Its Nurse's Week, and this week ends with Mother's Day. Two of my top loves/hates.
I love the profession of nursing. I love the nurses I work with. I love the nurses that help keep me alive .
And I love that there's a day of tribute to moms.
I love my mother who is a nurse. Sorry, to all of the other nurses, as many that I adore, she wins the title of Favorite .
And I hate that I've had to make some nurses run. I hate that I keep giving them job security.
I love Mother's Day because I have the best mom, but I hate that I am no one's mother. And the odds are pretty much against me becoming a mother.
I remember when I was diagnosed and was kind of bummed that I might not live . But when I discovered that my condition makes it nearly impossible to carry my own baby, much less babies, I died inside .
THAT was when I felt the most devastated about having pulmonary hypertension. At the first conference I attended about PH, I had a ton of questions, but I wanted to know numbers. What were the success rates of women with PH who successfully got pregnant? What percentage of them carried their babies full term? Were there any babies born to mamas who had taken the medications required for us to breathe that didn't harm the child, since they're almost all proven to cause damage? The competitor in me was somewhat encouraged when I heard there were a few women who carried babies to term. What was discouraging was that nearly all of the numbers and stories afterwards included what I didn't want to hear: all of the women died within weeks of delivery.
Even so, the optimist in me wanted numbers proving that those stories were absolutes. I wanted to hear that there was no way, just so I could take it as the ultimate triple-dog-dare, and then eventually prove them all wrong. I just needed to find one woman who beat these nearly impossible odds.
And then I found one.
END OF PART ONE