Gratitude

It was two weeks ago today that I found out there was a problem with my pregnancy. I am still filled with sadness, but today I am also feeling immense gratitude for all the unusually wonderful things that have happened since then.

I am grateful for having proof that I know my body as well as I do — both knowing there was something wrong with my pregnancy and knowing that I would need a D&C.

I am grateful to A., S., and E., my three best girlfriends who have listened to me at length, even when it’s been late at night, and shared their wisdom, supported me on this blogging journey, and told me how strong and brave I am and how much they love me. I’ve really needed that and their kindness has been tangible, even though they live thousands of miles away from me.

I am grateful to all my friends and family who have called, emailed, texted, Skyped, mailed packages, sent cards, written letters, and followed up again, just to say how much they love DH and me and how sorry they are for our loss. I have never felt more loved.

I am grateful to all the internet strangers I have virtually met the past two weeks who have taken the time to share their story with me by email, forum post, PM, or blog comment. The sisterhood (and its male supporters) feels very empowering and, to those of you who have suffered a similar loss, I have been buoyed by your courage.

I am grateful for having a dog that has been reluctant to leave my side, only doing so to eat or go to the bathroom. He has licked tears off my face, curled up next to me like a doughnut, and lain alongside me, his way of hugging.

I am grateful to the OB/GYN team at UCSD for really rooting for my well-being:  they broke the bad news gently, explained what needed to happen next, patiently answered my questions, understood my wishes, did everything they could to honour those wishes, and — but for being able to wave a magic wand and turn back time — succeeded in making them happen.

I am grateful for my fantastic mother-in-law. She has hugged me, listened to me, given me a back rub, made me countless hot water bottles, made her first ever cup of (English) tea for me, her (English) daughter-in-law. She’s fed me, fed the dog, put aside her own sadness and disappointment to be there for her son and me, taken me shopping, driven me to/from the hospital to get my MICRhoGAM injection, done several loads of laundry, tackled huge blood stains on my jeans, cleaned our bathroom, vacuumed, and changed the bed sheets when DH and I were at Yet Another Appointment. I couldn’t have asked for a better nurse.

I am grateful for my incredible husband who has witnessed every single one of my emotions and handled them without judgment or criticism. DH has held me as I sobbed, calmed me down when I have hurled books across the room in my grieving rage, transliterated for me in my numb confusion at the doctor’s office, taken my hand in quiet moments of sadness, checked out four books on miscarriage from the library for me, made me endless cups of tea, made a note of my painkiller doses when I was in too much pain to, driven me to/from all but one appointment, held my hand, cleaned up blood, walked alongside me, rubbed my back, ruffled my hair, told me not to worry about the bills, shared his wisdom, told me to make an appointment to get a massage, told me that he would support whatever decision I made about what to do with the little bean’s remains, and made me laugh and laugh and laugh in spite of our numbness and shock.  He doesn’t know this, but even when I lie next to him at night, wide-eyed with insomnia, in his sleep he still reaches for my hand or drapes his arm across my body. DH is my rock, my tender and sensitive husband, my sweet and loving man who has openly shared his own feelings of loss and made space for mine. I thank my lucky stars that I am married to such a man. I know there are many girls and women out there who have to go through this alone.

And, despite the horrific pain from the Misoprostol, I am grateful for being able to deliver most of my pregnancy at home. I am grateful that I found the courage to grimly do what must be done. Without that, I wouldn’t have been able to make out a little head, with a tiny eye, and a tinier point, the beginnings of a nose. I know this sounds gruesome, and maybe you can’t understand, but seeing this brought me a great deal of comfort. In my own way, I finally met my baby and I am eternally grateful for that.