Before and After

We are all undeniably shaped by the things that happen to us; from the moment we're born things happen to us that shape the choices we make, the way we view the world, and the way the world views us.  Most of the time, we're not even aware of the minute changes that happen.  It's not until we look back over the landscape of our lives and that we see the mountains we thought were rolling hills.

There are a few moments, however, that stand out and we describe them as such:  ground breaking, earth shaking, life changing.  I've been lucky in my life that I have had very few of those kinds of moments, almost all of them happy.  I've mostly bobbed through the charmed ocean of life, with happily married parents, few heartbreaks, and few disappointed hopes.  September 2010 changed that.

This is not a blog to talk about Molly or her medical condition - if you are interested in following Molly's journey, her mom Kristen has written eloquently on the topic in her caringbridge blog.  But her illness, critical condition and the adjustment to the "New Normal" has left a mark on me, and I will forever think of life as "Before" and "After".

In order to decide to become a parent, you have to take a gigantic dose of "that won't happen to us" pills.  This is what allows you to love someone so completely, without reservation.  If people stopped to think of everything that could go wrong with pregnancy, birth, babies, toddlers, tweens, teens, college students.... the human race would end.  To function, you HAVE to be able to convince the rational part of your brain that yes, bad things do happen, but they happen to other people and your child won't have a problem.  Before, I lived happily in that bubble, "knowing" that there were kids with problems out there, but satisfied with the idea that it wasn't going to be my kids, or my friend's kids.

Seeing Molly on life support was a terrible thing.  The ups and downs of those dark days deeply affected me in ways that I'm only now starting to understand.  It was as if I had been walking down the street, a beautiful street, lined with pretty houses with neat yards and when I reached out to touch one, I discovered that the whole thing was a paper thin backdrop that I could punch a hole in.  And when I punched that hole and tore the paper, behind the beautiful houses were sick and dying children, their parents and siblings, and families and friends.  I couldn't get the idea out of my head that there were thousands of kids like Molly out there; sick, clinging to life, with their devastated families sitting by their sides.  I became obsessed with Caring Bridge posts, I found myself searching Facebook for pages asking for prayers for this kid or that.  I became completely unable to leave the house for fear that I would miss a post or a phone call from Kristen about Molly.  I couldn't fall asleep unless my cell phone was plugged in next to me and I found the loudest possible ringtone so I would be sure to hear it, even in the deepest sleep.  Not that there was much sleep to be had.

I went through alternating phases of completely overindulging my kids and getting mad at them for not understanding why I was sad.  I stopped reading some Facebook posts, cause I would get so angry about people complaining about their kids.  I wanted to shout at people "Hug your kid!  Be happy he's well enough to misbehave!"  I went to the mall and standing among the crowd of strangers,  I realized if I started to cry, no one would know why, and it made me start to have a panic attack.  I got into a fight with a friend because he asked, via Facebook, to ask people to pray that the financing went through on his truck.  I told him that people like him were clogging up the prayer lines and did he seriously think God had anything to do with financing a truck and if He did, then the whole notion of God was insane.  I would swing wildly between praying to God and thinking that I couldn't believe in a God who would allow people to go through so much pain.

I was so angry.  Angry at God, angry at the doctors, angry at everyone who didn't stop their whole lives to help Molly.  I knew it was unreasonable, but I couldn't stop myself.  And I would get angry at myself, for having emotions that I wasn't sure were really mine to have.  Molly's not my kid, and I'm not a member of the family, so did I even have the right to be so sad and mad and scared?

Slowly, the anger ebbed.  The grief has been largely replaced with gratitude that Molly has recovered so much.  But I am in the After.  I no longer think of AI Dupont as a place you take your kid for a broken bone, it's where Molly went on life support.  I still jump at texts and phone calls from Kristen, and when the caller ID said AI Dupont recently, it took me a minute of conversation with the person calling before I got my heart out of my throat.  Kristen and I had a running joke in the Before - if your kid was sick and you wanted to take them to the doctor, you called Kristen for advice.  If you didn't, you called me for advice.  That's not true anymore.  I'm much more likely to err on the side of caution, and my stack of EOBs from the pediatrician proves it.

The biggest difference in the After is in how I view my friendships and how I deal with people.  I have realized that people have different priorities from me, and that's okay - Everyone gives what they can, when they can.   Just because Kristen and Molly have this BIG problem, doesn't make the problems that other people face less important to that person.  I had to stop comparing everything to Molly, but I also had to distance myself from friends who were having crisis because I knew I wasn't equipped to handle it.  I also learned that when the shit goes down, you will be surprised by who steps up and who steps out.

I think I'm more serious now.  When I see a speeding car, I tend to wonder if that person is rushing to the hospital before I think "what a jackass".  It's been hard to write this blog, as you might have guessed by my lack of posts.  At first, I felt like happiness was a sort of betrayal to Kristen, my bestest buddy who was anything but happy.  Then I wanted to talk about how I was feeling about this, but didn't know how for a very long time.

The After isn't entirely a bad place.  I think I'm more patient with my kids and husband.  I appreciate our health and our happiness more now.  I think it has made me kinder to strangers and more aware of the people around me.  My girls are much more aware of special needs kids and adults and understand that there are kids who are less fortunate than they are.  Personally, I would give up all this awareness and sensitivity for another cold drink by the pool with Kris and all 7 of our kids acting like shit monkeys in the pool, but this is not the life we lead.  I'm grateful to Father Foley and his continuing miracle of Molly, and I'm grateful to whatever trick of fate led us to Delaware and me to the Pike Creek MOMS club.