It’s a cool evening after a warm day in San Diego, and the open window lets in a hesitant breeze. A cricket chirps at regular intervals, occasionally interrupted by next door’s beagle whose bark sounds like a falsetto Yeah! Yeah! It makes me laugh and I don’t feel bad for laughing, but the sadness returns soon after.
It’s been 24 hours since I was at home. The longest I’ve been away from my little sanctuary since this ghastly ordeal began. Good friends of ours, A. and D., flew into LA from New York for a very long weekend, and drove down to see DH and me. It was wonderful to see them, and their visit provided a much-needed break and welcome respite from the whirlwind that has been my life for the past almost-month.
D. grew up in San Diego, so we had dinner with mutual friends, G. and C., and a couple of people we didn’t know. C., our host, had remembered that I am allergic to tomatoes and prepared a tomato-free version of the ratatouille she’d made. Thoughtfulness. I enjoyed a glass of white wine as I grazed the cheese selection, but at dinner I found myself tuning out of the conversation, my participation reduced to um-hmms and a small, frozen smile. I think up until that point I’d been doing well — quieter than usual, but I laughed and talked about other things, until BAM!
K., a man I’d never met before, mentioned something about an ultrasound because he and his wife are expecting their second child, and it was like my protective bubble burst. I felt myself withdrawing into myself, and DH’s hand on my thigh, a supportive squeeze. I was grateful he could carry on the conversation and simultaneously be so connected to me when I felt so disconnected from myself.
The room grew dark and bright, and I studied that feeling of disconnection. It felt like an out of body experience. It felt like I might faint. I noticed I was wincing and holding my breath. I was in a little more pain that day, but this emotional pain felt like something else. Something uneasy and unfamiliar. What is this? I anxiously asked myself. Why is this happening when our dear friends are here? Suddenly, in the flurry of anxiety, I understood: I was on the verge of having a panic attack.
I’ve nearly had a panic attack before, years ago. I’d watched a documentary about 9-11, complete with reenactions, the eve of a long flight — not the best idea, but I’m not really prone to anxiety — and was pacing in my apartment, dry-mouthed and unable to pack my suitcase. It felt strange and unfamiliar — I didn’t recognise the signs, but a friend did. She suggested we go for a brisk walk to shake it off, and it was the best thing I could have done. Last night, I wanted to scream or unzip myself from my skin and start running. I was crawling with words: Stop it! Shut up! Pull yourself together! Why is this happening? Why now? Why me? Why not? What do I do? What can I do? Okay, what do I need right now?
I needed a good cry. I quietly wiped my mouth, folded my napkin neatly, and slipped off to the bathroom. I sobbed for all of ten seconds — the dam is still holding up — and sat on the loo seat, shocked. Then I heard DH’s footsteps in the hallway, coming to check on me. Darling, sweet DH. I don’t think I have loved him more than in that moment.
I regained composure and returned to the table a few minutes later. Having released my sadness (I pictured bats flapping out of my hair) I found that I was able to enjoy myself. I mean, really enjoy myself. The rest of the evening I laughed and cracked puns. The old me was back, sort of. When G. left, he gave me another long hug that evening and told me everything would be okay and that we should come over to eat Seder leftovers after Passover. When we left, C. put her hand on my shoulder and gazed steadily into my eyes. Keep the faith, kiddo. It’ll work out. Just keep the faith.
This morning, A., D., DH, and I took a long walk along the beach after breakfast. This is the first walk on the beach since the day we found out our baby wasn’t growing and I was glad to break the ice with friends. Especially good friends with whom I could be myself. Good friends whom we hadn’t seen in a very long time.
After we said goodbye, I felt sad again. I don’t want to say anymore fucking goodbyes! And now that D. and A.’s visit is over, I don’t have anything to look forward to. Only a slog of work, and almost 4 weeks’ of schoolwork to catch up on. Fuck my 35th birthday in a few weeks’ time. That was when I was supposed to be happily announcing my pregnancy to the world.
By the time we got home, I had crashed again. Have I mentioned how this cycle is exhausting and how I wish I could get off?
(The dog next door barks Yeah!)
I shared today’s fears with DH:
I feel like after a rough few years of sailing, our ship was finally beginning to turn. I felt like my life — moving to California from New York, going back to school for a career transition, deciding to have a baby and getting pregnant — was finally on track. Not that everything was perfect (when is it ever?) but at least I, we, were on the right path. Now it’s like I’ve fallen off the tracks, like I’m in a ravine, staring up at these tracks in the sky. They’re so far overhead, the people walking across them so tiny, and the climb out of the ravine is so steep and so rocky. I know I have to start climbing back up, but I don’t have the energy.
(Yeah!)
I grin wistfully. I was so happy not so long ago…
(Yeah! Yeah!)
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