I wanted to write something profound tonight, on the anniversary of Lexi’s birth. I wanted to talk about how far we’ve come, how much amazing progress she has made. I wanted to talk about how I didn’t spend every moment today remembering exactly where I was and exactly what was happening 2 years ago, and how much progress that is.
I still cry at every stupid commercial that shows a mother holding her newborn baby. I still live in constant fear that one of our friends is going to join us in knowing what it’s like to have your entire world, your entire future, turned upside down. I still looked at every post that came up in the month of September with something from my pregnancy and thought “There. Right there. If only a different decision had been made right there, things might be different.” And I know that’s not true. I know this was fate, I know that no matter what anyone had done, we still would have ended up here.
I honestly thought this year would be different than last year, would be better. I wanted it to be. But then we ordered a copy of the records from Lexi’s birth. There were so many questions we needed answered, so many things that still didn’t make sense almost 2 years later, and we thought maybe the answer would be in there. It left us with more questions. As we discovered, the record of Lexi’s birth is riddled with inaccuracies. It’s also filled with things that make no sense, given her injury… given what we know now. I’m not going to go into specifics, because they don’t matter, but reading that was like a knife in the back. It felt like a betrayal, to read so many things that simply weren’t true, to read things written in there that directly contradicted what we were told that night, and in the weeks and months following her birth. I had absolved everyone involved of any guilt for what happened to Lexi. A freak accident. An incomplete picture that was really no one’s fault because it simply didn’t show up on their tests. Everyone did their due diligence, everyone made their best decisions based on the information they had. I don’t know if I still believe this. I don’t know what to believe anymore. I keep replaying that night in my head, over and over, trying to make it make sense, and it just won’t. I keep trying to find some way that the outcome could have been different, but like I said, I know in my heart it was fate, and every decision that was made could only have been made the way it was.
Tonight is the 2 year anniversary of the last night I ever trusted a doctor.
Tonight is the 2 year anniversary of the last time I looked in the mirror and recognized the person staring back.
Tonight is the 2 year anniversary of the last time I believed my body was strong and capable, instead of a failure.
Tomorrow is the 2 year anniversary of the night our lives were changed forever. Tomorrow is the 2 year anniversary of the night we learned what it means to fight.
Tomorrow is the 2 year anniversary of the night I lost myself.
2 years ago I had faith. I believed the impossible was possible. I believed I could change the world. I believed all you needed was love. I believed in fairness, in order, in everything making sense. I believed in fate, destiny, and true love.
Now, I believe in Lexi. I believe in her strength, her intelligence, her determination. I believe she will change the world. I believe that for her, the impossible is achievable. I believe I will see her walk, I will see her run, I will see her achieve every single thing we were told was unrealistic. I believe in never giving up, in never stopping fighting for her best life, and in meeting her where she is while pushing her to be better. I believe in medical miracles, in cutting edge research, in doctors who tell me “I don’t know.”
Somewhere in the last 2 years, I’ve forgotten how to be anything other than Lexi’s mama. Somewhere in the last 2 years, I’ve become broken and bitter and angry and scared. Somewhere in the last 2 years, I stopped believing the person I was was still there under the rubble of my hopes and dreams for the future, under the mask of the person I’ve become.
This took a darker turn than I intended. I’m going to try to end on a positive.
Tomorrow, at 10:01pm, my baby turns 2. She is sweet, and affectionate, and brilliant. She is happy, easy going, and my reason for getting out of bed in the morning. She is the most amazing, most inspiring person I have ever known, and I love her to the moon and back. Tomorrow, we will have made it through another year. Her second year was easier than her first, so may her third be easier still.