Pouring milk

Last week, I couldn’t feed my baby for 2 days.

Last week, I pumped every few hours and looked away while I poured that hard-earned milky gold down the drain.

Last week, I decided that life with my pump is only bearable when every drop from every tortured second will go into my baby’s body and nourish him.

Because last week, pumping was depressing.

Last week, I drove to an appointment and I laid on a table that slid through a tube and it was loud and noisy.

Last week they injected a dye into my blood. To help them see, I get it. But it felt like poison.

Last week I worried that it would get worse than this. That MS would turn from a possible explanation of my symptoms to a diagnosis.

Last week I cried at the idea that the number of days I have left to feed my son from my own body would be smaller than I had planned.

Last week, I forced my thoughts in a different direction whenever they whispered “there may be more you want to do but can’t.”

And then… it was over.

Then the doctor called with results. And the MRI looked clear. And we can’t rule out for absolute certain this way but it’s clear and that’s good.

And I relaxed. And I saw feeding my son in my future. All the way. As long as we want to.

And then the 48 hours passed. And I still pumped but I tucked that milk safely into the refrigerator.

And I nursed my baby. Curled up on the couch and smiling because he still remembered and two days really isn’t that long. Even though it felt like forever.

And I remembered, as people do in situations like these, the ones that may not be life threatening but are life changing (and who doesn’t feel threatened by change) that there are no guarantees. That plans and hopes and dreams are good and so important but not as important as living today.

And I’m still waiting. Blood was drawn and tests are being done and my face still tingles from time to time. Let’s just solve the mystery.

But, while I’m waiting, I’m feeding my son.

~~~~~

My heart goes out to the people of Boston. The runners and the supporters. The injured and the mourning. That your day of joy and celebration was cut short by tragedy breaks my heart. It is just not fair.

I had written this piece days ago and planned to post it today. Last night, I considered not posting. I considered writing something new.

But the message above seemed fitting. We don’t know. We can’t predict. We shouldn’t rely on one day and some day. This one life we’ve been given is as fragile as it is precious and not a single moment should be wasted.

Hug your loves.

~~~~~