Seriously though, what do you say after this long? I thought about a survey. A generic, easy-out for my first blog post in over a year. It would cover what I did for the last year and update those of you who've come back or bring any newcomers up to speed. It seems more like a cop-out. I still feel a twinge of guilt so I probably owe more than a simple survey. At least that will make me feel better.
First of all, I'm pregnant. To be exact, 36 weeks and five days pregnant.
In October of 2009, Bridge Man and I decided we wanted to have a baby. It was that easy. By November we bought a house. Early December we got a dog. It was like a storybook. Somewhere in there we found out we were pregnant. And we all lived happily ever after. Except that on December 24th, around 11:30 at night something happened: The tele-nurse told me with little pity in her voice that there was no need to go to the hospital, my symptoms were textbook, we were having a miscarriage. The end.
I had a stack of little cards to give to family on Christmas morning to announce that a little Baby Bridge Man or Baby Xteener was due to be born the following August. Good thing we hadn't decided to give them out on Christmas Eve. So we celebrated the holiday with family while keeping our mouths shut. All the while my brain was screaming at them. They had no idea what I was going through. They couldn't have known. Still I couldn't help but be mad at every ounce of holiday cheer that came from that day. How could we be festive while this was happening to me. While it was happening to Bridge Man.
A miscarriage isn't short. It's not a one day thing. It goes on and on for weeks. All the while reminding you of what's happening.
No one was there to be sad with me. Not even Bridge Man could understand the loss I felt. After all, I was closest to the little zygote for it's fleeting, eight week life. How could people be so inconsiderate of my feelings? How could the people who had no idea what was happening be so inconsiderate? Then comes the guilt. I killed my baby. What could I have done differently? If only I hadn't had that glass of wine, if only I hadn't moved all those heavy boxes, if only I had known that I was pregnant earlier, I could have taken better care of that precious being who depended solely on me for life.
Side bar: The correct response to someone who opens up to you regarding their miscarriage is NOT that the baby had some chromosomal abnormality. That doesn't make it better. It's as if you're telling them their son or daughter was imperfect in some way and therefore, better off dead.
As with most things, I move on. This last Christmas Eve was a little bittersweet. It marked the anniversary of the day I lost my first baby. Days like these I can't help but think about how old he would have been, what she may have looked like, or what milestones he would be approaching. However, the day was celebrated with gifts for the new baby yet to come. Baby Ziggy will be here sometime this February. What a fantastic moment that will be. However, I will never forget the agony of a miscarriage and the loss of a child. Nor will I forget the excitement and anticipation that comes the first time I found out I was pregnant. Nothing beats a moment like that.
It's a bit unsettling to publish something so vulnerable for all to read. Maybe, since I've been gone so long no one will read this. In the end, it was therapeutic.
3 comments:
I'm very sorry to hear of your loss. For me, the further away (time wise) I became from the my miscarriage the easier it was, but I still feel that loss. His due date and miscarriage date are still sad for me, and all of it is much harder on and better remembered by ME. I don't know why I'm telling you this. I guess it's just nice to relate to someone else... oh golly... I'll stop typing now.
Thanks for posting again, C. I'm so excited for you and Bridge Man but so sorry for what you went through.
That was a brave post. I'm glad to hear from you, and sorry for your loss.
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