Medical Shows Can Cause Trauma

Wow. What a double header last night, eh? That is if you are a television medical show junkie like I am. Last night's double feature of season premieres, ER and Gray's Anatomy were tough. I'm feeling a bit beat up.

***SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS***

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First off, Gray's.

Lots of you seemed to like it, but I was a little disappointed. I mean, Plague? Seriously? Plague was the best they could come up with (keep an eye on the writer's blog to see if they can explain themselves)? Other than that it was great. But the whole baby-in-the-trash-can thing was tough although...

Not as tough as fucking ER. Before I discuss it, I must get one thing out of the way though. WHAT THE FUCK WITH THE NEW THEME SONG? Seriously, if I put 13 motherfucking years into a show, I want the same god damned theme song. Damn it!

Ahem.

I knew it was going to be over the top and hard to watch. And I knew the situation with Abby was going to be hard on me.

But the good things first. Jerry lived!

OK, make that good thing.

I didn't expect that Abby's situation would affect me so much. I mean, after all, my abruption is long past and Tori is here and stuff, right? But no. I was a weeping mess by the end. I made Charlie come hold me, which was awkward since Tori was nursing at that moment. When they pulled that big clot out of her uterus--the same size clot as I pulled out of the toilet the morning Tori was born, by the way--I started to freak out.

The thing that amazes me about my personal traumatic history with pregnancy and birth is that when I'm actually in the situation, I float through it with this amazing calm, almost detached, like it isn't happening to me. I mean, I spent ten minutes packing a bag to take to the hospital the morning Tori was born--while Charlie was hollering at me to get in the fucking car already. Packing while blood ran down my legs. Sheesh.

Charlie and I did a lot of yelling at the screen last night. Yelling at Abby to accept the fact that she was at risk. Yelling at her to accept the general anesthesia. Yelling about the baby having a low heart rate at the start. NOT FAIR! We all deserved a tiny little preemie cry.

There is no way I could have watched the show if Tori had ended up in the NICU. Or if I'd had a hysterectomy. Or, god forbid, something had happened to her in the birthing process.

I managed to hold it mostly together until Abby said she wouldn't be able to see the baby for 24 hours. Suddenly, the reality of my own situation hit me. I spent eight hours away from Tori after she was born. I have claimed that I was fine, that it didn't bother me, that I was so drugged up it was OK. But you know what? It's was not OK. I am injured by that separation. It sucked, it sucked, it sucked. IT SUCKED. Why haven't I been willing to admit that until now? Let me say it one more time: IT FUCKING SUCKED.

When Dr. Mama came and visited us one night when we were still in the hospital, he asked me if I was traumatized by the birth and the loss of the boys, the whole thing. At the time, I was so stoned on Tori love that I didn't think so.

But the truth is I'm a mess about all of it. I had the pleasure of reading Susan Ito's essay from the book "It's a Boy: Women Writers on Raising a Son" yesterday. She lost a son at 24 weeks due to preeclampsia. Her essay is amazing--it captures the misty feeling of disbelief beautifully--and it wrecked me. While I've felt so much less pain about Nicholas and Zachary since Tori's birth, that loss is still right there below the surface. Still very very close.

I'm thinking it might be time for some therapy. I can't keep walking around getting shell shocked from television. TV is one of my favorite things, after all.

You guys have a nice weekend. I'm going to go cry into my lunch I think.