Thursday, October 13, 2011

The tears won't stop

I know I’m in a ‘state’ right now, but I feel like my outlook on so much has changed as a result of my recent experiences.  I feel more than ever how important it is to remember and recognize that you never know what another person might be going through, and how their circumstances can be affecting what they do.

When my dad had a heart attack at the beginning of the year, and my parent’s subsequently lost pretty much everything, and our family dog died, all the downhill spirals of those events made it dig deeper and deeper into me how fragile life is.  How nothing is safe.  It made me realize that for however ‘great’ our first-world lives can be, no one has true security.  In a way, everything is left up to chance.

I have had a hard time this year battling those facts, dealing with the process of loss.  Sometimes I still wake suddenly in the night with the stabbing realization that the place I knew as my family home for so many years is not a part of our lives anymore.  In the past month or so, I’ve also had many dreams about Emma (our family dog) and my heart has panged for her.

But as painful and horrible as those things are and were, they feel different from the loss of my own baby.  I don’t care what anyone else says.  I can just hear people thinking or saying, ‘But you were only 11 weeks pregnant!  That’s nothing!  That’s so early!’  I am not going to deny that if I’d lost the baby at 6 or 8 or 9 months, or heaven forbid once they had actually been born (alive) and I’d gotten to know them, that that wouldn’t be harder.  It would be – and I cannot for the life of me for one second truly try to imagine what it would be like if something were to happen to Andrew.  Even if I was forced to go on living and breathing, I would feel so dead inside myself, because he is such a huge part of my life and my heart and my soul.  Blame me for putting all my eggs in one basket if you want to, but the grief of that loss would be far to great, and my heart truly goes out now more than ever to all the parents out there forever battling the grief of losing a child.  There is truly nothing I can imagine that could be worse than losing a child.

And I know that in that sense ‘I am lucky’ or at the very least, ‘it could have been a lot worse.’  Yes, that’s it, I am NOT lucky having lost my baby, but it definitely could have been worse.  But at the same time it’s all relative right, and I am still very severely dealing with a terrible sense of loss.

I feel so EMPTY and I just want to scream over and over, I WANT MY BABY BACK.  I find myself saying those words out loud when I cry when I’m by myself.  I feel such an ache in my heart and throughout my whole body, wanting so badly to be able to hold my baby.  I NEED that baby, even though I know it’s not possible.

How could I have been growing a beautiful, perfect-seeming little baby inside me just DAYS AGO and now I am empty, and I don’t even know where my little tiny baby is.  I never got to see or hear a heartbeat.  How can it be that I never will?  That was my baby in there, James and my little creation.  It doesn’t seem right or even fathomable to me that we could create something together that could not live.  That could not even develop to the end of the first trimester.  What went wrong?  When did my baby die?  Why were they not able to continue on?  WHAT WAS IT, WHAT HAPPENED, WHAT WHAT WHAT????  I caught way too short a glimpse of my baby, but I saw all the limbs and everything intact the way it should be.  I am desperate to get a closer look and it’s killing me the way that was taken away from me.

I can’t get that image out of my mind.  One minute looking at that little being, the very next it being whisked away and GONE.  GONE, GONE, GONE.  Me helpless, no way of doing anything to save it, not even just to take a better look and say goodbye. 

I am so devastated at this loss, it’s unbelievable.  I knew if I ever went through this it would eat me up inside, but this?  I never could have imagined feeling the pain and anguish that I do right now.  The longing for a baby that I never even got the chance to know.

I’m considering writing a letter to the hospital to describe what happened to me.  A miscarriage is traumatic no matter how you look at it, and no matter how the circumstances of it played out, I would be heartbroken and feeling depressed right now.  There is no way around that.  But having been through it, I think it would have been a bit ‘easier’ (I don’t think that’s the right word, but…) if someone had talked to me more about what was going to happen, and given me some options.  I think ultimately that they need to realize that a self-flushing toilet can destroy a person’s wishes to have one last moment with their baby, and that alone causes trauma that is very hard to work through. 

It seems only natural to release a miscarriage on the toilet, although perhaps the option should be given to allow it to be birthed the way a full term baby is.  If I had been warned that if I did indeed want to hold my baby if it happened that one visibly did exist coming out, I shouldn’t let it fall into the toilet, I would have been able to make the decision to birth it even on the bathroom floor and then clean up the mess afterwards.  Or SOMETHING.  I don’t know.  It wouldn’t be ‘good’ either way, but I wasn’t told anything or given any advice or options or ANYTHING.  No one had any time for me, they just left me to my own devices, and not having ever experienced anything like this, how was I supposed to know how it would be for me?

I know that I would still be wishing for something different even if I HAD managed to have a moment with my baby, but I honestly do feel that that last moment of all of this is what is gnawing away at me the most.  I’d still be longing to continue holding my baby and not let them go if I’d had that moment, and I know that’s not healthy either and I’d have had to give it up after a short time in order to not end up traumatizing my whole family since ultimately I know it’s not ‘appropriate’ to hold on to an 11 week old fetus.  I KNOW THAT.  But I wasn’t given a chance to decide on anything, I was robbed of that chance for one fleeting moment of seeing my baby properly, and it hurts so badly that I’m actually considering seeing a grief counsellor to try to work through it.  I’m going to give myself another week or two and see where I’m at, but I’m not sure how to work through this longing feeling.  It’s so debilitating and heart wrenching.  I feel like I never want to go out again, I don’t want to see people, I definitely don’t want to see pregnant women or babies.  I just want to crawl into a hole and cry until this all goes away.  I want to wake up and feel my baby inside me again and know that they are still thriving and have the chance to know who they are.

I know my baby is gone, I know it wasn’t meant to be, I know that my baby is not hurting like I am.  My baby was too little to know what was happening, but I still feel pangs of sadness for them dying.  Why did my baby die?  I will never understand it.

2 comments:

tristadawn said...

Oh, my dear friend.. I am sending you millions and millions of e-hugs and e-love and e-healing! All sorts.

I can't say it enough - I am so sorry you are going through this. I am glad you are able to write and process your feelings, and I really think that will be healing for you. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but it will be in the long run.

In terms of writing a letter to the hospital, I think if you're feeling that is the right thing to do, then you should do that. This was an important and devastating moment for you, and in order for you to process that and, even 'educate' the hospital, a letter might be a good route to go. It might be hard to put it together, but do it when you're ready. If you want someone to look it over before you send it, I can help you with that if you want.

I'm thinking about you guys constantly. Wish I was there and I could do something for you guys, like hang out with Andrew, make a bunch of meals, let you rest, etc.

xoxoxo.

Lojo said...

I, too, think you should write the hospital-- obviously the circumstances of the situation made it that much more traumatic for you. I'm really sorry this has happened :(

I'm glad you're finding release through your blog. The people reading care about you.

BIG INTERNET HUGS! xoxo



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