(Warning: There is a lot of rage and a ton of expletives below.)
I’m just going to get the sad part out of the way. It looks like my mom won’t make it through her latest round of illness. After 13 months in the hospital, her heart is starting to shut down. It isn’t imminent, but it will happen soon.
When this became clear to me, I had a huge internal debate. To tell her that I’m pregnant or not to tell her.
My head kept insisting that I wasn’t ready. We’re too early on to know if this is a viable pregnancy. Telling her will mean we have to tell everyone else, and I don’t want that yet. Whether or not my mom knows, it doesn’t change anything. She is dying, and I am pregnant. Facts are facts.
My heart was a weepy mess. As with all the ups and downs over the past year, I have made a point of making sure my mom felt loved and cared for. I’ve let her know I think of her every single day. I tried to make sure she experienced joy and happiness, and this certainly qualifies.
As should come as no surprise, I had a plan for telling people that we are pregnant. I wanted to wait until the 8 week ultrasound to tell family and close friends. If all went well, we’d let the world at large know after the first trimester.
As should come as no surprise, the Universe is shitting all over my plan.
If there was some magical way I could just tell my mom… that’s what I wanted. I don’t give a shit about anyone else right now. No, really… I’ve become remarkably unfeeling about morons over the last few days. For example, Mr. O pointed out that his mother may be upset if she finds out we told other people first. To which I responded, “No problem. I’ll just tell her to go fuck herself.” And I mean it. I will take on that burden for the rest of my natural born life and well into eternity.
I am willing to tell my mother-in-law to take a flying leap every day until one of us dies, if it means I can tell my mom. That’s when I realized how important this was to me.
Even though what’s happening to my mom is profoundly sad, I still wanted this to be happy. I hope that doesn’t sound heartless, but this is happy. IF is an asshole, but it has taught me some life skills– among them the importance of holding both the good and the incredibly hard. Your life is never, ever painted with just one brush.
So Mr. O and I made a video for my mom that my dad could play for her in the hospital. It was funny, and a little bit cheeky. We had so much fun making it together too- I haven’t laughed like that in a while.
After she saw it, my dad Facetimed us in so we could celebrate with my mom. It was amazing and painful. As much as I am so grateful we got to share this with her, I am also so fucking mad. Of all the ways I pictured telling my parents, it was never with my mom hooked up to a ventilator. I am grateful, but I am not a saint. This is fucked up. FUCKED UP.
As I knew it would, the cat is creeping out of the bag. My sister was in the room when my dad played the video. My brother found out because my dad blurted it out in the car. My mom was telling her nurse the other day. All of which is fine. I do not regret the decision to tell her for one minute.
Now comes the hard part… (oh, you thought that was it?)
My mom has asked me not to come see her. She wants me to focus on taking care of this new little life. My mom knows how hard this has been for me and Mr. O. She had a lot of difficulties with her pregnancies, and worries about this for us. And so she doesn’t want me to undergo the travel and the stress.
I’m checking with my doctor today but I worry that even if we were cleared to go, my being there would cause her anxiety (which is what sets off her heart, we’ve found.)
Merry fucking Christmas to me.