People talk about how the birthday of a child born violently can be triggering and traumatic – but I have not had this happen with my toddler’s birthdays. It seems to me that his birthday is his day, and my trauma is elsewhere.
Well, I seem to have found the day where it resides. Today – week 35, day 5. That is the exact gestation when I went into labor with him and now this pregnancy has reached that same day, and I can’t stop thinking about his birth.
I feel out of control, depressed, on the verge of tears. I keep having flashbacks to my labor, to that spiraling, out of control, terrifying feeling of having black vultures flapping their wings all around my head and razoring me with their beaks.
And when the vultures were gone, my broken, bleeding body all alone, my baby elsewhere, isolated, fed by an anonymous nurse from a bottle. Like Chinese water torture, they would bring him to me and I would hold him, not knowing if I would have an hour, or two, sometimes three, before they would come and take him again. Not knowing if he would be gone for one, two, or five hours.
I don’t know if it would be better or worse if there had been any actual medical problem with him or with me. Would I feel better, knowing that he needed life-saving procedures? Would I feel better, knowing that the hospital was the only way one or both of us would come out alive?
I don’t know – maybe I would feel worse. All I know is how I feel, which is that I was beaten and lacerated and violated, and my baby taken from me, as a part of standard hospital practice when NOTHING at all was wrong with either one of us. That, for me, is the most frightening part.
I can only hope and pray it will be different this time, but again I am terrified to have people around me.
I just don’t want anyone around me.
I had done so much work, good work, to overcome the fear and build trust. But now I am so flooded I don’t want to see anyone, I don’t want any person to be near me when I am in labor.