This post has been a long time coming. I've thought about it for several weeks, and decided to just wing it. Over the last month, I've heard the same thing from several family members regarding my daughter's upcoming surgery. Back in September of 2016, she had a horrific accident and crushed several bones in her face. She had emergency surgery to reconstruct her face and part of that was the placement of an artificial stint that went from her right eye, through her sinus cavity, into her nostril. The purpose of this was to hold the place of the lacrimal duct as her bones healed around it. Well, this coming Monday, February 27th, she is having what will (hopefully) be her final surgery to have that stint removed. This so happens to be the first anniversary of my dad's sudden passing. So there are family members that are understandably bothered by this. It will be a hard day for us all. But I did not have a choice. I have been told that I need to change the date, I need to change surgeons, they need to open another day for surgery, we can wait another month. And the answer to all of those requests is no. I will not wait another month; every day we risk catastrophic infection. I will not change doctors; my traumatized five year old is comfortable with her surgeon and I WILL NOT do that to her. The surgeon is also familiar with her specific anatomy. She has studied it, she operated on her once before. She made these repairs. The whole point of this is not to shame anyone, it is to bring up the reality of trauma. And these conversations really got me thinking. The world does not care about your trauma. (Sorry!) People will not go out of their way for your trauma. To them, it is just another day. Having the gift (curse?) of an impeccable memory and a complex case of PTSD, my life is filled with anniversaries. I don't mean the kind where we sing Happy Birthday or where I get a bouquet of roses from my husband. I mean trauma anniversaries. March 8, 2011; the day I found out I was pregnant at seventeen years old. It was also the beginning of the abuse I experienced at the hands of my first child's biological father. Mother's Day, 2011; the day he told me I HAD to put my baby up for adoption. July 24, 2011; my first memory coming out of anesthesia after emergency appendix surgery at six months pregnant was the smell of vodka. He was drunk. (This day has repeatedly been traumatic due to other events. Fun times.) September 29, 2011; the day I told him I was leaving. This resulted in some of the most terrifying moments of my life. (This also so happens to be the day my daughter had emergency surgery.) November 10, 2011; the day my daughter was born. What should have been a beautiful day was emotionally damaging. I could go on and on and on.
All the days of trauma in between, all the ones from my childhood, all the ones that have occurred since then; none of them matter to anyone. When I'm having a panic attack on the way home, the lights won't turn green for me, and traffic won't move out of my way. When I have a flashback due to a smell that triggers a memory in the middle of the grocery store, it doesn't change anything for anyone but me. When the only day available for my child to have a very necessary procedure is the day my dad left this life, I have to deal with it. And that's just it, I have to deal with it. I can't not be a mom that day, or any other hard day. The world doesn't stop for my PTSD, nor should it. And that's okay. But you know what the world does notice? Compassion. Kindness. Service. Love. So you know what I do when I'm in one of my black pits of PTSD misery? I love. I give. I melt into the couch and become useless for a bit but then I love again. I give some more. That is where true joy is found. That is where I find healing. I challenge you to do the same. The next time you feel like CRAP because you remembered something downright awful that you experienced, that you continue to experience, LOVE SOMEONE. SERVE SOMEONE. GIVE IT YOUR ALL! But don't forget to love yourself, too. Happy Heaven Day, Pops.
4 Comments
Ashley
2/23/2017 08:26:39 pm
Thanks for being open and sharing such personal thoughts. I hope I can be more understanding towards people who have experienced trama.
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Magaly
2/23/2017 09:40:24 pm
I love this article. It's a reality that needs to be faced. No matter the day Mommy doesn't get sick days or holidays. You are so strong.
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Jess
2/23/2017 09:48:22 pm
You are amazing lady.
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That was simply beautiful to the end. Not what you and your baby went through, but the love you have to give the world! It sounds like even when your in the middle of that black hell, that not many can truely under stand unless you have been in your own black. You can still function and give to others and remember to love your self. May God or whom ever you look to keep you safe and sane🍄. I personally had to have basically the same procedure as your daughter. The bones healed well. The passage from my sinus through my nostril stayed open the last time. I have had to have the surgery twice. The first time they did not leave the tube in. All the scar tissue built back up between 6 to 12 months. I can not remember it was a black bad time. The second surgery with the tube was a success. Still 10 years later. Good luck to your baby and you and your family. Sorry for rambling on.
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