oh October, meet November

November is coming up and it's always been rough. One the one hand, it's Prematurity Awareness month. The day before I see images of cute 'trick-or-treaters' and then all of a sudden, my feed is inundated with mamas and pictures of their preemies. I remember it all over again; the NICU, the isolette, the alarms and my two premature babies.
On the other hand, I post my gratitudes as a daily reminder that I am here. They are here. It's helped me over the years but I still second guess the 'why NOT me?' 'why NOT US?' that survivors often wrestle with. 
A few weekends ago, I attended the Champions for Change summit and I heard so so so many stories of near misses. 
I was lucky.
My OB knew at 26 weeks and told me that my birth plan needed to change. 
She knew at 31 weeks that I was not doing my care at home and I needed to be on strict hospital bed rest. 
She knew when it was time to deliver Ellie. And because of her, I knew to do my research. 
I advocated for myself and knew to seek a high risk pregnancy doc for the second one. 
I knew to do my daily blood pressure readings and let the nurses know when it would spike above average. 
I knew to pay attention to my body and knew at 34 weeks and change that my headache, my blurry vision and high blood pressure reading meant it was time to go. 
And the nurse who triaged me in the emergency room knew to call my doctor and start prepping the labor and delivery room. 
Women who knew versus others who didn't know or couldn't have known or choose not to listen. 
I was lucky. 
And I count my daily thanks. 
But that doesn't mean it has gotten easier. I've often heard well intentioned friends and family asking, "why are you not over it? it's been years." How could I get over trauma so easily when I see my trauma daily? When I hold my what-ifs daily? When I take my miracle to her monthly hematologist and wonder was it because of her being premature? Because of my preeclampsia that caused this blood disorder? What did she do to deserve every bruised arm from nurses who can't find her veins? 
Was it because of me? 
And so the guilt keeps coming back around and around, 

But I can change guilt to action

I can change guilt from weighing me down and make it become something. I can funnel my words for change, I've been so inspired about the stories I heard and I know my story can't stop now. Especially, since looking around the room, I never saw another 'me.' I saw so many white women and I wonder why there was so few black women? Why so few latinas? Why not another one of me? Another Filipina. 
Where are we in the community of mental health advocates and preeclampsia survivors? 

A few projects

So next month is also National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo). I'm still converting my novelette into a Christmas themed novella. I started on it a few weeks ago and then my ever so distracted brain decided to put it down and start working on a journal prompt book idea for mamas. Motherhood is tough and we so desperately need community. I want my community to be filled with Filipina mamas navigating mental health challenges, life after diagnosis - be it a preeclampsia diagnosis or postpartum diagnosis. I want community and I want it filled with mamas that look like me. 

So I don't exactly know what that looks like.
But I do know that I am lucky to be surrounded by women who do. I just need to get over the guilt and grab some courage and ask questions. 
What are you working on friends?
Any other passion you have that you can incorporate writing into?