The day following my surgery was surreal. I woke up with my upper abdomen sore and swollen and I just remembered thinking, “Did I really just go through that? I can’t believe I had to undergo an emergency surgery. Should I tell my family?!” My mind was running with so many questions and different scenarios. All I knew in that moment was that I felt like complete shit—mentally, emotionally & physically.
Getting out of bed was especially difficult; even going to the bathroom, sitting down, walking, basic things that one would normally find as an easy task, was 1000x harder. Being so used to independence, I felt so useless. Thankfully, my sweet man was there to help me bathe, get dressed, get out of bed, etc. The anesthesia had completely worn off at this point and EVERYTHING hurt. In fear of ripping my stitched wounds, I made little to no movement, which only led to my back aching more, sitting on the couch the entire day. I was in so much discomfort and distress that all I could do was cry.
*Flashback*Sitting in the ER room, waiting for the news I remembered telling Leonard that I would need him more than ever in the upcoming days. Not just to physically assist, but more so emotionally. It’s almost as if I knew or felt like I would go back into my dark place. And as much as I fought to stay positive and reassured myself, I got sucked back in.
The next day was Saturday and it was a couple days before Christmas. I couldn’t even enjoy the holidays. I was just worried about being able to visit my family and having to hide the soreness and pain I was going through.
A heavy weight was lifted off my shoulders when I decided to work up the courage to call my sister. It wasn’t my parents but it was a start… of course there were tears, but I felt a thousand times better (or at least as good as I thought I could be).
The following days happened so fast. After multiple breakdowns —and I mean me destroying my room, laying on the floor crying, kinda breakdown, I came to the realization that this was something I could not deal on my own. I needed to talk to someone…
My emotions were uncontrollably high, I was snapping and crying over every little thing and I felt lost. I felt sad, angry, frustrated, questioned God why this and everything that led up to that moment happened the way it did. “Haven’t I gone through enough the past year?! Why do I deserve this? What did I do so badly to deserve this?” I was exhausted, I was over it. I didn’t know what to do.
At this point, I didn’t know who I was. Everything that I did to bring the happiness back on my life the past few months got tossed out the window. Just as I was feeling like a better version of old myself, it’s as if time had suddenly stopped and someone took my entire world and turned it to upside down and I was living in this place equivalent to hell… well at least in my mind.
I was having so much anxiety, nightmares here and there, everything just kept replaying over and over again. I had flashbacks and it was mentally screwing me up. I couldn’t close my eyes without seeing them put the oxygen mask on me before putting me of sleep. I couldn’t see babies without getting anxiety. I couldn’t look down at my incisions without getting reminded of that horrible day in December. (I am pretty sure we call that PTSD… )
I had questions. Lots and lot and lots of questions. Not just why but how? And what did they do to me? What exactly did I go through? How is my body gonna heal? When I was alone, I found myself looking through the pictures of my insides, examining every little detail, analyzing the whole day. It felt like I was trying to solve a mystery, except I knew this one wasn’t meant to be solved— but I didn’t care. Ironically, the more I suffocated myself analyzing the whole ordeal, the more I felt at ease.
So let’s talk about acceptance— I can’t remember the exact day or time that I decided to stop questioning why this happened but I just knew I had to fix myself. I had to accept it and try my best to move on.
I’d be lying to myself if I told y’all I’ve accepted it 100%. There’s still days I find myself crying. Not a day goes by where I dob’t think about what happened or what if. Yes, I’ve controlled my emotions towards it a tad bit but there are times I get saddened by the slightest reminder of that day.
Some things trigger my emotions, but that’s normal through this grieving/healing process, right? Lol, I even started watching Grey’s Anatomy… There’s one episode where Christina goes through an ectopic pregnancy and not gonna lie, it hit hard…but somehow I found comfort. I find comfort in little things and on the opposite end, I also get triggered by the smallest things.
I recently found out I was actually 7 weeks and 1 day pregnant, not 6. That same day, I felt down. Everyday on the 20th I count back the days, remember it like it’s some sort of anniversary like “oh, it’s been 3 months since…”
It’s been a rollercoaster, one day I’m motivated to be better, the next day or even next couple of hours I feel like the universe is against me. It’s been a tough challenge, not only for me but for my boyfriend and others around me. But without them, I’d most likely find myself in a much worse situation.
It’s gonna take some time to feel almost like myself again. There are days I feel like I can’t get there but believe me when I say I am going to keep fighting to get back my peace of mind.