In the last few days, my body has been waging the last battle of its campaign against me (dear God, let it be the last, and not just the latest) so I haven't felt like writing much, which makes me feel guilty, which makes me feel bad, so then I really don't feel like writing much. See that circle? And how it's vicious? Stupid circle. Since it's taken me so long to get my sorry butt moving, I figured a lame step was better than no step at all, so I'm going to go ahead and leech off of the fine work and actions of others by making a
List of Things That Make Me Happy Even When My Insides Hate Me.
1. The guy who walks down the block outside my office once a day singing Italian opera so loudly and so beautifully that I can hear him on the 5th floor.
2. My boss, who has been telling me for the last two years that he is going to hire said guy for my wedding/ anniversary/ birthday/ bat mitsvah and delivering said joke in his unchanging and possibly unintended deadpan style which is deader than any pan ever to walk the face of this earth, and then die.
3. People who shout thank-you's to their bus drivers as they disembark.
4. The recipe for chocolate chip peanutbutter marshmallow bananas that I'm planning to make on Friday.
5. This laughing baby.
6. My sister-in-law's recent engagement to a lovely young gentleman who makes her happy as a clam with OCD.
7. Successfully completing an epic and heartwrenching quest spanning many months and lady's clothing stores by finding the perfect grey cardigan last weekend, and making it mine.
8. The only bee in my bonnet.
Take that, uterus. Take that and suck it.
Showing posts with label pain. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pain. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Friday, August 15, 2008
We're ok.
Last Thursday, at 8:30 am, we found out I wasn't pregnant any more. My stupid body didn't get the message for awhile, even thought the poor ultrasound tech laid the news on us pretty clearly before he beat a hasty retreat.
I had had a bad feeling for a few days, and hadn't been sleeping or focusing on anything else very well. The ultrasound confirmed my fears. The baby was gone. I was about to have a miscarriage. We went home and had a pretty horrible day. Poor Lucky had to go to work, but I was able to stay on our couch and do what I had to do for hours (that is: cry, try to watch a movie, cry some more, ask myself unanswerable questions, cry.) I spoke to my midwives, who were absolutely fantastic, and they gave me just the right mix of empathy and information. They confirmed that this is far, far more common than people accept (1 in 5 pregnancies end in the first trimester) but we just don't talk about it. For the pregnancy to end at this stage, the loss could be attributed pretty confidently to a chromosomal problem that stopped the embryo from thriving, and caused the little life to shut itself off, as it wasn't meant to be. They also assured me that this says nothing about the viability of future pregnancies, but you can go ahead and remind me of that the next time we're two months along.
As of Friday, we started to pick ourselves up. On Thursday night, I slept better than I had in weeks, and on Friday, I had a remarkably productive day at work, even though I broke down a bit when my boss tried to ask me how I was doing. Over the weekend, we really did make peace with this, although I had twinges of guilt for enjoying things, and a big feeling of dread hanging over me for the physical process still to come. My body still hadn't let go, although the ultrasound showed that this had already been over for weeks. I thought we could wait it out, and let my body take care of it eventually, but my midwives flexed their loving but tough muscles and, pointing out the risk of infection, and the need for closure, made an appointment for me at a clinic that takes care of these sorts of things.
That happened yesterday. It wasn't pleasant, but it's done. Really really, we're ok. Our family and friends have been so great about supporting us from the sidelines while respecting our requests to deal with this on our own. Lucky has been a champ as always, and although I never need a reminder of his awesomeness, the article we were given by one of the nurses on the subject of helping each other heal made it pretty clear that other women are dealing with some serious douchebags.
This is worth quoting:
"A husband often encourages his wife to "keep busy," and may react with frustration and concern at her frequent inability to do anything but sit, think, and cry. He fears that this outpouring of grief means his wife is "falling apart," and he may be frightened by her difficulty in coping with everyday."
Another gem:
" 'I guess I did blame my wife for awhile. We never knew why our baby died, and I thought she should have taken better care of herself.' "
Ok, one more:
"Mourning can create a tremendous pull toward anything that feels new and unblemished. It is not unusual for a father or mother to turn to another relationship, perhaps even to begin an affair."
Besides the reminder that Lucky and I have such a great relationship, and that we are surrounded by friends and family that love us very much, we're also acutely aware of how fortunate we are to be able to conceive, and have this reassurance that our parts do fit together. There are other couples that would give anything to have gone through what we've just dealt with, because it means that we have the potential to do it again, and have a baby. There is a couple that we love very much who are in that exact position, and we have thought of them every time we've felt too sad, and remembered that this is really just part of the process. We're ok, I promise.
I had had a bad feeling for a few days, and hadn't been sleeping or focusing on anything else very well. The ultrasound confirmed my fears. The baby was gone. I was about to have a miscarriage. We went home and had a pretty horrible day. Poor Lucky had to go to work, but I was able to stay on our couch and do what I had to do for hours (that is: cry, try to watch a movie, cry some more, ask myself unanswerable questions, cry.) I spoke to my midwives, who were absolutely fantastic, and they gave me just the right mix of empathy and information. They confirmed that this is far, far more common than people accept (1 in 5 pregnancies end in the first trimester) but we just don't talk about it. For the pregnancy to end at this stage, the loss could be attributed pretty confidently to a chromosomal problem that stopped the embryo from thriving, and caused the little life to shut itself off, as it wasn't meant to be. They also assured me that this says nothing about the viability of future pregnancies, but you can go ahead and remind me of that the next time we're two months along.
As of Friday, we started to pick ourselves up. On Thursday night, I slept better than I had in weeks, and on Friday, I had a remarkably productive day at work, even though I broke down a bit when my boss tried to ask me how I was doing. Over the weekend, we really did make peace with this, although I had twinges of guilt for enjoying things, and a big feeling of dread hanging over me for the physical process still to come. My body still hadn't let go, although the ultrasound showed that this had already been over for weeks. I thought we could wait it out, and let my body take care of it eventually, but my midwives flexed their loving but tough muscles and, pointing out the risk of infection, and the need for closure, made an appointment for me at a clinic that takes care of these sorts of things.
That happened yesterday. It wasn't pleasant, but it's done. Really really, we're ok. Our family and friends have been so great about supporting us from the sidelines while respecting our requests to deal with this on our own. Lucky has been a champ as always, and although I never need a reminder of his awesomeness, the article we were given by one of the nurses on the subject of helping each other heal made it pretty clear that other women are dealing with some serious douchebags.
This is worth quoting:
"A husband often encourages his wife to "keep busy," and may react with frustration and concern at her frequent inability to do anything but sit, think, and cry. He fears that this outpouring of grief means his wife is "falling apart," and he may be frightened by her difficulty in coping with everyday."
Another gem:
" 'I guess I did blame my wife for awhile. We never knew why our baby died, and I thought she should have taken better care of herself.' "
Ok, one more:
"Mourning can create a tremendous pull toward anything that feels new and unblemished. It is not unusual for a father or mother to turn to another relationship, perhaps even to begin an affair."
Besides the reminder that Lucky and I have such a great relationship, and that we are surrounded by friends and family that love us very much, we're also acutely aware of how fortunate we are to be able to conceive, and have this reassurance that our parts do fit together. There are other couples that would give anything to have gone through what we've just dealt with, because it means that we have the potential to do it again, and have a baby. There is a couple that we love very much who are in that exact position, and we have thought of them every time we've felt too sad, and remembered that this is really just part of the process. We're ok, I promise.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Moving Sucks, part 2
When a girl desperately needs a mug of tea to calm her nerves and help her immune system find the strength to repair her bruised shins, battered against strategically placed boxes full of crap (WHY DO WE HAVE SO MUCH CRAP?) in her flight from dust bunnies, nay dust MAMMOTHS, emerging from under her bed like a well-organized army of anger against two and a half years of less-than-diligent vacuuming habits, it is just TOO MUCH for her to discover that the lid of her pretty kitty kettle has been packed, in God knows which box. You're thinking, "The water will still boil eventually." And I'm thinking, "Yes, but that is not the POINT."
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