So, just as a preliminary statement to the dream I'm about to tell you about: Logan was induced and delivered vaginally. I've never had any major belly surgery (other than gull bladder removal) or C-Section.
Last night I had a dream, nightmare, whatever. I don't remember much but the gist of it was this; I was in a warehouse like place with a bunch of my family and we were cleaning it up and organizing (insert real life preparing to move drama here). There was chatter going on about surgeries and I made some flippant, off handed remark about "try having your belly ripped open and your uterus yanked out!" to which it slowly dawned on me that I had had a hysterectomy. I started to freak out and scream at my mother (who was spaced out and not paying attention, so I repeated myself several times) "Mom! Mom! Did they take out my uterus?? Did they take my uterus!!!??" No one was listening to me, and I was freaking! Then I woke up, with that horrible sensation that your dream was real and it takes a moment for your brain to go "Oh wait a minute! That wasn't real, I still have a uterus...I think...don't I?...oh, yeah."
Why did I dream that messed up scenario? I guess it just goes to show you what your mind really thinks. My belly was ripped open and my baby and future babies were taken from me. YANKED! TAKEN! Sigh, and there it is again. Things that just won't go away. Feeling and thoughts that just won't leave me alone.
My grandmother died two weeks ago. Thanks. Yeah, it sucked. She had Alzheimer's and it was horrible and yes she's "better off where she is" (as if that's good enough, not to mention hauntingly familiar) but it still sucked big time. The biggest thing I couldn't get out of my head that seemed to want to play in a torturous loop over and over again was the fact that I had gone through this horrible incident with Logan and was not able to go to her. I wasn't able to talk to her about it, because she just wasn't there. David thought perhaps that wasn't such a bad thing, maybe she wouldn't have responded the way I desperately would've wanted her too, since so many didn't. But I couldn't shake it. And I hated it and I felt resentful. But the other interesting thing I noticed was that the grief didn't mean a whole lot. And I realized that I have become accustomed to grief, even comfortable in grief that to add more grief didn't really rock the boat. I felt more or less like "why not" and "lump it on, I can handle it, I've been doing this grief thing long enough to be a pro!" It was a weird sensation, and other than the initial news and then at the funeral itself, I didn't cry. I just set the grief down next to Logan's, and found a strange comfort in the familiarity of it all.