I am afraid to hope . . . afraid to wish . . . and yet here I am again . . .
Right after our High School Silver Jubilee, which was a major production—with me being very actively involved, since I was no longer working—I was feeling the all-too familiar crash after a big high. The homecoming event had me dancing, singing, composing, being involved in the planning, practicing and even contributing written materials for the souvenir program. Not to mention shopping around for sponsors, and just basically being carried away in the moment of the preparation and conduct of the whole event, renewing and strengthening ties with my high school batch mates and friends.
I was already looking forward to my next big “project”, a fund raiser for the school we were setting up in memory of Yabob. I also started working as a consultant for a multi-national company, and would you believe it, I am working from home! I just needed to ensure I had the proper phone line, internet connection and I was all set. I was told I would travel, but it wouldn’t be often. The offer came right after the Silver Jubilee, so it was perfect timing . . . perfect arrangement too.
I was too busy, I didn’t notice the signs . . . or maybe, I didn’t want to notice the signs.
After a few weeks, it was too obvious to ignore. I went to my OB, delivering to her the tickets she bought for our fund raiser and as an aside, I said that I don’t remember having my period the last month and it must be because of the stress of all the silver jubilee stuff. She asked me to take a test and there and then, I did. In a few minutes, she told me I was pregnant. I couldn’t help but cry. Why? I didn’t know. I guess I was scared. I just lost a baby a little over a year ago and I didn’t know if I was up to going through it again. And I was 41, going on 42 in about 2 months.
I got scheduled for the normal ultrasound to confirm the test and I was painfully reminded of the ultrasound that sent my world crashing. This time, the heartbeat was strong. But as a precaution, my OB asked me to take it easy. Not to travel (so I had to explain to my new boss that I couldn’t travel, and there was an instant when I thought I might lose the job because of this constraint . . . but he was very understanding). And not to engage in any sexual activity (to the chagrin of my hubby) or be in any activity or situation that would put undue stress on me.
November 2010 to March 2011
And so it went, the days, the weeks, the months. There were the usual tests and check up. Each and every time, I expected the worst, so that I wouldn’t get hurt, but deep inside me, I knew hope was growing. And with each passing moment, I was getting emotionally invested. When I felt him move inside me for the first time, I knew I was past the point of no return. I was already in love, and it was a journey I intended to take with him up to the end, whatever the end was. There were times I was very happy, and there were times I was very frightened, but I knew, that this time it was going to be different. He was fighting, and I was fighting as well. I knew this was the baby that I lost a year or so ago, and we have been given a second chance to get this right. Even before the doctor said he was a boy, I knew, just as I knew the baby was a boy back then as well. I knew in my heart, Lucas was on his way to claiming the life he was not able to claim before. And I would be damned if I didn’t do everything to ensure Lucas sees the light of day and feels my arms around him. Ironically, or maybe it was fate, my due date was June 1, 2011, the actual day 2 years back that I lost Lucas. We scheduled the caesarean operation on May 20th, since Tosh wanted another member of the family born on the 20th (his birthday is September 20).
April 17, 2011
Baby Shower. Wishes were written and voiced out and tied to blue balloons, and then the balloons were released to the sky. Higher and higher they went. It was beautiful.
I know it reached you my dear angel, everyone’s wishes that your second chance be a reality. My wishes were both verbal and non-verbal, and I let go of the biggest balloon. Come back to me on May 20th. I want to finally hold you and look into your eyes. As the date nears, the more agitated I feel; the more nervous I am.
I so want to finally see your eyes looking at me, to feel your little hands in mine, to feel the warmth of your embrace, to hear the sound of your voice, to smell the fragrance of your skin and breath.
I feel you kick from inside me. You’re very strong, my little man. With every movement, my breath catches. You’re there. You’re alive.
My heart beats with trepidation, since I lost you the first time. This is our second chance and I so wish we’ll make it all the way through.
May 20, 2011
I am already anticipating the pain of the recovery from CS. The pain of my breasts filling up with milk. But I am more frightened of encountering another kind of pain, even on this day. I am still afraid. And then . . . and then . . . I hear your soft low voice, and I see your beautiful little face. I kiss you, and everything is worth it, everything I went through, and will go through. Everything is worth it, just to see you alive, and kicking, and crying. My little man, our second chance.