I didn’t even know how much I loved that baby until I lost it. I was worried I wasn’t feeling emotionally attached enough, but I figured once it started moving around and we found out the sex, it would make it more concrete and I would feel more attached. I thought I was mentally prepared for a miscarriage because I generally handle disappointment super well. I had no idea how gut-wrenching it would be, or how drawn-out the process would be, or how much my body would feel the loss every bit as keenly as my heart. I literally lost a part of myself.
It hurts. It hurts worse than anything I’ve experienced before, in a way that none of my past experiences could have prepared me for. And I’ve been through a lot of shit! So I’m not really trying to downplay my loss so much as underscore how vulnerable parenting makes a person. Your children are not a thing you can ever take for granted. And that is something I did not realize until we lost the baby.
I’m glad I could help a little. Of course the biggest help is time. Definitely be gentle with yourself during your recovery (and I don’t mean just physically), and lean on each other.
And yes, Elizabeth Stone got it exactly right: “Making the decision to have a child - it is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body. ”
Thank you. Thank you all. I’m hanging in there. I’ve started doing some things, like cleaning and finances and exercise, and i can enjoy pieces of my day. I was doing great cleaning up until I started cleaning the bedroom and had to put away my maternity clothes. Then I got pretty depressed.
Tomorrow morning, first thing, I have to go into the OBGYN for the follow-up ultrasound to make sure the D&C was complete. I had a bit of a breakdown tonight because I really don’t want to go tomorrow. What was once a place of joy is now a place of sorrow and I don’t want to face it or think about it. Fortunately Sr. Weasel is dragging me there anyway. He’s good like that.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. And no, I don’t want to accept it. I know I have to eventually, but I don’t want to.
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Misfortune should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though the lost children at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good mothers, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail dreams might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Daughters who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Sons unknown who see with blinding sight
Unformed eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my friend, there on this sad height,
Curse, bless, us now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
My daughter (17) had an asthma flareup while away at school this summer. As I was driving her home, she had a really sudden CAN’TBREATHEATALLNOW moment and I rushed her to the nearest ER. They gave her a course of steroids but not until they asked if she might be pregnant because of possible fetal harm.
When I had surgery a few years ago they insisted on a pregnancy test even though I was 50 and my husband had been snipped. Just goes to show they’re much more pro-active about that kind of question nowadays.
Also: broken bone, cortisone??? That is NOT standard treatment and I’m surprised it was even back then. Bizarre.
And no, I don’t want to accept it. I know I have to eventually, but I don’t want to.