Tonight, my husband and I had dinner with an old friend, Dolly. She is currently 14 weeks pregnant. We're thrilled for her. She seems thrilled, too.
In the course of normal conversation, Dolly began a side conversation with me to ask me what my preeclampsia symptoms were. So there I sat...relaying my story yet another time. On one hand, I felt that it was worthy information for her to have. On the other hand, I didn't want to scare the heck out of her. In reality, I just wanted to crawl in a hole somewhere. I didn't want to be the poster child for preeclampsia tonight. I still struggle with the feelings of failure. I still feel like denying what happened to me and my babies. Why couldn't my body do something that was so natural? Why did my children have to be born premature? Why?
As I was listing my symptoms, I noticed that the other two women at the table were listening intently to me. Naturally, my story drifted to the NICU and how my husband and I were able to bring both of our children home. There I was telling the story of my very personal journey with preeclampsia, and I had a captive audience who was just waiting for that "miracle" ending. After all, who doesn't love a story with a great "miracle" ending? Right?
While I do very much value the miracles I have in Grace and Meghan, I also know the devastating effects that preeclampsia has had on me, my daughters, and more importantly other preeclampsia survivors. The key word in this message is survivors because it also implys those who didn't survive.
I dedicate tonight's entry to a tiny, yet beautiful soul who had to leave her mommy, Denise, too soon. Madison, honey, your mom will love you forever.