Mind you, I've had no actual pain since my hospital stay, nor has the fever come back, for which I'm very thankful. And I've had lots of help from my mother and some local friends. People have been so kind, bringing gifts and flowers and (most importantly) food.
But I still feel like I'm falling apart.
I went to the midwife's today, and in contrast to last week when they were surprised and pleased by how much weight Paul had gained, they looked worried this week. He's put on four ounces, but they feel he's still not getting quite enough, not gaining fast enough. Meaning I have to try and feed him a little more, a little longer.
But it hurts so much. I still haven't beaten the thrush, or whatever it is that causes me excruciating pain when he latches on to my left side. So every time he needs to feed on that side, I'm tense and sick with dread. It is getting better, but slowly. I just want the pain to stop.
I'm so tired of taking pills. Every hour it seems I have to take one of my two antibiotics, or the acidophilus, or the iron supplement (which the doctor says I'll have to keep taking for a hundred days or more to get my hemoglobin back to its proper level), or the grapefruit seed extract (for the thrush). I only have one more day to go with the antibiotics, but part of me is scared that when those pills have run their course, my pain will come back. Because they never found what was wrong.
I am not a worrier by nature, but I find myself completely overwhelmed right now with fears and anxieties of all kinds. I lie down to rest, but I can't sleep as much as I know my body needs to. Every little bit of tenderness or ache in my abdomen makes me afraid that the pain is coming back. Every night when I finally get Paul settled into his crib, I'm terrified he's going to wake up an hour or two hours later and keep me up all night (though this really hasn't happened yet, thank the Lord).
I have so much to be thankful for, and I really am improving every day, but... I feel so helpless and useless and miserable right now. I feel guilty that I'm depending so much on my mother and my husband and my friend to take care of my kids, the baby included. But when I start to feel better, and try to do more, I end up crashing emotionally and physically the next day. Like I am right now.
I'm scared I don't have enough milk to feed my baby. I'm scared of the next feeding, in case he wants to feed on the side that hurts. And then I'm scared that my worrying and tension is going to make both problems worse, but I don't know how to stop. Paul's was the best labour I've ever had, but the aftermath has been absolutely hellish and it seems like it's going to go on forever.
I'm just so tired.