Masterpiece in Progress by Smith, TL (snow like ashes txt) 📕

drugs keeping me sedated and comfortable (I had just delivered a baby and been cut hip to hip afterwards) but a lot of it from losing so much blood I was severely anemic and weak.

I think it was about day 3 when I was finally awake enough to truly appreciate my baby girl. But I was still on a morphine IV and getting blood transfusions.  I remember being so scared to sleep; afraid I’d never wake again.  And I was so upset that I couldn't give Jerry more children, but completely enamored with my baby. She was perfect and beautiful and had the sweetest baby smell. She melted my heart from the first time I held her.

What I would learn was the complication I had was called "placenta accreta" and my placenta basically grew into my uterus, so when the placenta finally was pulled hard enough to be delivered, it ripped my uterus to shreds and I was bleeding out.

According to Jerry and my family, they tried everything they could to stop the bleeding. Medications, packing, cauterization. Nothing was working. The doctor came out and told my mom and Jerry that if they didn't take my uterus I would most definitely die and even if they did, I was in very serious condition. Jerry said, "What the bleep are you waiting for?" "Do the surgery!"

I had lost a lot of blood according to the doctor.  The cold blood transfusions made me sick at my stomach and the thought of throwing up terrifying because I hurt so bad.

I had never had a major surgery before so changing the sheets on the bed was AWFUL. The pain of being cut hip to hip with 20 staples holding my guts in was enough to make me nearly pass out. But I did that when they attempted to get me up and moving.

It took what seemed like an eternity just to get to a sitting position on the side of the bed. Slowly I started rocking. My feet were on a step stool. I remember just going for it, then a horrible ammonia smell. Smelling salts. I had passed out.

The nurse looked at my chart and said, "Oh wow, I didn't realize how anemic you were, no wonder you fainted."

I also learned that while they were running down the hall with me, they left my newborn baby ALONE in the delivery room. When my sister Dottie realized this, she immediately went back and stayed with Paige until someone came in.

The most poignant thing I learned that while I was in surgery, my mom and Jerry (not knowing if I was going to survive) went to the hospital's chapel to pray. Jerry would tell me that my mom prayed for God to take her, not me. That my life was only beginning, and she had lived to see her baby have a baby.

Paige was born in October of 1988; my mom was diagnosed with cancer in December. She would live 11 months after her diagnosis.

I was haunted by this even though in my heart I KNEW God didn't work that way, but that human heart felt so incredibly responsible.

Chapter 12

Mom’s Diagnosis

I run through so many thoughts and with those come emotions that I have pushed back in my mind for a long time, so sorting through them has been something I keep procrastinating and this time in my life was so emotional and tumultuous.

So here I am, newly married, new baby, I nearly died, and now my mom has cancer. In retrospect, I can see where I did the thing again. I went on autopilot, but I also deferred. In my own mind I was reeling.  Was this why I felt so strongly that I HAD to come back?  Was God going to take me through loss AGAIN?  I shut down.  I could not allow myself to feel.  So, I didn’t.

My sisters were amazing. Me, not so much. I was dealing with my own postpartum/post-surgery issues, learning about babies while my husband was at work and the whole time my mom is keeping a brave face battling this hideous disease.

I remember being so incredibly insensitive. I flat out asked her how much time she had. I needed to know. I don't know why I needed to know, but I needed to know. Not once thinking about how SHE may feel. She told me she didn't want to know, she just wanted to live. And I thought, “How could she NOT want to know?”

I'm still so mad at myself for being that insensitive, but I think my 23-year-old self was so scared and I didn't know what was going to happen to me. Who would be my mom when she was gone?  Who would be Paige’s grandmother?  What would happen to my family? Selfish right? But I'm being honest.

I didn’t want her to be sick.  I didn’t want her to die when we had just finally gotten to such a good point in our relationship.  And I was pissed.  Pissed at her, pissed at the hand I was being dealt, she was being dealt, and really pissed at God.

My sisters took her to her doctor’s appointments and chemo. I could not make myself see her that way. She had always been so damn headstrong and had survived so much that I couldn't see her as vulnerable, even though she was.

And I wonder, was she scared?

It was late one night, and mom was in her recliner with the side table lamp on. I had put Paige down and Jerry was already in bed when I told her I loved her and was going to bed myself. I asked her if she wanted me to turn the light out and she said no. I thought that was so odd because anyone who knew my mom knew she needed pitch black and quiet to sleep well,