I had the most ridiculous nightmare last night.
Except it wasn’t really a nightmare but rather a life lived moment imposed upon a non-real life situation.
I dreamed I was pregnant again and had HELLP. That Matthew and I were in hospital and were listening to the baby’s heart beat and begging the doctors to operate and save the baby before my HELLP syndrome progressed further. That my case of HELLP before was not a typical presentation and this could be deadly very soon. The Doctor kept saying he was going to do that but first he wanted more blood work or maybe check and make sure there was an operating room available. He was moving at the speed of molasses and shrugging off our concerns saying that he would get to us when he could.
And there we were doing what we had to do before, advocate, beg and plead for our lives. Again.
When I was relaying this to Matthew over coffee this morning he shivered,
“that is a nightmare alright. Cruel, even our nightmares aren’t normal anymore.”
I had not thought of it that way.
He is right. I don’t think other people have nightmares where they have to plead Doctors to deliver their baby and save their life. I do not think that nightmares include separation from your spouse, routine medical procedures, kind eyed nurses in caps or even non-stress tests and yet here I am waking up in a cold sweat at 3:10 am because of a twinge I felt under my right ribcage in a nightmare that bolted me from sleep.
Our dreams are not normal either. We were at the grocery store today in the world’s slowest line and Matthew was beginning to lose patience with the elderly woman completing her 13th price match ahead of us. Seriously, if you are retired why are you grocery shopping on a Sunday? Go home and go out tomorrow when the rest of us are at work. And as I saw his blood pressure rise I muttered to him,
“This doesn’t matter. We are together.”
I dream and wish of times when we are together and well. My dreams and hopes include long lives of health and togetherness, where Lillian follows her ambitions and hopefully takes us along with her. My dreams include moments where I can include my eldest girl wherever I can to seek the closest sensation to completion there is for me without her. Yup. That is it people. No fancy cars or wild vacations. Security. that is it.
My grief group often says you can “unsee” what we have seen. I cannot erase the knowledge or grow back the innocence lost. There are times where I look at Ava and I am so glad that the reach of her in my life is so encompassing and there are other times where I am so frustrated with it. I cannot “unsee” the truth I know, there is no escaping it and returning to the place I was the moment before they told me she died. Unlike a lot of grief Mama’s I can’t say I am 100 percent okay with that. The “old” Melissa was a lot of fun and had a lot of perks over the post-loss version.
But I am wiser. Oh, how I am. And I am far more compassionate and selfless. But brutally honest and far more edged and cut than I ever was then.
I guess there are times in everyone’s life where they can draw the sharp contrast between the moment before an after. And if anything were to cause that type of delineation I am glad it is my Ava, though I wish it were from the experience of becoming her living mother and not the mourning of her.