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Between Families Between Families
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Sunday, May 31, 2009

Miscarriage Part III: The End?

The morning of the D&C I was awoken several times by the phone ringing. So I gave up and got up. I putzed around on the internet for a few and then decided to go for a run. I figured I wouldn’t feel up to it again for a while. Plus I had some extra energy.

As they wheeled me in, I determined to focus on beautiful things. I pictured the sun glinting off the water in the creek, listened to it rush, felt the warm sun on my arms, and Rob’s hand in mine as I drifted off. I had beautiful dreams.

My eyes fluttered open to the stark whites of the hospital and I felt socked in the stomach. I cried and cried.

“I had a miscarriage. I forgot. Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.” I searched for Rob’s hand and cried.

When the shock wore off, though, I felt surprisingly fine. Like the whole thing had been some medical problem I’d had taken care of.

The shame and humiliation I felt at having told so many people of my pregnancy felt far away and the pain of the procedure was practically non existent. I had no nausea and went home and slept fine. It was almost as though nothing had ever happened.

But something had happened, and escape from grieving isn't that easy. Miscarriage is a weird thing to grieve. Its something you never had. Just a set of hopes and dreams, plans and visions. But its also grieving a personal loss of the pregnancy itself.

I had a fearless pregnancy. I was thrilled with every pound I gained, every food I ate, every change I noticed. I felt feminine like never before. I praised my curves and loved my body. I had no fear of anything touching that. And that's gone. I still want to have children. So I know I will likely be pregnant again. And I wish that made me feel better. But it actually makes me sadder. I'm scared about how I won't feel that same uncomplicated happiness the next time. And overall I'm just bone deep sad sometimes.

I feel like this strand in my blog needs an ending. But this is not a neat and tidy thing. There's good and bad.

At my two week follow up doctor's appointment after the D&C when the doctor said, "You're cervix is closed up nicely and I can feel that your uterus is back to normal size." I wanted to kick her friendly face. How could my body have healed perfectly already? Two days later I ovulated and I wanted to chuck my uterus into the toilet.

I was terrified to hold my baby niece after the miscarriage and cried and cried thinking about how scared I was.

But, I've run almost every day of these last nearly 3 weeks and watched the beautiful creek turn to a rushing river, the trees greening, and the first wildflowers appearing. I've enjoyed a wonderful trip to NY and pampered myself like never before.

I've felt more connected to my husband and to the people who've experienced this heartbreak.

But I've also had to sit through conversations about "How could she not know she was pregnant." And answer the "could you be pregnant" question on the piercing release.

I've been touched by a bottle of whiskey left on the porch that we found coming home from surgery. And I've panicked at a birthday party where I was having a perfectly good time. I've been angry at the cocoa butter I bought for stretch marks I won't have to worry about and am thrilled at having a ski video premier at my house soon (copy of video to be posted in coming weeks with permissions.)

I have a good life. With a good husband and fun plans on the horizon, like a huge camping trip to some hot springs with my brother-in-law who's a BLAST and an upcoming 30th birthday that I can celebrate however I want. But for the first time in my life, I have to be careful when drinking because there's a possibility that I might be the crying-inconsolable-drunk I've never been before.

So if it ends with anything, it is this: I am hopeful. And realistic.

I know that I'm working under the philosophy of "fake it till you make it." And I think that works for me. Sometimes I'm the normal me and others I just have to cry in front of a painting.

Klimpt Hope II

Of course this painting is famous. But I'd never seen it, or more specifically felt it, in person. I saw it during the day I spent mostly by myself in New York at the Museum of Modern Art. I really enjoy art museums and modern art is my favorite so this was the perfect thing to do by myself. On my own time.

So when I stood in front of it, (dressed to the nines I might add,) I let the tears stream down my face as I read the title, "Hope II."

This painting said it all with this serene faced woman and her downcast eyes and the all women below her holding her up.

I know what my first hopes were. And I know that my future hopes are held up by all the women and men who know the pain of miscarriage. Thank you all for your silent, grounding support. I know you're there and I know I'll join you in supporting others who suffer this same loss in the future.

For the record I might blog about this still. But this is the end for now.

5 comments:

The Beautiful Kind said...

So much beauty and emotion in this post. I am feeling you.

Anonymous said...

You are amazing. My love and respect for you are infinite.
OOO,
mom

bri said...

"Grief is like the ocean; it comes on waves ebbing and flowing. Sometimes the water is calm, and sometimes it is overwhelming. All we can do is learn to swim."

(Vicki Harrison)

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