Trauma is a complex subject. It can happen in a split second or over a long drawn out period, and it leaves a brand of grief on the inside forever.
It folds itself up into layers of memories and an innocent word or photograph can switch on the heartache. There is no plan for it, no time on the calendar blocked out for it. Life does not pause for a moment of silence. Yet we must somehow move forward in this paralysis of emotional pain.
I went through a very traumatic time in my third pregnancy. My unborn son was fine but my heart was not. I unexpectedly wound up in the ICU for eight full days around my 31st week. Think multiple IV’s, beeping monitors, wires, the humiliation of gaping hospital gown and bedpan alike.
I was forced to trust strangers and unfamiliar medical procedures out of my desperate will to survive. My heart was “reset” at least three times and I can’t swear I completely stayed in this world on each of those occasions.
I can’t explain what happened to me during the time I was away. It seemed supernatural, and not in the white light kind of way I’d want to tell everyone about. It was actually terrifying.