Raw

So this is going to be one of those it's-my-blog-I'll-do-what-I-want posts.

It's a doozie. If you don't feel like reading a doozie, close your browser window now.

My reasons for posting it are twofold:

First, if you have never gone through a miscarriage, you might not understand how difficult it is, or even why it's so difficult. I wish I'd been more sympathetic toward my friends who'd been through one before me.

I'm not asking for sympathy - I have amazingly supportive family and friends. Seriously...amazing!

Second, I suppose that if I'm using this blog as something akin to a journal, it may be helpful to look back and reflect on these feelings I'm having.

I can't believe how affected I still am by it. I didn't really talk to many people about my fears or the things that made it so hard, but a girlfriend who's had more than one miscarriage emailed me yesterday to ask how I'm doing.

The flood of words, feelings and tears that poured out of me as I replied surprised me. I was shocked at how raw I felt - still. Like maybe there was just a thin scab covering the surface of a wound that had been accidentally sloughed off. I'm anxious for the wound to heal, but I don't want to pretend it's not hurting when it is.

So this post is my reply to her, with very little editing. It's raw. It's shocking.

It's how I feel right now, two weeks later.

As far as how I'm feeling, I'm okay. Just okay. I think I'm better than okay and then I see someone's ultrasound and burst into tears picturing the first ultrasound we had of our little one. When I first saw it, after I'd been spotting a few days and we were checking things out, I saw the baby in there and thought "Whew! There he is - he's okay!" And then she told me to hold my breath so she could try to hear a heartbeat and I started to cry. I knew that by 9 weeks I shouldn't have to hold my breath. I just remember that moment so vividly and felt like I was watching my baby die in there. It killed me. Then there were two MORE ultrasounds after that showing my not-quite-empty-yet, then empty uterus.


Another thing that kills me - that I flushed the toilet. When I knew it might be coming, the thought of flushing just horrified me. I couldn't imagine it, though I didn't know what the alternative was. Then, when it actually happened, it was so unexpected - like I didn't have any cramping at all, just sat down on the toilet in the middle of the night and PLOP! This huge thing fell out. I just yelled "Oh my God!" and Patrick came running in. I told him what had happened and that I couldn't look. I just didn't want to look in there. He said he would look, but when I got up, the water was so bloody I couldn't see a thing. And then....I flushed. I just didn't know what else to do....fish it out? I could tell by the plop that whatever it was, it was big...so it was more than just the baby, it was...what??...tissue? the placenta? blood clots? Probably all of the above - I don't even know. But now, when I think about it, I feel horrible that I flushed. I get a pit in my stomach about it. I don't know what I would have done if I'd fished him out...or if I'd have even found him in all the "stuff," but I just picture that little bean on the ultrasound and think, dear God, was that heart still beating when he fell out? Was he already dead? I am sobbing as I'm typing this...I think about it every day.


There is just so much about it that I never expected...emotionally and physically. How did you do this more than once?? My heart breaks for you, and it breaks to think that I didn't reach out to you more when it happened. Send you flowers, a card, call, bring you dinner...I'm so sorry! I'd find myself just sitting and staring into space after it happened - lost in my thoughts, reliving the moment, the ultrasound, everything, unable to believe it had happened and desperate to figure out what I'd done 2.5 weeks ago that might have caused the baby to stop growing. Hardly able to even think about Jack and PJ. Thank God my Mom was here!


And even though I would love more children, I'm scared to be pregnant again.


So, when you shot me that little email, I'm sure you weren't expecting all this in return. It's such a hard thing to explain all the feelings that come with miscarriage to someone who hasn't gone through it. Heck, after it happened and I cleaned up in the bathroom, Patrick went back to sleep! God bless him, he's the most loving, sensitive, supportive man in the world, and it was 3:30 a.m., but there was NO WAY I was going back to sleep. I just sat there, cramping yet numb. It killed me that he was lying there, snoring away, but I don't know what I'd have wanted him to do if he were awake. He needed to sleep; he worked the next day. I know guys grieve differently, and the distraction was good for him, but gosh...that was hard for me.


I'm comforted knowing that God's ways are not our ways. I have never NOT understood how God could let something happen as much as in a miscarriage...or worse, stillbirth. I've always wondered why on earth he even begins the pregnancy only to have it end. People say "it wasn't meant to be" (please tell me I didn't say that to you!) and I think, then why did I get pregnant, you know? But I don't want to pull a Job and question God. If He's good when good things happen, he's good when bad things happen too. He doesn't change. I just have to trust that He has a reason that I might never know.


I like to think that the baby is in heaven to pray for and welcome the onslaught of unborn babies that are sure to arrive now that Obama's in office. God, I hope he doesn't institute the Freedom of Choice Act!