As soon as I heard my OB's tone, I knew it wasn't good news.
I think I hit the floor before I finished hanging up the call.
It was 3:15 in the afternoon on a Monday and someone was telling me that I would lose my baby.
It just didn't seem fair.
But life is not fair.
Life just is.
I had tried to steel myself for bad news, because as soon as I had started spotting, I KNEW.
I didn't want to believe it, but I knew.
This was not my first time at the rodeo...
Everyone sent me such encouraging anecdotes and shared personal stories of spotting while pregnant that I wrapped myself up in them and prayed that they would be enough to stop what I felt coming.
I pictured what it would be like to have another child in the house.
What O would be like as a big brother.
The 4 of us as a family.
It was too early to get so excited, to plan, but I guess I hoped that might keep the bad at bay...
But as these things do, it came anyway.
And I shut down.
I crawled into bed and didn't get out for over a week.
Didn't answer my phone, or check my email.
I didn't want to see anyone, talk to anyone, or do anything.
I just laid in bed.
Sometimes sleeping, sometimes crying, sometimes just staring at the walls.
I felt completely empty.
I kept trying to get angry, so that at least I could feel something other than the overwhelmingly sad emptiness, but there wasn't anything/anyone to be angry with.
It wasn't my fault, or anyone elses'.
I could get angry at G-d, but even that seemed useless.
As I'm not even sure there is a G-d, it seemed silly to direct anger that way.
Besides, if there is one, and I actually hope there is, I doubt he gets his jollies from ripping children away from my womb....
Just a theory.
I think this miscarriage was harder than the other two because I have O.
You would think that having a child would soften the blow, but for me, that made it all the more intense...
Because I know what it's like now.
To feel that child grow to full-term.
To birth that child.
To hold him.
To watch him grow.
I didn't have the knowledge/gift of that the first two times.
Now I do.
So the hurt is deeper.
Because I could see the life of this child unfold in my mind's eye.
I could feel her tiny little hands in mine.
(in all my dreams, the baby was always a girl)
Instead, she is gone...or to some, never was.
Eventually the sorrow gave way to guilt.
Guilt for being a bad wife.
Guilt for being a neglectful mother.
Guilt for being a selfish woman.
My husband had lost something too, yet I couldn't move to comfort him.
My son needed his mommy, but after a couple hours with him, I had to retreat back to my tears.
There are women out there who've yet to conceive, those who've had stillbirths, who've buried their infants--
Who am I to wallow in pain?
I should be grateful, right?
I am, and I'm not, I suppose....
I am eternally gratefully for my son.
But I want another child, desperately.
My husband has told me every day since we lost:
We will try again, We will have another baby.
Will we? Can we? I hope so. I have to hope.
I keep hanging on to that.
But I keep asking myself:
Is it wrong? Shouldn't I just be grateful to have one? Shouldn't one be enough?
Sigh.
At this moment, it's not.
I am grieving for the loss of not just this child, but of the others before it.
3 children I will never get to hold.
I cling to the fact that I am blessed to be a part of a little family of 3...
but still I'm yearning to become 4.
Thank you to all of you who called/texted/messaged/tweeted me, and even went the extra step and called the Huz. You guys are so genuinely lovely and compassionate. I am so appreciative and lucky to have each of you. Your words of love, understanding and encouragement helped me to feel less alone.
Thank you to my husband who knew I needed to retreat for awhile and never made me feel bad for it. Thank you for holding me up and keeping me out of complete darkness. You are such a good man/father, and I am lucky to have you.
Thank you to my in-laws, who are like true parents to me.
As for the days ahead, I have no idea....
Some days I feel good, and other days I want to crawl back into my hole.
There has been an issue this entire time with my hormone levels rising rather than dropping, so I keep having to go into my OB's office for blood draws every couple of days to monitor the situation.
He's really trying to avoid doing a D and C, which I agree with, but walking into his office is torture. It digs at the wound a little bit more each time.
The bleeding doesn't help either. Each trip to the restroom is another glaring reminder of what ISN'T.
My levels have finally started going down, so hopefully today was the last blood draw. If the results come back not at zero, they'll schedule the D and C.
In the meantime, I'm trying to keep my focus on getting back on track with just day-to day life.
Which has mostly involved a lot of cleaning and laundry, and oddly, paperwork.
(That and the 2 hrs it took to go through my 3 email inboxes...)
My husband is a beautifully loving and compassionate man...
But he is a shit housekeeper.
Piles of laundry, trash, toys, mail, bills, Oh, MY.
It was a HOT MESS up in our living space.
I don't know how things can get so out of control in 2 weeks, but they can....let me tell you, they CAN.
Normally, I would have been majorly pissed, but it gave me something to do, you know?
Thankfully for his sake and my sanity, things are finally back to normal, and clean.
Although, I can still feel that empty space that grows a tiny bit bigger each time...
That piece of silent space that will stay with me always.
...and never fails to hurt whenever I stumble into it.
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