I cannot believe it as been that long since writing anything here. It’s not even that I did not want to write anything, I would mean to, but then the moment would pass. Repeatedly.
Alhamdulilah for everything is pretty much the unofficial motto of this blog and so it has been through this year, which has swung between highs and lows with equal vigour.
But the good moments, the good memories and the joy you hold inside your head, as well as the people around you are what helps you through the bad times.
Earlier this year, when I was briefly but painfully in hospital, what made things better was thinking about walking along on a sunny day, with my little girl’s hand in mine. Such a small, everyday, practical thing and yet I feel it so deeply.
Alhamdulilah, Oreo is such an easy child and she came so easily to us too. We had just started to think about trying for a baby and weeks later, I found that yes, you could indeed feel pregant from very early on.
We were always going to have at least one more baby and that would be perfect. Inwardly, I prepared for pregnancy and the joy of snuggling up to a newborn. Outwardly, I started taking folic acid.
Sometimes bad things just happen, they drop down in front of you like an anvil in a Roadrunner cartoon. Sometimes, they slowly come into focus, like someone else is adjusting the lenses on your vision.
Slight abdominal pains. Maybe it’s stress. There again. Maybe it’s bad digestion. Worse. The GP agrees it’s bad digestion. Medication. I wake up and not only is the pain worse, but it’s taken up permanent residence. A prescription, a bit better and then worse and then I’m at my parent’s and my Mum is telling me to go to A&E.
Later, when I’m lying in a hospital bed and IV fluid is chugging through a drip at high speed because I’m that dehydrated, I’m wondering how I could have let myself get this poorly?
Probably because I didn’t want to be that poorly and the pain was in the wrong place to be appendicitis and digestive pain can be that excruiciating, so no need to be melodramatic.
Later, after the surgery the talk turns to risks of infertility (high) and the possibility of IVF, it appear that my body was indeed going for maximum drama. Something was going wrong inside me and I didn’t even know.
And I want to bury my face and cry until my whole body shakes with it, but the tears won’t come.
However, while it would have been much better for this have happened when I had finished having children, so I could be all “Any more bad behaviour from you, internal reproductive organs and I’ll kick you down the street! See if I care!”, I did the whole seeking comfort in faith thing. We don’t get anything we can’t handle.
Well, if having one lovely child is what I’m going to get, then Insha Allah, I can handle that.
Of course being Muslim has the other side which is some of my co-religionists think that a one child family is a terrible thing and that Mr Outlines would be well within his rights to get shot of me, or take a second wife. In truth no has said that to me, though we all know how the thinking goes.
Most of all, it would be a waste of their pity. Maybe there will be a fourth member of our family, maybe not, but we are a family. It is something that my younger self could never imagine. So Alhamdulilah for this and everything else too.