It's been three weeks and two days since I took the pill that finished the process. I found out that my prescription HAD been called in, but to a different pharmacy. It was a random mistake on the part of my midwife's assistant, and it made me feel a little better knowing they hadn't realized they made an error, and therefore didn't realize they needed to call me back. It's a pretty bizarre mistake to make, calling the wrong pharmacy, but I have a lot more grace for an honest mistake rather than blatant disrespect. It made me feel a little guilty for being so indignant about the whole thing. The information I'd researched that had led me to question my midwife also turned out to be inapplicable to my particular situation, and her advice had indeed been sound. I overreacted. I wish I'd had the info up front so I wouldn't have felt driven to research on my own, but I digress.
It's weird- a friend had told me that there are stages to grief, and that I should be kind to myself during the process. I didn't really get the stages of grief thing until now, when I can look back and see the changes I've already gone through in the past few weeks. When I last wrote, I felt so incredibly fragile, like porcelain. I felt it was the job of everyone around me to treat me with care and caution, and I would get so incredibly indignant if anyone dared say or do anything even slightly insensitive. It must have been a stage of grief, like my friend had said, because normally I am not that person. I usually go out of the way to give everyone the benefit of the doubt, even when it truly isn't deserved. Something just snapped, though, and I felt like everyone owed it to me to be gentle and kind. I mean, who on earth would have the gall to step on the toes of a grieving mother? And truly, it would have been nice if the situation with my midwife hadn't happened, and I am still unimpressed with the way things were handled all around, but I am a little embarrassed at the uproar it caused in me. Then again, that is where the second part of my friend's advice comes into play... be kind to myself; it's a delicate season.
I hope that we'll be blessed with another child soon. I ache for it, and especially after our loss, it feels like something is missing from our family. I know that our next baby will not be a replacement, and our loss is not diminished, but my dreams of a large, bustling family still well up inside me and I feel this ache for more. More than what we have, more than where we are. It's not that I'm not satisfied or content, but it's just... incomplete. There is joy in the journey, so I don't discount these days of baby makes three. Our little family is precious, and I savor each and every day with Ella, even more now especially. As strange as it seems, I've found comfort in knowing that I have a little more time to relish in her before our family grows. I DO NOT mean to say it was a good thing- this loss- or that I'm glad it happened; I just choose to look at the bright side of life and see my half full glass and this is one way my glass is feeling full right now, this idea that I've got a little more time with my girl before things change forever. It's a strange dichotomy- this ache for more, mixed with this ache for the here and now to just stay forever and nothing to change. I can't explain it. It's illogical, I know, but it's here just the same, twisting and twirling in my head at all times.
I don't want my life to be defined by loss. I don't want my words and thoughts to reflect a pained life. My life is blessed. My God is good. My family is precious. I don't even want to give any more words to it tonight. I want to share about here and now. I want to share about the child that runs through my house, shrieking with delight, coloring on her arms with green marker when I'm not looking, asking me for candy for breakfast. I want to find a place in my life for this loss to exist without taking up too much or not enough space, and without any room for me to feel guilty for giving it too much or not enough space. I haven't found it yet- the place for this loss- and I wonder if I ever will.
But my gain... my child... my daughter, Ella. Who could ask for anything more? Has there ever been a child so smart, so beautiful, so wonderful? To me, she is the greatest thing to walk this earth. And she's growing so fast. Last week, while laying in bed with Stephen and I, she says to me, "Mommy BIG." Of course, it's always delightful to hear of my girth, so I said, "Gee, thanks, Ella." Then, "Daddy big too." Daddy mumbles in agreement. Ella says, "I getting stronger everyday... Ellie!" Smart cookie, that one. I was relieved that she had been talking about my adulthood and not my waistline, as well. And then, the other day, she told her Nana that she was too old to watch a certain cartoon. "No, Nana, I too old." WHAT?! Since when?! And since when do you even know what too old IS? My baby is growing, and she's doing it fast.
Ella likes to ask me for things constantly. She's, well, she's needy. She always thinks if she asks me for something in a high pitched voice, I'll give in to her cuteness. "Mama, I have chocolate milk?" she squeaks with wide eyes and a soft smile, and honestly, it can be hard to resist. I understand now, those moms that want to give their kids everything. I know that giving your child everything they want is a surefire formula for creating your very own Veruca Salt, so I say my share of "No," but I now know the internal battle of wanting to create happiness for your child. There are few things more delightful than bringing joy to those you love, and I am so glad that my little Joy has the same zeal and excitement for life that I do.
I had a little shock to my system, though, when we had friends stay with us last week. It was so much fun- my best friend, her husband and their 2 year old son spent an entire week with us! But I quickly realized that Ella has a serious case of "only child" syndrome. This was HER house, he was playing with HER toys, and it shook her to the core. I could not believe that my sweet, intelligent child was hitting and screaming and refusing to share. I guess I was naive, thinking it'd be easy for her, but she's never been in that situation before and I just assumed she'd take it in stride. BIG mistake. I felt bad for her, though. I know her reaction was wrong, and I definitely had to play "disciplinary mom" more that week than probably the rest of her entire life thus far, but I could sense panic in her at times. This thought that everything was changed and her life wouldn't be the same again. I don't think she could grasp that it was temporary, and she must have been completely thrown by the thought of sharing our home with three other people. Chalk that one up to "things every parent finds out after their first experience with house guests." She did adjust fairly well, and by the end of the week, she'd gotten into a good groove.
Even though the week was chalk full of fun outings, some of my favorite moments were sipping coffee on the couch with Crystal, as we watched the kids play... feeding them lunch, putting them down for their naps, and then talking, laughing, watching chick flicks... moments I will relish forever! The absolute bliss of inviting someone into the routine of my life, sharing moments that are as familiar to me as my own skin- the warm coffee in my yellow mugs, the smell of my apple cinnamon candles, the way the sunlight hits the color on the autumn leaves outside my front windows, the simplicity of my everyday life- these are things I rarely share with anyone and it was a gift to share these times with a friend who knows me so well but doesn't get to live these day to day moments with me anymore.
I know I said I wasn't going to talk about it anymore tonight, but I just want to say this: I am amazed at the ability of life to just go on. Even in loss and pain, God brings joy and comfort in visits from friends and warm cups of coffee, things that would have seemed small but suddenly become very important. My neighbor Ellen shared about a rough season in her life, and she said she found comfort in what she called "islands"... small things like a phone call, a good meal, a new dress... she would crawl up onto these islands and the brief pleasures would give her the strength to dive back in and keep treading water. When she shared this with me, it was like she was reading my mind, because I have been absolutely CLINGING to these little moments that infuse me with strength and hope. Eventually, I think you stay on one of the islands until life's next storm, and I feel like I've found mine, at least for now. The initial sting is gone, and the ache is finding its home in my body, slowly but surely. It won't leave, of that I'm sure, but I think it will settle and find its balance. As Ellie said, "I getting stronger every day!" and it's true- I AM getting stronger every day. I am proceeding with caution, but the point is I am proceeding.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Dignity
I am not naive enough to think that I am the only patient at my clinic, or the only person in the world to be dealing with a loss. I am not expecting fanfare or parades, weeping crowds on my doorstep, checks in the mail. But I did expect to be treated with more dignity during this process, and I'm incredibly frustrated at the way this is playing out.
My blood was drawn at the doctor's office, after seeing an empty womb and hearing the worst words I'd ever heard in my life. My midwife told me to come back in to the hospital on Friday for another blood test, to confirm I hadn't conceived again before they gave me the medication that would make this all final. Because my body, which can't seem to do anything conventionally when it comes to reproductivity, is having something called a "missed miscarriage" or an "incomplete miscarriage", which means that the baby passed away inside me but my body is not passing it. Strange that my mind is having a somewhat easier time coping with this than my body: I want this to be over but it's still holding on. But that's a psychological issue that I'm not interested in exploring right now.
Of course, the blood test just had to be on a Friday, which means a long weekend waiting for results... knowing it won't likely be good news, but hoping anyway. Monday finally came and... no phone call. After debating for hours whether I should "inconvenience" the office with a call, I decided that my peace of mind was worth the risk and I called, only to learn that my midwife doesn't work on Mondays. GEE... thanks for the heads up. Early Tuesday, I got the call that I was dreading but anxiously awaiting nonetheless. There is no new pregnancy. There is no way to get around the bleeding.
My midwife suggested giving my body 24 hours to start the process on its own, since I had a lot of painful cramps and contractions on Monday night. She asked where I'd like to pick up the prescription, if needed, which would be ready for me anytime today. I told her the Target nearest my house would be great, which is where I headed tonight because, of course, my body didn't cooperate and begin the process on its own. Stephen was ready to take Ella out for the evening if things got too intense, and my Mom was prepared to come over at a moment's notice if I, well, needed my mommy. But once I arrived at the Target, I realized they didn't have a pharmacy, which totally surprised me. I mean, doesn't every Target have a pharmacy? Isn't that a thing? Apparently it's not a thing, and when I called my clinic, they were closed for the day. Naturally. I headed to another Target and asked if their systems were linked and if they could please tell me if my midwife had called in the prescription at another Target. Yes, they are linked, but no, they have no record of my prescription being called in.
I can't believe that in the last 36 hours, nobody from my clinic thought to call me and ask for a different preferred pick-up location. I can't believe that whoever called the Target nearest my house and learned they didn't have a pharmacy did not then think to themselves that perhaps more action might be necessary. I can't believe that a woman who has already had to deal with the news of a miscarriage, the knowledge of an uncooperative body and the excruciating wait for results of my blood test was made to wait again because of lack of action on the part of my clinic.
I looked up the medication today and I really didn't like what I read... stories of extreme pain, cramping, nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, fevers... none of this was mentioned to me by my midwife. Also, many women spoke of being prescribed pain medication to use during the miscarriage- another thing my midwife said nothing of, and certainly did not prescribe. The worst, though, was reading the drug warning: do NOT attempt to get pregnant for one full cycle after the miscarriage, due to the residual effects of the drug. My midwife had said we'd be fine to try again immediately. And there was no talk of what to expect with the medication, or what signs to look for in case something went wrong. I had to learn on the internet that possible side effects could include damage to my fertility.
I feel very disrespected right now. It is hard enough to know that my body couldn't even get a miscarriage right, and I've been carrying my baby for nearly two months after it passed away. To learn that my midwife was scant on information, and even possibly negligent with her advice, is disheartening to say the least. I just feel so incredibly mistreated. It is cruel irony to realize that I was treated with more dignity and respect and given much more information and support when I had a healthy baby than when I lost a baby. I can understand why some acquaintances might be silent- it's hard to know what to say to a grieving mother- though I still think that saying something- anything- is better than nothing at all. But a certified nurse midwife? A medically trained professional? It is TOO MUCH to be met with silence from someone who is an expert in these matters and should be my advocate right now.
I'm incredibly frustrated and I feel incredibly small. It is strange... when you birth a child, the response is overwhelming: the support, the cards, the gifts, the meals, the visitors, the love, and the greatest gift of all- a healthy baby. When you lose a child, many people avoid you completely, or say a few kind words but don't really know what to do a day, a week, a month after the loss. And honestly, before this experience, I wouldn't have known what to say or how to respond either, so I certainly don't blame those who aren't saying much. I just wish society knew how to supportively respond to loss they way we do with gain. Everyone celebrates with you when you experience good, but the bad stuff- the times when you feel most in need of human contact- are often the most lonely. Everyone at my clinic was so kind when I was there in person- that initial contact is so heartfelt, so gut-wrenching. The woman who drew my blood even hugged me, with tears in her eyes. But here it is a week later, and my pain isn't gone, and I still lost a child, and I'm not "over it"... and I'm treated like any other patient waiting on a prescription. The pain is not gone, the process is not over, and I'd still appreciate being treated delicately and respectfully. I mean, the baby is still INSIDE me, for goodness sake. I certainly haven't moved past the experience yet, because it hasn't even begun in some ways. And I'm scared for it to begin; I'm scared it will hurt. I don't want to go through this. I would appreciate being treated with respect, dignity, honor... and for crying out loud, CALL me when you can't fill my prescription, especially when you know it means further prolonging my opportunity to let this go, to begin the end, to feel the loss physically as well as mentally. It's the decent thing to do.
My blood was drawn at the doctor's office, after seeing an empty womb and hearing the worst words I'd ever heard in my life. My midwife told me to come back in to the hospital on Friday for another blood test, to confirm I hadn't conceived again before they gave me the medication that would make this all final. Because my body, which can't seem to do anything conventionally when it comes to reproductivity, is having something called a "missed miscarriage" or an "incomplete miscarriage", which means that the baby passed away inside me but my body is not passing it. Strange that my mind is having a somewhat easier time coping with this than my body: I want this to be over but it's still holding on. But that's a psychological issue that I'm not interested in exploring right now.
Of course, the blood test just had to be on a Friday, which means a long weekend waiting for results... knowing it won't likely be good news, but hoping anyway. Monday finally came and... no phone call. After debating for hours whether I should "inconvenience" the office with a call, I decided that my peace of mind was worth the risk and I called, only to learn that my midwife doesn't work on Mondays. GEE... thanks for the heads up. Early Tuesday, I got the call that I was dreading but anxiously awaiting nonetheless. There is no new pregnancy. There is no way to get around the bleeding.
My midwife suggested giving my body 24 hours to start the process on its own, since I had a lot of painful cramps and contractions on Monday night. She asked where I'd like to pick up the prescription, if needed, which would be ready for me anytime today. I told her the Target nearest my house would be great, which is where I headed tonight because, of course, my body didn't cooperate and begin the process on its own. Stephen was ready to take Ella out for the evening if things got too intense, and my Mom was prepared to come over at a moment's notice if I, well, needed my mommy. But once I arrived at the Target, I realized they didn't have a pharmacy, which totally surprised me. I mean, doesn't every Target have a pharmacy? Isn't that a thing? Apparently it's not a thing, and when I called my clinic, they were closed for the day. Naturally. I headed to another Target and asked if their systems were linked and if they could please tell me if my midwife had called in the prescription at another Target. Yes, they are linked, but no, they have no record of my prescription being called in.
I can't believe that in the last 36 hours, nobody from my clinic thought to call me and ask for a different preferred pick-up location. I can't believe that whoever called the Target nearest my house and learned they didn't have a pharmacy did not then think to themselves that perhaps more action might be necessary. I can't believe that a woman who has already had to deal with the news of a miscarriage, the knowledge of an uncooperative body and the excruciating wait for results of my blood test was made to wait again because of lack of action on the part of my clinic.
I looked up the medication today and I really didn't like what I read... stories of extreme pain, cramping, nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, fevers... none of this was mentioned to me by my midwife. Also, many women spoke of being prescribed pain medication to use during the miscarriage- another thing my midwife said nothing of, and certainly did not prescribe. The worst, though, was reading the drug warning: do NOT attempt to get pregnant for one full cycle after the miscarriage, due to the residual effects of the drug. My midwife had said we'd be fine to try again immediately. And there was no talk of what to expect with the medication, or what signs to look for in case something went wrong. I had to learn on the internet that possible side effects could include damage to my fertility.
I feel very disrespected right now. It is hard enough to know that my body couldn't even get a miscarriage right, and I've been carrying my baby for nearly two months after it passed away. To learn that my midwife was scant on information, and even possibly negligent with her advice, is disheartening to say the least. I just feel so incredibly mistreated. It is cruel irony to realize that I was treated with more dignity and respect and given much more information and support when I had a healthy baby than when I lost a baby. I can understand why some acquaintances might be silent- it's hard to know what to say to a grieving mother- though I still think that saying something- anything- is better than nothing at all. But a certified nurse midwife? A medically trained professional? It is TOO MUCH to be met with silence from someone who is an expert in these matters and should be my advocate right now.
I'm incredibly frustrated and I feel incredibly small. It is strange... when you birth a child, the response is overwhelming: the support, the cards, the gifts, the meals, the visitors, the love, and the greatest gift of all- a healthy baby. When you lose a child, many people avoid you completely, or say a few kind words but don't really know what to do a day, a week, a month after the loss. And honestly, before this experience, I wouldn't have known what to say or how to respond either, so I certainly don't blame those who aren't saying much. I just wish society knew how to supportively respond to loss they way we do with gain. Everyone celebrates with you when you experience good, but the bad stuff- the times when you feel most in need of human contact- are often the most lonely. Everyone at my clinic was so kind when I was there in person- that initial contact is so heartfelt, so gut-wrenching. The woman who drew my blood even hugged me, with tears in her eyes. But here it is a week later, and my pain isn't gone, and I still lost a child, and I'm not "over it"... and I'm treated like any other patient waiting on a prescription. The pain is not gone, the process is not over, and I'd still appreciate being treated delicately and respectfully. I mean, the baby is still INSIDE me, for goodness sake. I certainly haven't moved past the experience yet, because it hasn't even begun in some ways. And I'm scared for it to begin; I'm scared it will hurt. I don't want to go through this. I would appreciate being treated with respect, dignity, honor... and for crying out loud, CALL me when you can't fill my prescription, especially when you know it means further prolonging my opportunity to let this go, to begin the end, to feel the loss physically as well as mentally. It's the decent thing to do.
Saturday, October 2, 2010
loss
i don't know, it's like some moments i can almost forget about it. we can watch a movie or go see family and talk and laugh and act like everything is normal. but i feel like the sorrow is lurking inside, and just waiting for a quiet moment to hit. and then it's quiet, and it does hit, and i hate it. i'm afraid that i'm stifling it or not dealing with it, but i just don't know how to deal except to try to get back to normal.
i'm so incredibly grateful that baby was so small... not even visible. that would have broken me in half. it's not less of a person, or less of a loss, but it's helping me to cope, as weird as that sounds. i'll have to take this medicine to bring on a miscarriage, and that is what i am afraid of right now... going through the process. being constantly reminded. and i don't know what to expect. how long will it take? does it hurt? how much blood are we talking here?
and, of course, before i can get that stupid medicine i have to wait to hear the results of my blood test. they had to test me on wednesday, then again on friday, just to be doubly sure i hadn't conceived again in the last few weeks. they wouldn't want to bring on a miscarriage if there's a viable new pregnancy in there. and i don't know what to feel about that.
because of course i can't help but hope a little bit that we did, so i could have something to look forward to, but at the same time i feel selfish wanting that... wanting to "get over" this loss so quickly. i could almost pretend it didn't happen. i would never forget, and i would always know that truly, our second child is not going to be our next child we bring home from the hospital. our second child will always be the child we lost. but still, a chance for immediate happiness and hope sounds pretty wonderful right now.
and then, on the other hand, there's this knowledge that it's pretty much the slimmest chance on earth that i'm pregnant again, and i am going to have to wait for that phone call confirming my hcg levels are dropping, which means just another dashed hope and another painful experience. i just can't stop wishing this was all just over and behind me. i wish it was a year from now, when the pain wasn't fresh, and i could feel normal without that constant nag in the back of my head. will it even be like that in a year? i don't know. but i have to think so. NOT that i want to forget this child. i just want to feel normal again, i guess.
and then there's the question of, when do we try again? i mean, i don't want to wait. and i feel bad that i don't want to wait. because i KNOW that part of the reason i don't want to wait is because i'm desperate to be back in that place of joy and hope. but on the other hand, stephen and i have always prayed for a large, close family... 4 kids or more all within 2-3 years of each other. a loud, full house brimming with LIFE. do i let this loss change our dreams forever? do i hide behind fear and let it control our future? what about ella? she's so caring, so maternal with other small children, and SO incredibly ready to have a full time playmate. do i let my sorrow prolong this gift to her?
of course, none of this matters... all of these fears and "what ifs", because it's not us that will give ourselves a child. it's not us that will choose the right time. it's our Father, and we know that. i want to be open to His blessings in His timing. i just hope that it's soon, but i desperately hope that i don't use this next child, this THIRD child, as the happiness to wipe away the sorrow. that's not their job, and it's not my choice to make. our second child will always be a part of us, and i know that. our family won't quite be complete this side of heaven now, and i'm letting that sink in.
and i'm mad, too. i don't know who i'm mad at, but i'm mad. i'm mad at my body for once again not doing what it was supposed to do. it took nearly two years to conceive ella, and it was a long and painful process. this time, i was sure we were being blessed with an easy process as a reward for the long road we walked for ella. maybe reward isn't the right word, but it's all i can think of right now. anyway, not only did i lose this baby, but my BODY didn't seem to get the memo. here i am, thinking i'm nearly 12 weeks pregnant, almost a third of the way there... out of the woods, so to speak. i'm expecting to see a baby nearly the size of my thumb, with tiny fingers and toes. i'm expecting to find out the gender in 8 weeks, to begin planning showers and celebrations and dig out ella's baby swing and look at her tiny newborn clothes and count the days til we're feeding, changing, losing sleep and smiling through the exhaustion at the beautiful family we'd been given.
why, why, why didn't my body just do what it should have done? if the baby was gone so early, likely by 5 or 6 weeks, then why wouldn't by body just respond? almost the entire time i've known i was pregnant, the baby wasn't even there. and that makes me so upset. it just seems cruel, like kicking someone when they're down. even now, if i hadn't gone to the doctor last week, i'd be blissfully carrying on about my baby. of course, in the last week, things have felt different. my hormone levels have finally dropped far enough that most of my pregnancy symptoms are gone. i almost can say that i knew in some ways. i remember thinking a week ago, when i felt so much better, and had all my energy back, that maybe the sudden lack of symptoms wasn't a good sign. but then i remembered the long road to ella, and thought it was just a little blessing to make this pregnancy easier.
i hate to complain like this. i don't ever want to be one of those people who acts like i deserve good things, like i have the right to any good thing in this life, like any wonderful thing that i am given is because it was earned. because i know that every single breath is a gift, and that if we got what we truly deserved, we'd be dead. i don't want to act like i am special, or immune to loss or pain. but sometimes being strong, and putting that suzy sunshine smile on my face in the midst of pain just feels disingenuous. i know God can handle my anger, my pain... and love me anyway. and sometimes it just really helps to throw a little fit. so i'm mad. i don't know at who, but it's there, and i don't know how to deal with it except to yell and cry and ask WHY, even though i know i won't get an answer. and as i grieve, i also praise... because the loss of this child reminds me how incredibly grateful i am for a healthy and absolutely beautiful toddler, and at this point in life i am taking NOTHING for granted.
i'm so incredibly grateful that baby was so small... not even visible. that would have broken me in half. it's not less of a person, or less of a loss, but it's helping me to cope, as weird as that sounds. i'll have to take this medicine to bring on a miscarriage, and that is what i am afraid of right now... going through the process. being constantly reminded. and i don't know what to expect. how long will it take? does it hurt? how much blood are we talking here?
and, of course, before i can get that stupid medicine i have to wait to hear the results of my blood test. they had to test me on wednesday, then again on friday, just to be doubly sure i hadn't conceived again in the last few weeks. they wouldn't want to bring on a miscarriage if there's a viable new pregnancy in there. and i don't know what to feel about that.
because of course i can't help but hope a little bit that we did, so i could have something to look forward to, but at the same time i feel selfish wanting that... wanting to "get over" this loss so quickly. i could almost pretend it didn't happen. i would never forget, and i would always know that truly, our second child is not going to be our next child we bring home from the hospital. our second child will always be the child we lost. but still, a chance for immediate happiness and hope sounds pretty wonderful right now.
and then, on the other hand, there's this knowledge that it's pretty much the slimmest chance on earth that i'm pregnant again, and i am going to have to wait for that phone call confirming my hcg levels are dropping, which means just another dashed hope and another painful experience. i just can't stop wishing this was all just over and behind me. i wish it was a year from now, when the pain wasn't fresh, and i could feel normal without that constant nag in the back of my head. will it even be like that in a year? i don't know. but i have to think so. NOT that i want to forget this child. i just want to feel normal again, i guess.
and then there's the question of, when do we try again? i mean, i don't want to wait. and i feel bad that i don't want to wait. because i KNOW that part of the reason i don't want to wait is because i'm desperate to be back in that place of joy and hope. but on the other hand, stephen and i have always prayed for a large, close family... 4 kids or more all within 2-3 years of each other. a loud, full house brimming with LIFE. do i let this loss change our dreams forever? do i hide behind fear and let it control our future? what about ella? she's so caring, so maternal with other small children, and SO incredibly ready to have a full time playmate. do i let my sorrow prolong this gift to her?
of course, none of this matters... all of these fears and "what ifs", because it's not us that will give ourselves a child. it's not us that will choose the right time. it's our Father, and we know that. i want to be open to His blessings in His timing. i just hope that it's soon, but i desperately hope that i don't use this next child, this THIRD child, as the happiness to wipe away the sorrow. that's not their job, and it's not my choice to make. our second child will always be a part of us, and i know that. our family won't quite be complete this side of heaven now, and i'm letting that sink in.
and i'm mad, too. i don't know who i'm mad at, but i'm mad. i'm mad at my body for once again not doing what it was supposed to do. it took nearly two years to conceive ella, and it was a long and painful process. this time, i was sure we were being blessed with an easy process as a reward for the long road we walked for ella. maybe reward isn't the right word, but it's all i can think of right now. anyway, not only did i lose this baby, but my BODY didn't seem to get the memo. here i am, thinking i'm nearly 12 weeks pregnant, almost a third of the way there... out of the woods, so to speak. i'm expecting to see a baby nearly the size of my thumb, with tiny fingers and toes. i'm expecting to find out the gender in 8 weeks, to begin planning showers and celebrations and dig out ella's baby swing and look at her tiny newborn clothes and count the days til we're feeding, changing, losing sleep and smiling through the exhaustion at the beautiful family we'd been given.
why, why, why didn't my body just do what it should have done? if the baby was gone so early, likely by 5 or 6 weeks, then why wouldn't by body just respond? almost the entire time i've known i was pregnant, the baby wasn't even there. and that makes me so upset. it just seems cruel, like kicking someone when they're down. even now, if i hadn't gone to the doctor last week, i'd be blissfully carrying on about my baby. of course, in the last week, things have felt different. my hormone levels have finally dropped far enough that most of my pregnancy symptoms are gone. i almost can say that i knew in some ways. i remember thinking a week ago, when i felt so much better, and had all my energy back, that maybe the sudden lack of symptoms wasn't a good sign. but then i remembered the long road to ella, and thought it was just a little blessing to make this pregnancy easier.
i hate to complain like this. i don't ever want to be one of those people who acts like i deserve good things, like i have the right to any good thing in this life, like any wonderful thing that i am given is because it was earned. because i know that every single breath is a gift, and that if we got what we truly deserved, we'd be dead. i don't want to act like i am special, or immune to loss or pain. but sometimes being strong, and putting that suzy sunshine smile on my face in the midst of pain just feels disingenuous. i know God can handle my anger, my pain... and love me anyway. and sometimes it just really helps to throw a little fit. so i'm mad. i don't know at who, but it's there, and i don't know how to deal with it except to yell and cry and ask WHY, even though i know i won't get an answer. and as i grieve, i also praise... because the loss of this child reminds me how incredibly grateful i am for a healthy and absolutely beautiful toddler, and at this point in life i am taking NOTHING for granted.
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