I'm Not Dead Yet

For the last week I have been plagued with gradually increasing fatigue, the likes of which I have not known since my pregnancies. It soaked into all of my bones and eventually toppled me into a pile on the love seat, the place I normally go to die quietly. I spent the majority of the weekend there under a blanket watching trashy movies. I managed to go about my duties during the week, including a business lunch and an outing to the martini bar, but I felt something was horribly wrong. I made a mental note to call my doctor and have blood drawn to make sure I wasn't the next in our familial line of women with a fizzling thyroid. Yesterday I awoke with a slightly sore throat, and my situation suddenly became very clear and much less sinister. I apparently have been fighting the germs Erik had picked up at day care one week ago. All week long he cried and shot impressive streamers of mucus from each nostril. He has taken a liking to sucking water from the straw in my Weight Watchers water jug. Since Erik continues to drool all over me daily, anyway, I thought there was no harm in that. Now that my illness has manifested itself in the form of a common cold and I have stopped fighting it, the fatigue is subsiding and I feel like me again. Erik, of course, is back to his old self.

Yesterday I got myself together and attended Dominick's 3rd birthday party. Overall, I enjoyed myself immensely, even though Brian had to leave early for his fantasy football draft meeting across town. Anything involving other children is and will likely always be difficult for me to attend. There is always an emotional hangover of varying severity hours to days later. There are some situations I avoid entirely, such as baby showers, which I will likely never again attend. I never know how a birthday party will affect me, but I am usually up for finding out. I wouldn't miss Dominick's for the world, anyway. Kathy called before the party to remind us to bring Erik's swim trunks for the Slip n Slide. I brought his pool therapy bag with us but knew deep down he would not participate in that activity, as he would simply get run over. When we arrived, I poured myself a glass of red wine and found a chair under a tree, where Erik sat on my lap and we watched the party unfold. I was able to coax him into playing with a toy monster truck and later an abandoned pile of plastic tools while the other children swarmed the play equipment and Slip n Slide. There were other 1 and 2-year-olds there, walking around like they had done so for years, which always makes me giggle but gives me a giant case of the creeps, too. They still look like walking fetuses to me. The worst, though, is the soft coo or loud squealing of babies, which remains foreign and strange to me.

These thoughts, of course, played in my mind in the background as I enjoyed the company of my friends and their extended families, which many years of events like these have made me a permanent member of. As the children whacked at an impressively fortified Curious George pinata built to withstand more force than an M4 Sherman tank, my friend Kathy asked if Erik would like a try. I almost hugged her for thinking of him but was unsure how to answer this question. Erik was in the driveway quietly playing with toys and wouldn't know if he missed out or not, but I shrugged and said that he might. My heart began to pound, as I had no idea how he would react, and I was trying this for the first time in front of a crowd. I retrieved him and placed him in front of the pinata. I wrapped his thick fingers around the broomstick and raised his arm into the air, pushing it forward, feeling the wood connect gently with the surface of the pinata. By the second whack, I felt the muscles in his arm contract and his arm move forward ever so slightly under its own power under my steadying hand. When I felt this tiny movement, I smiled. One more whack, and we were done. Erik enjoyed the cheering and applause and then went back into his own world again. I returned to watching the walking fetuses swinging sticks with ease in this slightly disturbing birthday tradition, Tootsie Rolls beginning to bleed from punched-in holes in the body of the ailing paper mache monkey. Once the candy spilled en masse from a giant crevice, I watched the other kids scramble forward to stuff candy into their pockets. Oh, what the hell. I ran forward as well, gathered a few candies, and returned to Erik in the driveway. I placed a few small pieces I had unwrapped into his palm, and he immediately turned his hand over, scattering them onto the asphalt. He returned to rolling a plastic screwdriver on the ground. I felt my heart sink but knew that I had to try. I consumed the remainder of the candy myself.

On the drive home, I thought long and hard about my friends, some of whom were holding brand new babies who slept peacefully or gurgled and cooed like all babies should. My heart swelled for them and I actually thanked God they will never have to go through what we go through on a daily basis. Even though I am horribly envious, I am now able to look outside myself and be genuinely happy for them for the very first time.

I have looked back at my survival over the last year and have determined that, for me, survival has been comprised of a few essential components. Firstly, I stick to a predictable daily routine, which provides me comfort in its monotony and predictability. I avoid situations that trigger unmanageable depression, such as baby showers, while I let myself attend others that have a more unclear outcome. If there is a negative result, I can always alter my game plan later, at least until I am ready to try again. I now take better care of myself, which includes getting fit and occasionally indulging in good wine or getting my toes/hair done. I can see now that my personal relationships are suffering greatly, but I hope that I will learn to better care for them with time. I honestly don't know how to remedy that at the moment. Right now I am still busy learning to heal but see that next on the horizon.

All I can do it attack this one gentle whack at a time.