Lucky

It’s really easy to read some of the stuff I’ve posted about some of the stuff I’ve been through in the last few years and feel sorry for me. It’s pretty easy to read anything I’ve said about feeling lucky through all of it and think, wow, that girl is strong. Or, wow, that girl is delusional.

I totally get it.

Here’s the thing. A lot of crappy stuff has come my way in this life. A lot of it happened before I ever got pregnant. Not compared to, like, earthquakes in the far east, or testicular cancer, but life has not exactly been easy.

And yeah, I could sit around and complain about it. To be honest, I do sit around and complain about it all sometimes. I probably spent the greater part of ages 12-18 complaining. And that’s not to say I didn’t do the same thing in my 20s, or so far in my 30s. I certainly spent a sizable chunk of the year I was 28 upset for one reason or another (pregnancy, eyeball related issues, sleep deprivation, etc).

When I found out that I was going to have to have eye surgery, I didn’t exactly have time to get too upset about it. I cried, sure, and I worried about things I might never see again and things I might never be able to do again, or worse, in the first place. I worried that I’d never get to read my son’s school papers, or read a book out loud to him, or drive him to the zoo. I worried about logical things and illogical things. But I only had three days to do that, and then the first surgery was over. And then my worries turned to my recovery, the pain, and the strangeness.

When both surgeries were over, I spent some time feeling pretty sorry for myself. I couldn’t see much at all for a few weeks and so there was nothing I could do besides lying in bed. When you have that much time to think, you find things to feel sad about.

Things started to look up when I got a new glasses prescription. Then Liam was born, and I made a decision to be as optimistic as possible. To me, it was the only option. What was I supposed to do, otherwise? Keep lying in bed and feeling sad about my situation? I had a newborn to take care of. And the facts spoke for themselves:

Despite my having a tough pregnancy, Liam was born perfectly healthy. Weirdly comforting was the fact that, though things did not work out as we all would have hoped, while I was pregnant I did everything I was supposed to in terms of being healthy and careful about my diabetes. For as long as I could not work, I was able to go on medical leave from Brown and collect disability pay to make up for my lost income.  My local eye doctor could have stuck to the original plan of waiting until I gave birth to do the surgery, which would have almost definitely left me nearly, or completely blind. Because Dr. Harrison recommended that I see Dr. Prescod, I was able to be in touch with Dr. Duker, the best retina specialist in the country. Kurt was able to take the time from work to drive me to all of my doctors’ appointments, and worked only a mile away from home, which meant he was able to come home quickly if I needed him. At the time Liam was born, my mother was working part time and was able to come help me out on most days while Kurt was at work. I had friends locally who would come help out when they could, and friends who weren’t local anymore who came to visit regularly. When it became clear that I would not be able to return to work for at least several years, I was able to remain on medical leave from Brown, retaining my employment, which means as soon as I am able to work, they will offer me a job to do. For the time being, I am able to continue to be on disability pay, which is not much, but it’s still something.

On top of everything else, this could have happened 50 years ago, when they wouldn’t have been able to do the surgery. It could have happened 25 years ago when there wasn’t yet the technology we have today that would allow me to keep in touch with people (via email and text message), download audiobooks and podcasts for parenting advice, or even type this right now. It could even have been a different issue all together, something worse, something with no hope of cure. And, not to sound like a martyr or whatever, but something could have happened to the unborn baby. I don’t know if I would have ever forgiven myself, even if it hadn’t been my fault.

You may have read, by now, something I posted about working on positivity. And feeling lucky is not always the easiest thing to feel. You have to find your way to it. You have to actively try to find the bright side of things. You have to look for the greater lesson in things that don’t seem to have a bright side to speak of.

But if you’re me, and you don’t do those things, you might never get out of bed again. And that just isn’t an option, I’m afraid.

So, I feel lucky. I have a great kid and a supportive, wonderful husband, really sweet and helpful friends and the best family around. I can see well enough to take care of Liam, to cook, and to go out for little walks around our neighborhood. I can allow myself a day here and there to stay in my pajamas and mope about all of the chores there are to do, and then I can move on from it. I have a pretty happy life, really.