So I went. And then I remembered why I don't go to March of Dimes things.
You know how it's so nice to talk with people who get what is going on with you? Like, I made some seriously good friends while I was doing IVF who were doing IVF too and just got it in a way that needed no explanation. Or, when you have a newborn and you aren't sleeping and your nipples feel like razors and you feel like you'll probably just die? And then your friend is there to be like, "YES newborns are assholes and nobody tells you that and eventually the cute will outpace the asshole and it will all be OK."
I can't just walk into a group of NICU people and feel like they can understand what this 10 months has been like. I'm not the first or only person with a super sick baby in the hospital, but it just seems like, at some point you lose that sort of common thread. All three families that we bothered talking with regularly came and went months ago. Everyone at this dinner talked about their super long stays of 4 weeks and 10 weeks and you know, maybe even a few more weeks to get the hang of the bottle...and whatever. 45 weeks and counting. I'd be willing to bet that we won't even be home in 10 weeks.
Someone left me a blog comment once sticking up for me when I was complaining about being sick with the twins. People who were trying to get pregnant and couldn't were annoyed with my complaints because I should just be ecstatic while puking in my garbage can at work. And her argument was, "Your cancer doesn't heal my broken back." And it's so true - my long hospital stay and sick baby don't make it suck less for them but holy hot damn, I just do not want to hear it.
So I did what any antisocial weirdo would do: I scarfed down my free pasta and I smuggled two cookies into my purse and headed straight back to Ainsley's room to watch a marathon of My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding.
|Because this makes me feel normal.|