It still hurts. It has been three weeks since my D&C, six weeks since that first ultrasound, the one where we first learned our baby was not growing as expected. I am starting to heal, but I think it's important for people to know, anyone who knows someone who has gone through this, that it doesn't go away quickly. The pain lingers.
I recently linked to this post on facebook after it was recommended by a friend. The funny thing is that I've been reading Finslippy for about 10 years, I've surely read her miscarriage essay before. But I didn't remember it, it didn't resonate with me then. So it may not resonate with others who have not experienced this kind of loss. But it's worth a read anyway. So much of it spoke to me - spoke for me. She writes so well what I've been struggling to write.
This part really resonated:
There’s so much I’m grateful for, of course. I’m grateful that I already have a child, a beautiful six-year-old boy named Henry. I’m grateful that my husband and I are healthy and young(ish) and can try again, if we ever manage to have sex without my crying. (Someday! Cross your fingers!) I’m grateful that it didn’t happen later in the pregnancy, that I didn’t get even more attached, if that would have been possible. (I was already talking to my unborn fetus every day, gazing at the ultrasound printout, coming up with names.) I’m grateful that I didn’t have a stillbirth. I’m grateful that Henry didn’t know about the pregnancy, that we didn’t have to deal with his heartbreak on top of ours. I know all the reasons I should be grateful, but if you try to remind me of even one of them, I will punch you right in your head.
I, too, am grateful for my healthy, wonderful child. I'm grateful for my own health, for my husband, my family. I'm grateful I got pregnant relatively easily and hopefully will again. I'm grateful that I didn't have to wait until I started bleeding to find out something was wrong, that I didn't spend 4, 5, 6 weeks in ignorance. I'm grateful that I didn't lose the baby later, that I didn't have to give birth to a baby that had died or would die shortly after. Just like she said, I know all the reasons I should be grateful, and I am, but if anyone tries to remind me of that, I will punch them.
Right now I'm waiting to get my period so that we can safely try again to conceive. It feels like an endless wait. In the long run, in the big picture, it will be short (I hope), but while I'm living it, it feels like a lifetime. Everyone keeps telling me "it's not that long," as if that is a comfort, as if that erases the pain of the fact that I'm waiting at all. That I'm supposed to be 13 weeks pregnant instead of waiting impatiently to try to get pregnant again.
What they don't understand is that every day they live is like a week to me. This is with me every minute. My heart is heavy every second, and it drags through the day like it's waist-deep in mud. Even when I seem happy or when I appear to not be thinking about it, it's there. I can't hear one more person tell me about their interpretation of time.
I foresee a happy ending to all of this. I hope with all my heart that I'll get pregnant quickly and even have a baby next year. I can't focus on the possibility that those things won't happen, or that I might have another loss. I choose to be positive. But even if it all works out beautifully, this still hurts. I still cry alone far too often.