Last week was one of the most difficult for me yet, but since confronting my fears of coming face to face with P-SIL last Friday and dealing with the subsequent wave of emotions, amazingly, life has got a little easier.
I suspected that the thought of seeing P-SIL was more agonising in my imagination than in real life. It was slightly less bad than what I had anticipated, but it was a harrowing experience nonetheless. But I did it and lived to tell the tale. It didn’t kill me. I’m still here. For days afterwards, I expected a sudden whoosh of relief, self-recognition of the enormity of what I’d done, and none came…
…but Aunt Flo did — after being gone for almost 12 weeks. To be able to say It’s the first week of June, and I got my period for the first time this year is quite a trip… Knowing that my body is returning to normal, however slowly, has brought me such reassurance. I hadn’t fully appreciated how stressful it was to live not knowing what was going on. My post-miscarriage amenorrhea is nothing compared to living with infertility, but now I have an even deeper sympathy for people who have unexplained infertility or mysterious illness or are waiting for a diagnosis.
My doctor still wants me to keep my Tuesday morning ultrasound appointment; and I am looking forward to discussing yesterday’s thyroid blood test result with my primary care (GP) doctor Tuesday afternoon. Technically, we could start TTC again already, but I want to make sure my hypothyroidism is taken care of first.
I meant it when I wrote that I’ve started a new chapter in my reproductive story but now I’m beginning to notice positive changes. For example, it’s only in thinking and writing about this that I noticed that it’s a little after 2 o’clock and I’ve only now remembered that it’s Saturday, the day when I would have been another week farther along in my pregnancy. And I’m not sure if I would have been 22 or 23 weeks.
Yesterday, as I sat in the phlebotomist’s waiting room, a woman sat down opposite me. She was about 5-6 months pregnant, a little farther along than I would have been, and although I felt that familiar sad pang, it was the weakest it’s ever been. And this time I heard my voice say inside That’ll be me in 9 months’ time.
Today I look over at my thriving peace lily and think of my Bean. Fondly.