mea culpa

Over the past few days, the task of blogging has become increasingly difficult. At first, I thought it was because Frankie's progress has been so steady that there's really nothing new to report. In reality, the problem is my unwavering optimism. I've been trying to sustain a positive tone in spite of my feelings of concern, resentment, and helplessness. I figured that if I remained upbeat I could somehow boost Anna's spirits and ameliorate her feelings of depression. But it doesn't work like that. Instead of easing her burdens, my constant reassurances have left her feeling alone in her anguish. She was feeling down the other night, and I asked her what was wrong. She snapped back, "What do you think? I'm exhausted, my baby's in the hospital, and my boobs hurt. And I'm tired of being reassured. I don't feel lucky. I hate this whole situation." The words were hard, but undeniably true. I realized that my perpetually hopeful, look-on-the-bright-side reactions to every bump in the road have become tiresome and grating. My facade of strength was having the opposite of intended consequences. Instead of being a source of support for Anna, it has become a wall between us.

The problem with this particular realization is that it's not as easily resolved as it might seem. The truth is, boundless optimism has kept me mentally and emotionally afloat for these past many weeks. I've been hesitant to admit that it's as much for my own sake as for Anna's. Still, I understand that a balance must be struck, so I'm going to dispense with the stiff-upper-lip heroics and allow myself some moments of vulnerability, doubt and frustration. Lord knows I have more than a few, and more frequently than I care to admit. If nothing else, it'll let Anna know that she's not alone, nor is she crazy for feeling the way that she does. Because this does suck, and no matter how lucky we've been, the truly lucky folks have beautiful, full-term babies, remaining blissfully ignorant of the goings on in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit.