Thank you to everyone who posted yesterday with advice on grief and healing! It was all written just perfectly so to infiltrate my muddled head and set me thinking.
Thank you.
I'm going to cross-post from the livejournal again, I seem to have written in there what I'd meant to write in here, as an addendum to yesterday.
I'm feeling better. A lot better. I'm still furious with my mother and overwhelmed by the paperwork that has suddenly appeared, and stressed out by every single thing involved with work -- from what will happen to my project , to what will happen to my parking pass, but I'm trying to deal with it one at a time.
So here's what I tapped out a few moments ago:
Hello everyone. I think I'm ready to climb out of my pit now. I think I've been very fortunate (hah) with regards to post-partum hormones and Dave's uberhuman support -- the threat of wallowing depression is actually abating as rapidly as my uterus is shrinking. (Warning as to sudden spikes of emotion has been well taken and I'm on the lookout, though!)
I'm still bed-ridden for the moment, nothing unusual but if I walk or take the stairs I'll bleed more, and sitting up without something to lean on is still too difficult on my abs and back muscles. I know this may sound retardedly obvious -- but labour is hard!
I'm also starting to miss peoples. On Monday the sound of the telephone terrified me and I couldn't imagine formulating sentences to anyone; I think I answered a grand total of one call. I yearned to reach out to all the incredible people who offered support, an ear or a hand in the kitchen which Dave has been sole master of all week. I'm still working on figuring out how to pick up the phone and just *call* someone. I'm also working on replying to well wishing emails, email is a miraculous medium and my halting breath is entirely lost on it. The going is slow, but that's mostly because I can't spend too long in the computer chair, and don't have email set up on my laptop.
They want me to take maternity leave from work, and that terrifies me. Yes, I need time to physically heal, but the longer I'm away the more difficult facing all those belly-rubbers and their questions will be. I had projects and plans and even though they're in good hands I just know that my biggest and greatest project yet will no longer be a smidgen mine, if it gets finished at all. I'm terrified enough to lose sleep that the big boss won't want to give me another one -- look what happened the one time he gave me my own deal. Even if it isn't intentional, there will always be a causal memory of the fact that I couldn't finish it.
*sigh*
Taking maternity leave now terrifies me. My boss is already budgeting four weeks minimum without me, the HR lady is insisting on minimum six before she even sees me again. I'm entitled to seventeen weeks at 93% of my pay -- which is AMAZING, but I don't want it! I've spent all year begging for time to learn to sew and cook and be social and work on the house -- but staring down three more weeks of walking carefully feels as though... as though *I'm* the one who's died. Will I spend those four weeks partying? Cooking lavish dinners for dear friends? Building cabinets for the dining room?
I won't have the strength, and since the most important thing is for my uterus to heal, I'll have none of that. I might beg for some sewing lessons and make eight pair of drawstring pants, but that's about the whole of it. I'm onto novel three and whilst I love reading, I don't have the courage to pick up a book and study it, and stories are becoming terrifyingly trite. Perhaps I should work on that part. Hrm.
Four weeks, let alone four months. I... I don't know. It feels as though this is turning into a much bigger deal than I want it to be in my heart. All my coworkers are filled with so much sympathy it's heartwarming, but it doesn't feel right and I guess I just don't know how to stop. I'm entitled to four months of break -- but Dave took three days and is walking into a meeting with clients as I type this very sentence, and I admire his strength but I want to do the same. I want to get back to my life as soon as I can and just... keep going.