, keeping all my worries and fears around Haven's surgery at bay while allowing myself to only think positive thoughts about how this will all be over and done in no time......if I can keep all this up......then goddamn it, I can do this.

I can and I will just ballbust my way through the next month kicking ass and taking names, blazing a trail, with a take no prisoners attitude and come out the other side relieved it's all over and rested just enough to reach the grand prize that awaits me of giving birth and caring for a newborn until it finally fucking sleeps through the night somewhere from four months to a year after its born.  I have been flying and flying and flying and flying....and then....

My body pulled a "what-the-fuck-are-you-trying-to-pull-off-here-you-crazy-ass-superwoman-wannabe" and WHAM.  My hard drive crashed.  I am a human computer with a blue screen.  I'm done.  I got a migraine that felt like the inside of the center of the earth was about to swallow me up, no matter how much water I drank I still looked like Jim Carey in Me, Myself, and Irene, I couldn't stop crying or sweating (which is just a pathetic combination) and I pretty much had to cave, call a team of first responders from my family to watch the kids so I could get into my bed with a gallon of water and a Costco size container of Tums and just shut myself down.  All.  Done.  It was a good run.  But it couldn't last.

Spoiler alert: guess I'm not Superwoman after all.  And who am I kidding -- I should have known there was no way to pull off being Superwoman in the first place when everyone knows you just can't find a good belted underwear and bustier combo at Motherhood Maternity.  Should have probably taken it down a notch right then and there.  But no.  I had to try and defy the odds.

So....I'm a little roughed up after the crash but I'm back on my feet and obviously -- this time -- with a new perspective on how I'm going to have to move forward:

1. I have to start acknowledging just how scared I am about the Fontan.  I know it will likely be a technical success.  But I also know those consent forms all to well from the first couple times around.  I'd be lying if I wasn't deep deep deep down just the tiniest littlest inseey-weensie bit scared I might lose my daughter.  There.  I said it.  Because it's it's true.  I'm scared.
2. It's not going to be a cakewalk.  It won't kill me -- but it's also not going to be easy.  I have to remember I'm pregnant.  Five and half months pregnant and over halfway through the pregnancy heading into the Fontan.  I feel like Benjamin Button -- the Fontan is moving in one direction and the baby the other.  I want the Fontan to shrivel up and die -- just go away -- all the while the baby is growing and getting bigger and moving forward.  I want to go the way of the baby.  Forward.
3. There is no perfect way to prepare myself or my daughter for this surgery.  I am not a Child Life Specialist.  And even if I was -- there just isn't going to be an easy way to tactfully help a three year old understand what's about to happen, then what IS happening, or how to help her believe there's an end to it, that she will feel better, we'll get to go home from the hospital and slowly but surely everything will get back to normal over time.  Christ -- I'm having a hard time with this one - how the hell is SHE supposed to grasp any of this?
4. Not looking forward to being locked in the joint.   Namely 8 East.  At least in the ICU she'll be on HEAVY narcotics.  But 8 East is like being moved from the Ritz (the ICU) to Pine Street Inn (8 East recovery floor).  Not only do we have to live in the hospital for god knows how long with nurses checking her vitals every four hours around the clock including when she's sleeping (anyone with a toddler can imagine how well that's going to go over), let alone pain management, the creepy zipper incision on her chest, the tubes, the constant beeping of monitors in the background, the trusting of random nurse after random fellow, after random doctor over and over poking and prodding...ugh.  I remember it all too well and that was with a newborn/6 month old whose only mode of communication was to cry and poop.  The thought of heart surgery post-op hospital life with a three year old -- rather than some regular family's 24 hour stint to have a mole removed or some other silly little procedure -- makes me literally sick to my stomach. Which leads me to point #5:
5. If I think I am going to get any amount of sleep while staying with her in the hospital I am an idiot.  Which leads me to point #6:
6. I am going to need help.  Brian will likely do most overnights so I can get rest, but that mommy-tidal-pull that every mother knows all too well is going to make me FEEL like I gotta be in that hospital room with her 24-7.  I have to pull myself away or I'm going to make myself and baby #3 sick.  (should probably have point #6 tattooed on my body somewhere before April 19th so I remember this one).
7. The Fontan doesn't just end the second the surgery is over.  There is a six week recovery period where I will mainly be responsible for her as the stay-at-home mom (oh, and let's not forget my 20 month old, the dog, the contractors doing work on our basement, the baby growing in my belly and fuck-it just generally everything and anything else you can think of).  This is where I trade in the Master's Degree in Child Life (that I don't have) for my Physical Therapy/Nursing Degree (that I also don't have).  She cannot take a bath for six weeks, she cannot be picked up under her arms for six weeks (scooping her whole body up just to get her on the potty fifty times a day?!?!?), it may be a while before she can do the stairs on her own (because currently she crawls up our three flights of stairs to get to her room -- yes, of course her room is on the third floor -- why wouldn't be -- let's just make this even more challenging!  Good thing I'm Superwoman and we can just fly :) Which leads me back to point #6.  

Everything comes back to #6.  And thankfully we have an amazing support network and we'll have all the help we need and more I'm sure.  I wish like hell I had a crystal ball so I could SEE exactly how this is all going to play out -- but since I can't I just have to keep looking, finding, securing, and allowing people to help.  I'll have to put all the extra bullshit aside about feeling like I look stupid for getting pregnant before this whole ordeal, for feeling like a charity case that everyone has to stop their lives and help me with my own, for just wishing like hell NONE of this had to happen.

But when I put Haven to bed and she says to me "Mummy...I love you tooooooo much." Instead of "so much" -- how cute is that? Or shrieks "DADDY!!!!!"with a huge smile on her face every time Brian comes into a room.  Or when she randomly comes up to me and whispers into my belly "There, there little baby, don't cry, when you come out you can play with me and we'll be sooooo happy" or when she leans over Ronan and gives him a kiss on the head as he scoots by (because yes, he is STILL scooting and not walking....) and says, "I love you little buddy."  I get that everything I listed above will be worth it no matter how hard it was or not so hard it ended up being.

But I'm scared.  I am definitely not Superwoman and waiting for the Fontan these last few weeks is starting to drive me INSANE.  Knowing there's nothing I can do about it but slipping down that slippery slope of feeling like if I could just do something to be better prepared, or make it easier on her, wishing I didn't have to give up Ronan to stay with family and friends for two weeks when I'm going to miss him so much and hate that he's not with me through all this -- just too much to think about, too much anticipation, too much loss of control of our day-to-day, too much having to hand over my child to doctors and surgeons knowing it's the best thing for her but fighting against my own natural born instinct to protect her with my own life, holding on to her tight, and totally refusing to ever let her go.

There are parts of this journey I know will continue to learn from.  There are parts of this journey I wish I could just damn to hell and not have as a part of my life.  And while sometimes, even in a room full of people who love and support me, with a husband who would walk across fire for his family, with two smiley, happy, adorable children and one on the way -- I can still feel so. goddamn. alone. in how hard this is.  

What is a Superwoman to do?  Best to just stop trying to act like Superwoman, drink more water, eat your Tums and refer to point #6.  Over and over and over again.  Stick with #6 and you'll never actually have to know what it feels like to be alone.