playing hooky

It’s 12:15 in the morning and though I should be snoozing away soundly in my bed, I felt it necessary instead to stay awake and force myself to process the miscarriage and d&c. After the initial call of the betas being terribly low for the dates and the flood of tears that followed, I have been pretty far removed from the emotion of it all.

“I’m having a miscarriage.” “I’m having a d&c.” “There was an empty sac.” “The numbers aren’t even close to what they should be and they’re not rising or falling.”

I’d say the words, knowing what they meant, the magnitude of them,  but not feeling them as if it were happening to me, rather it felt like someone else’s story that I was having to tell, again. I’d been here before, in beta hell. In limbo. in miscarriage land. In loss. It couldn’t be me going through it again.

It was easier to go through the motions of the blood draws, surgeries, and betas. It was easier to go on vacation where no one asked about anything though I sent an email telling both families what was happening.

It was easier to stuff it up and push it back and put on a happy face in front of my kids and my family and my husband. It was easier to focus on the lucky part of it all, the two healthy, adorable (not that I’m biased or anything), smart, sweet kids I have and know that I fought fucking hard and I knew how lucky I was to call them mine.

I wouldn’t let myself feel gutted because of it. I kept pushing the tears away. Focus on how much you have. You know how lucky you are. It could have been worse. It could always be worse.

I wouldn’t say any of those things to a friend going through a miscarriage, I don’t know why I’d tell them to myself.

I got a positive – a little tiny miracle – a huge flutter of hope – and I got it stolen away. Again.

I am fortunate in many ways and though it’s good to remind myself of that. I am trying to allow myself to grieve more. I am the woman at the Baby Wearing International meeting fighting back tears in the corner of a tiny room stuffed to the brim of teeny tiny babies and toddlers. That is me. Still struggling that it can’t be easy that it didn’t go the way it’s supposed to go. I’m the woman who gets stabby when I see a picture of a pee stick and a flippant comment of “I guess I’ll need an infant kinderpack!” or “I just found out I’m pregnant and my husband and I can’t agree on the name!” as if there’s not a worry in the world that those two lines will equal a baby at the end. (of course I hope they do and they probably will for all of them. )

It’s okay to grieve a loss while I have two beautiful kids. A loss is a loss is a loss. It’s a struggle to carve out the time for these emotions in the midst of repeating myself 50 times a day with various things (“I need you to get dressed” “will you please brush your teeth” “do you need to go the bathroom.” “Please sit down and finish your breakfast.etc etc).

There’s not a lot of space or a lot of time for reflection in this all. I have to fight to find the time to grieve, to fall apart a little bit. Tonight that meant going for a run at sunset and flopping down beside a lake to cry a few tears. It meant staying up late by myself (I am rarely by myself as a mom of a four year old who does not nap). It meant making myself feel all the feelings and honoring them.

I don’t know what the next steps are here, every things more of a mess than it ever was. I know I need time again, to reflect and think and be strong again, to let this pass as it should.

As ridiculous as it is, I kind of hate that this has taken a bit of the carefree-ness of our sex life – it was nice that sex was purely for fun and not reproduction. I’d gotten used to that. The two were separate. Now it’s connected with loss and pain. It was easy to think “we’ll see what happens” when the actual thought of that happening was so incredibly remote and in this fictional world where I actually get pregnant of course it would end up in a real live baby. I haven’t used any form of birth control in SEVEN years (except for those couple of months after the methotrexate shot after the ectopic). Of course it’s amazing that I got pregnant without help.

“The system clearly works, how well and often it might work no one can say. The body is an interesting thing.” was the comment my OB made. The complete mindfuckery that was this whole thing.

So here I am after my third loss and two kids in two, 5 pregnancies with varying outcomes, trying to let myself BE here. To not make myself focus on anything ~ to honor those feelings. To take things one step at a time. To not jump to never trying ever again or making an appointment with the RE, but just be here, for a bit and let myself heal. I’m considering taking a weekend trip by myself to refocus. To just be alone with my thoughts for a while.