The Book of Ruth: Chapter 11 Heartless

I sit here heartless. No, not that heart. The center of my circulatory system is still here pumping blood through this body of mine that does incredible things. But the septum that created two chambers in my uterus is not. Ruth’s gestational equivalent of a budget motel is now more of a Double Tree. More room, has semi-tacky furnishings, but the interior design can now appropriately accommodate a growing fetus. What was once a 2-chambered-heart-shaped box is now a more circular shaped uterus. Here’s a word I didn’t know six months ago: hysteroscopic septoplasty. That’s the name of the procedure I had done. All my friends who’ve shared that they also have a septum, this may be useful information.

It’s been a minute. I don’t believe in writer's block. I believe in trauma stopping the brain from functioning in a creative space. And I believe in gathering life-experience to pour into something worth saying. And sometimes there isn’t anything concrete to say. The kind-hearted few of you who read my thoughts on this open diary and who’ve been kindly asking if there’s anything forthcoming; here ya go sweet pals.

As many of you know, the in and out of full-time child rearing can get insular. Focus on the task at hand. Don’t rage-laugh after they hand feed your dog from the table and throw their food on the floor while looking you straight in the eye as if to say ‘you gonna enforce that boundary or not, punk ass?!’. Don’t go beyond your capacity. Be gentle gentle gentle with the little one and yourself. Kiss the ouch. Stroke their little head. Tell them it’s okay to feel xyz. Burst with pride as she puts on her own boots. Repeat. Made it out the door? Brownie points. Cleaned any inch of the house? Gold star. Made time for fifteen minutes of yoga? Herculean. These are not things I thought anyone needed to know the intimate details of. Because they are life and I’m sure you know what they feel like.

But today was a day that stood out. Why? 1. I put my health first. 2. I got a break. 3. It made me face Ruth’s birth trauma.

Because I like lists let’s talk about this shit in order. Why? Because 1. It feels good. 2. You’re in my world now boss, and I make the rules. And 3. I’m still a little looped from the drugs and it helps pull my focus back to what the heck I’m talking about.

Okay so, 1. I PUT MY HEALTH FIRST

We all know motherhood is full of sacrifices but it doesn’t need to be self-sacrifice. If I take time to do things for myself there’s less room for resentment or rage. It’s not easy to say to your partner who is also overloaded: I need to leave the house tonight and not be involved in bathtime or bedtime. I need to take that shower. I need fifteen minutes to do nothing.

It’s the simplest reminder but it bears repeating: when I give to myself I have capacity to give to others. So when it came time for this procedure, I needed to stop the self-sacrificing cycle. I had put the surgery off once before because I let fear and overwhelm be in the driver’s seat. Fear told me that because I’m not sure I want another child, the procedure was unnecessary. I’m afraid of sedation so I better not overload my nervous system or I’ll be sorry. It told me the healthcare system is under such pressure right now that taking up resources is selfish. So I decided to thank fear for trying to keep me safe but it could, y’know, pipe down a bit. I let my more gracious self speak. This is what she said: I want to have the choice to have another child if I choose to. I am lucky to be in a country that (at the moment) has universal healthcare. This is a privileged choice. I choose to honour my future self by gifting her the opportunity for another child if she wants it. We need to remind ourselves that there’s no heroism in putting ourselves last. I am an adult. I can take care of my needs and ask others when I need their help meeting them. It was as simple as saying “hey Thomas, I need you to take care of Ruth for two days.” And of course, he was happy to. I sometimes have a hard time asking and that’s on me. Maybe we all practice asking a bit more?

And because I was honouring these needs, my body responded. As someone who has had a somewhat fraught relationship with sleep it was telling that I fell asleep peacefully at 9pm the night before the surgery. My body felt relaxed knowing I was doing the right thing. It’s fascinating how much it talks if we’re able to listen.

2. I GOT A BREAK!

I know this kind of goes against 1. But despite needing breaks I have a hard time letting go. I push myself to the brink with Ruth and Brisket. I know all of us parents do it. We have to. No matter how we’re feeling, our kids’ welfare comes first. That’s the job. But as I mentioned above, we all need a bit of rest. I find it icky to admit I was excited to sit in a hospital room and read. I was scared to get knocked out by anesthesia but also intrigued by the idea of a medically-induced nap. I have never been able to nap as an adult so this was a foreign concept. This procedure shook up the predictable monotony/joy of my militant Ru-tine. I needed it and it seems so did my girl. Ru had a joyful day with dad and the hug I got from her once I came to was pretty soul grabbing. Breaks are good. I hope we take them without there being a need for medical procedures.

3. I FACED RUTH’S BIRTH TRAUMA.

Having to go back to the hospital and be put under brought up a lot of feelings. As lucky as we were to have Ruth brought earth-side healthily, there was trauma for both of us in the process. If you think about it, I didn’t really have a ‘birth’ story. When I see moms knowingly roll their eyes, take a deep breath while recounting their push moments, discuss seeing their baby take their first breath, or seeing their umbilical cord, or any of that stuff I’ve only ever seen on TV, I kind of sheepishly respond ‘oh yeah, totes ma-goates mama, Shit’s wild!” and scuttle off. Because I didn’t have those moments. I wasn’t conscious for them. Instead of dilation, pushing, and screaming I had a dissociated moment where I watched myself curled up in the fetal position on a metal gurney as nurses checked for a heartbeat. And everyone held their breath. I’m so thankful things went the way they did but I still feel like a bit of an imposter when it comes to birth. I experienced the miracle of science instead of the miracle of birth. I felt all the joy and gratitude at the time (still do), but my body held onto a lot of the sour stuff. Going back to get put under again made me consciously face the last time this happened. And a little piece of me let go of that pain. Maybe even healed a little bit.

I’m happy to say everything went well. I had a couple of hours to myself to read (parenting books because I have zero fucking chill). But it was still nice to do it uninterrupted. When the time came, I was treated with connected kindness by the entire staff. I told them my story and if I cry it’s not because of them. I thanked them for sticking with their professions despite the incredible weight being placed on the medical system right now. Before they pumped me full of drugs one of the surgeons stroked my hair and told me it was normal to weep. She asked me if there was any music I’d been listening to lately. I said Raffi and we all laughed. I said I’m going to see the play I forgive You at the NAC this week and I’d love to hear some Sigur Ros to prepare. The resident pulled it up on her phone and laid it by my ear. She told me that I was doing a good job. And then I drifted off. They shaved my septum down and turned my cramped two room uterus into a roomy studio apartment.

I was very slow coming to. Which triggered one of my most critical thought patterns. That I’m late. I have a loop that tells me I'm behind. In life. In learning. In ‘getting there’. Wherever there is. But ever since I’ve become a mum, there’s a new voice in my head. One telling me I’m okay. That I can take the time I need. That there’s no valour in grasping at being first. That as long as I get there that’s all that matters. That’s Ruth’s mum. Not the scared little girl that sometimes runs the boardroom of my mind. Ruth’s mum is kinder, gentler, more patient. She tells that little girl inside me ‘thank you, but I’ve got it from here’.