The Emotional Roller Coaster

 

It is hard to believe that it has been about two and a half months since I learned of my little Pippa’s diagnosis. In that time I can’t begin to describe the emotional roller coaster that I have been on. It feels like I didn’t quite reach the line that says “You Must Be This Tall to Ride”, and that I never should have been allowed to board. Somehow I snuck on though.

The climb to the top of the track was the worst part.....butterflies swarmed in my stomach like the locusts in Egypt. The chain pulling the heavy cart to the apex made loud, mechanical clicks...but even they couldn't drown out the sound of my own heartbeat.

I knew there was still time to get off; all I had to do was just throw my hands in the air and say I wasn’t ready. In fact, whoever was operating the ride was probably expecting it. There are so many others who have seen the steep hills, loop-de-loops, and corkscrews turns in the track ahead, and decided to disembark.

But I couldn’t move from my seat. As terrified as I was, I knew I would carry regret far heavier than the fear I currently held if I didn’t continue on. So I stayed in my seat. The roller coaster surmounted the top, and in slow motion began to round the crest. Then, in a flash, it started to plummet towards the earth. Just as I thought I would never stop falling, the track bent back toward the sky and I was lifted back up. There was suddenly a feeling of weightlessness, freedom and exaltation.

 

Of course, in this somewhat cheesy analogy I am talking about the initial days following that fateful doctors appointment and my decision to continue on with the pregnancy. I experienced emotions I never knew I could feel, the most prevailing being grief. Although there was still a little growing bean inside me, I felt as if I had just lost her.

Some of the literature I found promised my feelings of bereavement were completely normal. But normal or not, it killed me inside to feel so sad when I really hadn’t lost anything but my paradigm of how life with a child was going to be...how my child was going to be.

Of course, there was one person I should have turned to for emotional support (my BF and wonderful father-to-be), but I couldn’t. How could I even parallel my grief to the tragedy he had experienced less than two years prior? He knows what it truly means to lose someone. I couldn't be selfish and expect him to be stronger than he could possibly be, and I couldn't think he could make my hurt go away when he had the same hurt, plus at least tenfold more of his own. So, after a long and emotionally charged weekend I realized that I needed to be steadfast in my own decision.

After this first dizzying week, I unexpectedly started to feel amazing. I was reassured by my friends and family that I was going to be a great mom. I told myself that so much good was going to come out of this. I reclaimed the joy of pregnancy. I began to believe that all was going to work out. So what if my daughter had Down syndrome? I loved her all the same, and nothing could change that.

I would be lying, however, to say I feel this way every minute of every day. Even though a lot of my posts present potential problems (whoa, alliteration!) matter-of-factly, I am actually skimming over the true depth of the anxiety I feel. It is not that I don't have an optimistic attitude, but it is a constant battle between my head and heart. The latter whispers reassurances, but the former shouts, "THIS IS GOING TO BE HARD....REALLY HARD!!"

So as much I want to believe that everything will be okay, there are so many moments that all of a sudden I realize I am at the top of another cloud-grazing hill, and gravity is about to take over.....

Like when I am laying on an exam table and the ultrasound tech is looking for a heart defect.

And when the doctor reminds me there is still a high risk of stillbirth.

And when I think about all the upcoming doctors appointments and therapy sessions.

And when I stress about how I will manage if my boyfriend is deployed for his job.

And when I imagine the stares of pity from strangers while I am at the grocery store.

And when I have to explain to my crying Pippa why the other kids are calling her names and won't play with her.

And when I will have to fight with school administrators to ensure my daughter is provided with the proper resources to learn.

Just when I think my head is going to explode with all these apprehensions, I feel a little kick inside me. It is a friendly little reminder that no matter what, I need to stay strong for my little angel. She is going to be depending on me, and I cannot let the “what-ifs” overrule what is.

And if there is one thing I know for sure, love is what it is and always will be. Pure, tangible, unfaltering, and completely blind love.