The Fighter Still Remains - Part 1

How it all started...

Hi Readers, Welcome! I’m so honored by the subscriptions, especially the paid ones. It’s been encouraging especially since writing a book can be a lonely process. Thanks for going on this journey with me. Please consider sharing it with someone you think would resonate with this kind of writing.

It’s intended to be both memoir and a practical tool to help folks who might be going through something similar or those caregivers and family supporting someone with a challenging diagnosis. I hope to include excerpts here as I write. NOTE: This is not intended to replace actual medical guidance. Please consult your doctors on your individual challenges and situations. Also names have been changed for most of my medical staff.

Tuesday, January 25 – Home - Day 1

Zach made me a big breakfast at 5am in the dark before dawn. He feeds me with such love. His enthusiasm for food is two parts endearing and one part annoying. During pregnancy, I rarely had an appetite. Mostly due to the vomit. But that anxious morning, I stuffed myself with food regardless of my hunger because I knew I wouldn’t be able to eat much once we arrived. We sat, munching in the quiet yellow glow of that new day, at the dining room table originally bought by my grandfather. It was an unsettled, exciting morning. The edge of life changing forever.

We’d read all the articles. We watched all the videos. We had our plan… we had our hopes. And now it was time. 

We gave loving scrubs to our demanding dog’s chin, dropped her at boarding, and drove the quiet city streets to the hospital.

Ready or not, here we come.

Having a baby in your forties generally means you know too much. Your friends have countless birth stories. You have more years of information gathering. I didn’t have much romanticism about the process. On top of that, I wasn’t dilated much but the doctors felt strongly I needed to be induced. I was passed my due date and they didn’t want to let me go any further. I knew it was going to be a long process.

We checked in and waited anxiously in the most gorgeous hospital room I’d ever seen. Spacious, with a massive window looking out onto the Hollywood Hills. I will never have a hospital room that nice again.

I want to state that I don’t want to worry pregnant people too much. What happened to me is quite rare. It’s an innately uneasy time, the days before birth. Having a baby is very serious business. Your body's a bomb about to go off with a human coming out and the stakes don’t get higher.

Tuesday and Wednesday they try to induce me. They attempt a bunch of stuff, but they don’t really know if any will work for sure. And ultimately, it doesn't. They really buried the headline on how painful the foley balloon would be. And they tried it twice. Zach and my amazing doula hung by my side, eating take-out, and passing the hours like two very relatable guardian angels while we waited for our baby to make an appearance. 

Late into the night, after I’d had too many orange flavored ice pops but dilated very little, the doctors told me the baby was showing signs of heart distress. Off I went into the operation room for a c-section. There wasn’t much debate. I was tired and with the baby at risk, I relented.

In the bright operation room with the wall partition between my head and the rest of my body, I clung to Zach’s sweaty hand and I repeated the Buddhist chant. 

The greatest tugging of my life from some place beyond the horizon led me into a trance where all I could do was hold on, pass through the experience like it was a threshold to a new world, and just repeat “Nam Myoho Renge Kyo.”

I’m not officially Buddhist, but chanting helps. From somewhere deep in my throat, the sounds murmur out of me as my body is opened wide. The smell of my burnt flesh and blood. The sounds of Simon and Garfunkel’s The Boxer play in the room.

In the clearing stands a boxer
And a fighter by his trade
And he carries the reminders
Of every glove that laid him down
And cut him 'til he cried out
In his anger and his shame
"I am leaving, I am leaving"
But the fighter still remains.

I am the boxer.

To be continued…