Today marks the day I would have entered my third trimester. Instead of feeling my baby kick and laughing about how hot and uncomfortable it is to be heavily pregnant in the summer, I am flat-bellied and fighting the gremlins of envy. I’m not sure who’s winning. It depends on the day.
As I approach a time when I might conceive again, I weep as much for Bean and the thought of replacing him with another joy as I do the loss of my innocence, the emptiness of my belly, and fearing that if I ever get pregnant again, will I again tumble headlong into another unfortunate statistic?
What doesn’t kill me will make me stronger.
It’s been about 4 months and a week since I found out that my pregnancy had ended silently. I think this has been the longest year of my life. I think I have been tested more in the past 4 months than ever before. I don’t feel stronger. I feel broken, haphazardly stitching myself back together. I feel like a floppy rag doll with a crooked grin and unblinking eyes covered with a film of tears. The sad little boat I find myself sailing is still filling with water. Most days I am able to row, but there are long hours where I bail water frantically. There are fleeting moments when I feel like ramming my boat into the nearest rock, but I remind myself that then I’d have to swim to shore on the ever distant horizon, and that will take much longer than rowing and scooping water, and then rowing a little more.
I don’t have to get through this gracefully, I just have to get through it.
Instead of attending NP-SIL’s going away party today, I am in hiding. NP-SIL is so brilliant and lovely. When I called her to try to awkwardly explain So, you know I’ve been going through a hard time… not only did she completely understand (she knows from personal experience that grief can appear out of the blue) and respect how I feel (she’d been meaning to call me herself to say that she didn’t expect me to come), she sent my MIL home that evening with a gift certificate and a note to tell me to have a nice afternoon at a spa instead. I think she wins first prize for Best Sister-in-Law Ever.
I am so filled with shame and guilt, but it’s nothing to the depth of grief that has hit me this week. I had a great trip to North Carolina to see my dad and his girlfriend, and I took a break from my grief. Then, on the second of my two flights home, somewhere over New Mexico, the grief surged forward with a renewed intensity. It took a stronghold, wrapping me in its embrace, as if to say Ha! You thought you’d got rid of me for good did you? Fool’s you! I WIN. Stuck in seat 19A with nowhere to go, I pulled my kikoy from my bag and draped it over my head to shield my wet face from the man sitting next to me.
I’ve been trying to return grief’s embrace and dance with it but, like a persistent parasite, it has been hard to shake off. Save for the ridiculously fun distraction of going tubing on Mission Bay on July 4th, at best I’ve been low energy all week.
At worst, I crumpled into a seething heap. I knew my 2-year-old niece would be staying the night on Friday, and was grateful that my MIL picked her up instead of having P-SIL drop her off… but I had no idea that she would be such a grief trigger and wasn’t prepared for the new shockwave of anguish that her presence caused. I firmly believe that when you see a little kid your face should show them how pleased you are to see them, but I just couldn’t put on a happy face for her… So I stayed in my room with the door closed and I hated myself for not being able to go and say hello to her. I stalled heating up leftovers for dinner, hoping she would be in bed by the time DH and I were hungry, but I guess she goes to bed later than I thought she would. I managed to give her a smile and a deflated hello but, you know, kids are smart. I didn’t fool her, poor little thing.
My mood worsened. I was blinded by grief, a ball of disgusting rage. I wanted to tear my face off, shed my skin, and slither away. I opened the oven to take out the food. I overestimated how heavy the rack was, and to my horror, the main component of dinner, heating up in MIL’s vintage casserole pot, flew forward. I tried to catch it, but half the dinner splattered the oven door, and I watched in horror as the glass lid somersaulted in slow motion towards the floor. Maybe it’ll bounce the way Pyrex sometimes does I remember thinking as it fell. Smash! It broke into a thousand pieces, whereupon I threw down the oven glove in defeat. I hollered for DH and asked him to clean it up. I couldn’t stay pregnant, couldn’t miscarry properly, can’t heal, can’t get over this, can’t even make dinner. I couldn’t deal.
What other people think of me is none of my business.
Luckily, I later managed to find a replacement lid on eBay, but after I effectively ruined dinner, I wept like I haven’t in weeks. I looked over at my drooping peace lily, where I buried my Mizuko Bean, and gasped an apology. I’m sorry… I’m so, so sorry… I hugged myself and tried to calm myself down. It worked for a while, but then I’d start crying again in great heaves that shook my whole body. When I wiped my eyes, I was never able to fully dry them. I half-expected to see blood on the tissue, so much emotional pain I was in.
I hated the way I was feeling, hated that I couldn’t hide it, hated that I have no privacy, hated that I live with my parents-in-law, hated that I cause them to schedule their lives to accommodate my sensitivity, and hated that I negatively impact their lives so much and so often. Most of all, I hated myself. That little voice of doubt and cruel mischief kept whispering to me. Maybe you’re just not fit to be a parent. Maybe you miscarried because the universe or God thinks you have a shitload of crap to sort out first. Maybe DH is having second thoughts about TTC again. Maybe he needs a break from you, why else would he lie down in the middle of the evening? Maybe your mother is right: you should have started TTC years ago, so you have no one to blame but yourself.
I stole away to a darkened spare room and lay down on the floor clutching my Mizuko pebble. When I awoke some time later, I was stiff and sore, pink-faced and puffy-eyed. It was 11pm, and I was glad to creep into bed, but I had nightmares all night. I dreamt my NP-SIL was getting married and I was missing her wedding. Everyone was furious with me, someone shoved me, another person screamed in my face. Everyone was saying what a terrible person I was behind my back — but they didn’t know I was watching the wedding from the white rafters of the church and could hear everything. When I woke up this morning, I said It was just a dream… or was it?
Soften, Soothe, Allow…
Today I feel better. I feel sheepish for displaying my grief, but am glad it’s outside of my body for the time being. I feel guilty for not being able to go to my SIL’s farewell party, but am glad she understands and supports my decision. My back feels less tense after the massage I had, thanks to her generosity.
Sometimes I think the line between grief and depression is blurred*. I have moments of terrible thoughts, but I also have plenty of minutes where I think how much more I appreciate life now. I take joy in seeing the beauty of a flower, the amber evening scent of southern California’s shrubs, the sunset. Life has never seemed more valuable and precious. I see how precarious and fragile it is. I have terrible moments, but I keep going because there’s no other choice. So I keep charting and taking my prenatal vitamins, extra vitamin B6, and acupuncture herbs.
In quiet moments, I place my hands over my lower belly and send love and peace to my reproductive organs. I thank them for doing the best they could, and tell them to keep doing the best they can. I cheer on my ovaries and tell them, no pressure or anything, but it would be great to conceive this month. I grin to think that if I were to conceive this month, my due date would be April 9th. My birthday. I’m hoping for the best 36th birthday present ever.
♥
* UPDATE: I just read the following on UnspokenGrief and am relieved to learn that it’s grief, not depression, that I am wrestling with:
Grief tends to be more trigger-related and situational after 2-3 months. For a large chunk of time you are functioning okay and feel relatively ‘better’ when around family, friends and in comfortable situations. It’s not until you get to the triggers that you begin to feel the symptoms of grief. Triggers can be dates, or leading up to dates, seeing a baby or pregnant woman, pregnancy announcements or television, songs — what ever it is for you.
– Via UnspokenGrief.com
Grief comes in waves. That is true for all of us. There is no magic way to get through this. There is no time line. Finding peace is a never-ending process- for me, anyway… the grief starts to slip away, then comes a pregnancy announcement, and I’m slapped in the face with it all over again. But it really does get easier with time. There is no way around… only through. Embrace and endure. Hugs to you…
“Around, not through”, this is profound. Just the sort of reminder I needed, thank you. I’m curious to hear that grief can still hit you even after the birth of a child. Thanks for the warning!
Hugs to you too xo
Sorry to hear you are having such a tough time, but I feel your pain. I’ve been in that position with children too – last year I hardly glanced at a friend’s newborn, it was rude but I didn’t care. Interesting when you said “the line between grief and depression is blurred” as I was very confused about this last year too. The grief was so consuming that I started to think I was depressed, but the definition by Unspokengrief is really good to know – I was experiencing grief too, not depression! But the triggers really do send you to rock bottom don’t they? It is a REALLY hard time, and I know you know this, but I’ve been exactly where you are and it WILL get better, I promise!! Love & hugs my friend. xx
I’m glad you found that helpful too. I is SUCH a confusing time, I know. Sorry you’re going through it too.
Love and hugs to you too xx
Lauren, here is another ((hug)) for you. I tend to find relief in dark wit and humor, but when I read this I was reminded that while lying in the ER, the same emotions came back and, as usual, I masked them. I wasn’t going to unload on the nurses so I cracked them up instead. It’s weird but that’s how I dealt with it, but today I broke down again. After 27+ years I am still grieving and you are not alone–I just tend to keep to myself. You’re the brave one for sharing.
While I am at an age where I don’t need to be having kids, or want any more, what I went through did send me reeling. I”d rather share that here than elsewhere. And I still have days where I hate almost everything and don’t want to hear that things are “wonderful” when in my reality, they aren’t always.
Again, you are not to blame for what you went through. For whatever reason, our lots came to us as they did, but I know you’ve helped me to deal with some of it by inspiring me to name my lost little one. I felt MUCH better after doing that. Those little things that come into your head about “You should have this or you should have that” are all little lies that gets whispered into our mind–especially if heard from someone else’s lips. They reverberate. What many don’t understand is that nothing ever changes something that is going to happen in our lives, and saying those things only hurts–even if someone means well. Even if I could have turned back time and laid in bed, I’d have still lost my little one.
What I do with what others tell me (and it’s usually a couple of well meaning friends like Job had…) is I put that in a little mental box. I leave it there. All I have is here and now, and I may have a fight ahead of me soon. Even now I hear (regarding the other issue I’m facing) is, “You should do this” or “You should do that!” Although I still grieve my little one, I do not have time for those little whispers, regardless of origin or the reason they are aimed my direction. Now if someone says something to bother me, I simply say, “I forgive you.” and walk away. It blows their minds because they have to THINK about what they just said.
May you have your heart’s desire in 2014!
Such great advice, Tina. I appreciate your perspective and experience. I’m humbled to learn that I have helped you with our grief, even a little bit. Much love x
Hi Lauren,
Once again you put into words so beautifully this feeling of grief that, even on ‘good’ days, is waiting to sideline you. I empathise so much. A lady I work with is due after I was and it is pure torture to see her growing bump while I’m still here, patiently waiting, and, I feel, growing more bitter and more tortured as time goes on.
I’m onto month 4 of ttc since the mmc and the sheer relentlessness of it is getting to both of us. It took us a while to conceive the bean we lost and so we are bored, disheartened, frustrated. I KNOW other people struggle too, but you wouldn’t think it, with the number of bumps there seems to be about. I am dreading September. Going back after the summer holidays when I should have been starting maternity leave in 2 weeks time. I really thought I would be pregnant again by now.
I hope and pray it’s our turn soon. Sending you love and best wishes across the miles.
Sarah x
Oh, Sarah, that must be so hard. You are so brave to show up for work every day! Milestones are fast approaching, it’s a horrid summer, isn’t it? I hope I can find something positive in it, and I hope you can too. I hope we both conceive soon, and that our babies stick around. Keep in touch xx
Sending you love, strength, and gentle hugs. xo
Thank you, Devan!! Wow, what an honour it is to have you visit and comment on my blog! Much love and peace to you too xx
I appreciate so much the raw honesty of this post, it is s clear that you are still struggling with what happened. I wish that I had some magic salve that would make the pain diminish for you. I want you to know that there is no way the miscarriage was because you weren’t ready for a baby, or because you were being punished or anything remotely close. I don’t believe in a God that is so cruel that he would send you a child in order to take it away just to make sure you get the point. It is heartbreaking and awful and unfair that you aren’t entering your 1st trimester. I felt the same way. Each day, each milestone was heartbreaking. My husband promised me he would get me pregnant again before my due date, before mother’s day, that a new pregnancy would soften the pain of those things. And he did… we just didn’t know until after my due date. It takes time, both to grieve your little bean and to heal your heart and your soul to be ready to carry the next child. Don’t feel bad for the grief. It is necessary. Your SIL understood that you couldn’t be there. Hugs to you.
Thank you, Egg. I cherish your wisdom and sensitivity. Xo