The bleeding has finally stopped, the fighting with my husband has (mostly) subsided, and I'm left in a strange place of needing to move forward yet unwilling to do so. The anger hasn't gone anywhere. Though now it's turned mostly inward. My self worth its latest victim.
I'm due for a perfunctory checkup on Thursday to see my battle scarred ute and stagnant ovaries. Oh joy.
I've been struggling with the miracles of technology lately. Without the images of our growing baby blasted from the ultrasound machine each week, I wouldn't see her so vividly every time I close my eyes. Without all that monitoring I don't think I'd be so bloody attached. Attached some, yes of course. But not as much as I am now. I saw her. I saw her alive and I saw her dead. And in a few days I'll see where she was supposed to be, all cuddled up and growing strong.
My mom suffered 3 miscarriages in her quest for my sister, me, and a sibling that never survived. All early before 8 weeks. However, she said that when she thinks back to those times she only remembers the physical pain of the babies passing. And then nothing else. Is that because time has healed her wounds or is it because she doesn't have any images to return to? I'm afraid to let go because that baby was more than a blip on the screen. She was my tiny 8-week old daughter.
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
Friday, August 10, 2012
Recovery: day 8
I had a talk with Zsa Zsa about my anger. I felt justified with it; she felt like it was very unhealthy. She had some valid points, but I'm so much more comfortable with it than any other emotion, that it is hard to control. But I'm trying. I'm trying not to be so mad. Trying not to be angry at others. Trying not to hate myself. Just... trying.
The last week has been filled with bouts of sadness. Times when I lay in bed full of rage. Flanked by times when I'm able to (ever so) briefly concentrate on work, lose myself in a movie, or cuddle with my husband at night. I'm attempting to return to some kind of normalcy. Whatever that means. I know it'll just take time, but I wish I could just fast forward three months. I want this part to be over with.
It took me a solid two weeks to talk to one of my closest friends about the miscarriage. Strange because she's a processor like me and typically very comforting with her words. When I originally texted her my bad news (I was in no shape for a phone call at that point) I got a return voicemail that just seemed a little off. She said all the right things and on the surface it all seemed valid, but something wasn't right. Was it the tone of sadness that was missing? I didn't know and decided that I needed to keep my distance. However, eventually I knew that phone call had to happen or the fallout of not doing so might permanently hurt our friendship. So I finally called.
She and her partner have been trying to get pregnant (starting a solid year+ after us) and since the IUI is one of the first options for a gay couple, she understands roughly what its like. She has also been privy to our struggle with infertility and our first miscarriage. So when I told her the details of what had happened, she was genuinely sympathetic. I talked as things entered my head and didn't use a filter, vomiting the events of the past two weeks. An hour into my diatribe, there was a lull. I knew I shouldn't have asked, but I also couldn't stop myself. Her partner had an IUI just two weeks prior and somehow, in my gut, I already knew the answer. I forced my friend into an impossible situation: if she told me the truth, it would send daggers into my heart and if she lied, our friendship would suffer a deep betrayal.
Hearing that one of my closest friends was newly pregnant after talking for over an hour about how mine was prematurely taken, was infuriating. I felt embarrassed that I'd let my guard down and spoke the gruesome truth. I felt angry that while she listened to my pain she held a secret so wonderful that involuntary smiles spread across her face throughout the day. I hate that the voicemail she left me may have been the same day she found out she was expecting- and was unable to hide the joy in her voice. The same day I lost mine.
I know my feelings are irrational. I know that she is just an innocent target for my anger. I know that my jealousy is only adding to this pool of muck. I know that she loves me and feels horrible about everything that has happened; that the timing is just cruel. I hate that she keeps trying to reach out and that all I can do is sting her with my silence. I feel so guilty for feeling like this. It's so hard to consciously know what you feel isn't real, yet at the same time it is so real that you can hold it in your hand. I'm ashamed of this, but I can't seem to let it go.
The last week has been filled with bouts of sadness. Times when I lay in bed full of rage. Flanked by times when I'm able to (ever so) briefly concentrate on work, lose myself in a movie, or cuddle with my husband at night. I'm attempting to return to some kind of normalcy. Whatever that means. I know it'll just take time, but I wish I could just fast forward three months. I want this part to be over with.
It took me a solid two weeks to talk to one of my closest friends about the miscarriage. Strange because she's a processor like me and typically very comforting with her words. When I originally texted her my bad news (I was in no shape for a phone call at that point) I got a return voicemail that just seemed a little off. She said all the right things and on the surface it all seemed valid, but something wasn't right. Was it the tone of sadness that was missing? I didn't know and decided that I needed to keep my distance. However, eventually I knew that phone call had to happen or the fallout of not doing so might permanently hurt our friendship. So I finally called.
She and her partner have been trying to get pregnant (starting a solid year+ after us) and since the IUI is one of the first options for a gay couple, she understands roughly what its like. She has also been privy to our struggle with infertility and our first miscarriage. So when I told her the details of what had happened, she was genuinely sympathetic. I talked as things entered my head and didn't use a filter, vomiting the events of the past two weeks. An hour into my diatribe, there was a lull. I knew I shouldn't have asked, but I also couldn't stop myself. Her partner had an IUI just two weeks prior and somehow, in my gut, I already knew the answer. I forced my friend into an impossible situation: if she told me the truth, it would send daggers into my heart and if she lied, our friendship would suffer a deep betrayal.
Hearing that one of my closest friends was newly pregnant after talking for over an hour about how mine was prematurely taken, was infuriating. I felt embarrassed that I'd let my guard down and spoke the gruesome truth. I felt angry that while she listened to my pain she held a secret so wonderful that involuntary smiles spread across her face throughout the day. I hate that the voicemail she left me may have been the same day she found out she was expecting- and was unable to hide the joy in her voice. The same day I lost mine.
I know my feelings are irrational. I know that she is just an innocent target for my anger. I know that my jealousy is only adding to this pool of muck. I know that she loves me and feels horrible about everything that has happened; that the timing is just cruel. I hate that she keeps trying to reach out and that all I can do is sting her with my silence. I feel so guilty for feeling like this. It's so hard to consciously know what you feel isn't real, yet at the same time it is so real that you can hold it in your hand. I'm ashamed of this, but I can't seem to let it go.
Monday, August 6, 2012
Recovery: day 4
I keep going back to when I was sitting in my Ob's office. While there, I remember thinking to myself about how much had changed in just a matter of months. The last time I was in that office was for an annual checkup. I had just tested (negative) and was not happy- and I didn't keep it to myself. When my Ob walked into the exam room and cheerfully asked how I was doing, I replied, "Shitty". It was clear I made her feel uncomfortable. I didn't care. I was sick of candy coating it. I was infertile and pissed off.
Fast forward six months, and there I was sitting in that same waiting room. This time next to a woman with a newborn. I was amazed at how at ease I felt. It was the first time I didn't feel like chewing on a new mother's nativity and spitting it out, hopefully leaving her to feel just some of my pain. No, this time I sat there not quite feeling like part of the club, but feeling that maybe they'd let me in soon. Feeling, more at peace than I had in a long time.
But how quickly it all came rushing back. Rooted in my belly and more ferocious than ever.
My default is anger. It is a powerful emotion and it puts me in control. I can direct it at specific people or things. I can cut deep with it and feel satisfied that I'm able to inflict pain at will. I don't like how it feels, but it feels better than sadness. Or helplessness. I need to break this habit. Relinquish some control. Put faith in the future. In my future. In my desire to be happy again. It's hard though.
I wasn't prepared for a the call I got today. It was Dr. D. It was her first day back at the clinic and she'd just heard what happened. She said all the right things- all of which I needed to hear from her. She also told me the results of my RPL panel came came back. It was supposed to take ten business days for the results, not two. How often does that happen?
Lots of biology mumbo-jumbo, but the long and short of it was there was an extra chromosome. Chromosome 11 to be exact. Just a twist of nature. Things didn't line up quite as they should. Not conducive to sustainable life. It came from the paternal side- a bad sperm they said. And it was a total fluke. The chances of this happening again are less than 1%.
And, it was a girl.
Fast forward six months, and there I was sitting in that same waiting room. This time next to a woman with a newborn. I was amazed at how at ease I felt. It was the first time I didn't feel like chewing on a new mother's nativity and spitting it out, hopefully leaving her to feel just some of my pain. No, this time I sat there not quite feeling like part of the club, but feeling that maybe they'd let me in soon. Feeling, more at peace than I had in a long time.
But how quickly it all came rushing back. Rooted in my belly and more ferocious than ever.
My default is anger. It is a powerful emotion and it puts me in control. I can direct it at specific people or things. I can cut deep with it and feel satisfied that I'm able to inflict pain at will. I don't like how it feels, but it feels better than sadness. Or helplessness. I need to break this habit. Relinquish some control. Put faith in the future. In my future. In my desire to be happy again. It's hard though.
I wasn't prepared for a the call I got today. It was Dr. D. It was her first day back at the clinic and she'd just heard what happened. She said all the right things- all of which I needed to hear from her. She also told me the results of my RPL panel came came back. It was supposed to take ten business days for the results, not two. How often does that happen?
Lots of biology mumbo-jumbo, but the long and short of it was there was an extra chromosome. Chromosome 11 to be exact. Just a twist of nature. Things didn't line up quite as they should. Not conducive to sustainable life. It came from the paternal side- a bad sperm they said. And it was a total fluke. The chances of this happening again are less than 1%.
And, it was a girl.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)