But about that crap hitting the fan: I had a miscarriage last week.
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| About 20 weeks pregnant with Sammy |
True to Oprisko form, all kinds of drama ensued that I didn't ask for. Is it miscarrying? Is it viable? Wait, this might be ectopic because your blood draws look weird. Blood draw, blood draw, blood draw, ultrasound. Freak out because I'm either going to die a horrible death in which one of my tubes ruptures and I bleed out into my abdomen, or I'm going to have surgery. Like, tomorrow. What about Sammy? He's still nursing exclusively, but he can't have pain meds!...OMG THE STRESS. It turned out to be nothing but a fairly normal early miscarriage, but I still haven't even had time or space in my brain to consider that I just lost a pregnancy.
So up until now, I've taken it in snapshots.
The positive pregnancy test, which I never would've taken without the urgent recommendation from my midwife. It was the least scary explanation for my bleeding. It makes no sense, but...plus sign. Out loud, by myself, I say, "WHAT?!"
My husband's smile when I show him the test. "Whoa! Okay!" he says. I smile back, kind of, because I want that moment with him. But I tell him, "honey, this is not good news." "You think you're miscarrying?" he asks. I nod, and we put our kids to bed.
A dear friend of mine, walking into my kitchen because we'd planned a girls' night, and it was 45 minutes after I found out I was bleeding and pregnant. Her horrified face. Her loss four months ago was bigger than mine--a lot bigger--and her face was sad, heartbroken when I told her. Not muffled glee that she has a friend to join the dreaded pregnancy loss club, not judgmental because I haven't yet had a whole hour to bond with this life and she'd had 15 weeks. Just empathy. Just...oh no...I am so sorry.
The words "your departed servant" in the prayer that she wrote down for me a few days later.
I see the test sitting there on the bathroom closet shelf the next day. I feel anxious. What's that extra line going to mean next week? Next month? Next year? I don't want to be pregnant now. I don't know what would be worse--having more children than I could handle right now, or knowing that it died, and I won't know this little person who is mine, whether I was ready for him or not.
Lying on my bed, feeling both pregnant and endometriosis-level-crampy at the same time, listening to my kids run/crawl/jump/sing/bump into each other around my bedroom. I feel like junk. I need to rest, but someone will get hurt if I close my eyes.
A beautiful and sad reminder that I have a little one in heaven praying for me and our family.
The positive pregnancy tests, which now total two, lying on that same bathroom closet shelf. Now I know the pregnancy is gone, and I know the answer to my questions about the week, the month, the year. I have an urge to throw them away, but I don't. Those lines, that's the most I'll know of that little person in this life. He or she...was here, if only for a brief moment. While I apply mascara, I consider where is a good place to store two sticks I once peed on.
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| My littlest loves |
Offers for meals. Oh, guys. No. I can count five women just off the top of my head who have suffered irreparable wounds from this stuff. If you can find a way for a miscarriage to be easy, it would look like mine. I am embarrassed and think maybe I shouldn't have been so public about it. But I already publicked. I publicked all over the place because that's how I roll. *facepalm*
Friends asking how I'm feeling emotionally. Fine. Pretty fine. And I'll probably be fine until I lose it one day at Wal Mart because I saw some Dreft.
Snuggling Sammy. As hard as he'll let me.
Thank you, my dear community of family and friends. I feel healthy in my mind, hopeful, and unwavering in my confidence that I'll be strong again after a truly awful October. Love to you always.
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