I would have been 17 weeks today, and this makes me sad. More significantly, it has been 8 weeks and 3 days since I went in for my first ultrasound at 8 weeks and 3 days. I have now known my pregnancy was ending for as long as I knew I was pregnant, and this makes me even sadder. (I hate my brain. It is really good at spotting numerical patterns and does it whether I want it to or not.)
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I rejoined my T’ai Chi group that meets on Fridays in the park. (We are studying under a disciple who studies directly with the highest authority in Wu Style, Grand Master Sifu Eddie Wu, so we take it fairly seriously.) I hadn’t been in more than two months. I was out of shape and doing my best to keep up and not be distracted by the playground in front of me and the group of picnicking mothers and young children to my right. I lasted 45 minutes. Just before Four Corner Boxing in the 108 form, I began to quietly freak out. The thought that one day I would be in this park and see a pregnant woman was like a punch in the stomach. I couldn’t push the thought away. It hovered, cackling. I felt my eyes prick and my nostrils flare. Don’t lose it. Keep going.
I hadn’t considered this before. I was enjoying the drive in our new car, taking advantage of the sub-woofer, blaring music and singing at the top of my lungs. I was looking forward to T’ai Chi. But when the thought presented itself, it seemed so obvious. Of course I will see pregnant women, and of course I will see them congregating in this child-friendly corner of the park. As if that weren’t enough stress, my brain shouted Yeah, and you’re going to see them all summer too! There’s no escaping the fact that you are going to see women who will be as pregnant as you would have been. All. Summer. Long.
At Four Corner Boxing, I felt like I was being bombarded from all sides. I paused to compose myself, and couldn’t. Again, it felt like I was going to have a panic attack. I was flooded, and wasn’t going to learn anything. I heard my mindfulness teacher’s voice ask Lauren, what do you need right now? and the answer was simple: I wanted to leave. I didn’t want to disturb the others’ flow, so slowly stepped away pulling my Jizo baseball cap lower over my eyes. As I waited 7 minutes until they had finished I ran the tiny Jizo pendant between my finger and thumb along its chain. Finally, in my best steady voice I announced that I had to go, that I couldn’t be there. Murmurs of concern. I left, and made my way back to the car, tears streaming down my face. I broke down in the car. I lasted precisely one week without crying.
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Today was a sombre day. I scoured online forums looking to find out how long other women had waited for their cycles to return. I read all about Asherman’s syndrome. I lay in bed and wept properly. It’s only going to get worse before it gets better. Stupid, stupid, stupid thoughts! I did a lot of homework — we are nearing the end of the semester and I have to do a self-portrait in Illustrator. I wanted to paint me in all my current ugliness, but didn’t dare having to explain why to the class. I chose a picture of myself looking curious, a small smile on my lips. When I make mistakes, it doesn’t matter. Command+Z, undo last move. I keep wishing I could Command+Z all the way back to February 8th, the day my bean stopped growing. And if that’s not possible, then I’d like to Command+Y into the future. Unfortunately, my life feels like it’s being controlled by a giant pause button. I am frozen in time, a single pose viewed from all angles like in Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. I can’t rewind, can’t fast forward, and can’t hit the play button, and life keeps passing me by.
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