It’s better if I just say it, like that, than draw it out because I can not bear it.
I can’t bear the injustice of it all. That May would already be born so severely disabled, and now she must be subjected to major surgery before she is even four years old. She will spend five days in the hospital. Three months without bouncing.
I can’t help but return to this idea that I could have done something to prevent it. My husband tells me this is not true – that once she was born, and born as she was, this problem was as inevitable as any other issue she has.
I can give May every ounce of love within me. But, it isn’t enough and that is a terrible.
And, I fear now for my faith in anything to work. Because when you set your sights on May not needing surgery as a goal – as opposed to something grand and simple like sitting unaided – the goal already seems rather low. Now, it is insurmountable.
So, what of the other things, the bigger things, like sitting?
It is weeks now since her hospital appointment. Weeks until I could write this. Instead, I have kept as busy as possible. There are moments though, where I find myself alone and unguarded – small moments waiting for the kettle to boil, or the light to change at the crossing – when I am not talking or writing, or teaching or caring for the kids; I find my mind whirls to all those hours that I did nothing. That I sat and watched television. Or, I ate a snack. Or, I slept in.
I wish I could gather them up, like time banked in a savings account, and use them to set May’s hips right.