Monday, November 21, 2011

So much on my mind


It seems there are so many hard things one goes through during/after a miscarriage.  Even weeks and weeks later.  Tomorrow will be 6 weeks since I lost my baby, and yet I still face different stages of grief every day.

Usually it’s depression.  I just feel so sad for the loss of my baby, that all I want to do is talk about it, because ultimately it’s often all that’s on my mind.  I try to break this cycle by thinking about Andrew, since he makes me feel so happy.  I was having a bubble bath the other night, which is supposed to be a relaxing experience, but somehow my mind drifted toward the baby and how everything played out and I was so beside myself.  I realized suddenly that I was practically holding my breath and was tense and feeling anxious.  I quickly forced myself to stop thinking about it, and instead I could hear Andrew saying funny things in my head.  One of my current faves is how he likes to get inside a fort that we make in the living room, and then I have to ‘knock’ at the door to the fort with one of his toys.  He says, ‘Who’s there?’ in the cutest way possible, and then I hand him the toy and we keep this up till his fort is filled with all his stuffed animals.  I smile when I think about things like that, because he is just too cute for words.

Other times I will find myself bargaining, even though it’s ridiculous.  Call me crazy, because it probably is, but last night I found myself talking out loud saying, ‘I’d do just about anything to have you back, baby.’  I don’t usually talk out loud to the baby (!)  I’d like to think I’m not *that* far gone.  Though it’s probably normal when grieving, and I wouldn’t really judge anyone for doing it, because as I know from this experience, you really never know how something is going to affect you till it’s happening.

Denial is probably the worst stage of all.  Even 6 week post-miscarriage, I will think to myself, ‘I’m still pregnant.’  The brain (and body) can play nasty tricks on a person sometimes.  I will feel a twinge in what feels like my uterus or belly or thereabouts and think, maybe they missed something – the didn’t see the baby in me that came out – maybe there’s another one!  Ridiculous and practically psycho, I know.  It’s probably because I wanted to be pregnant so badly, wanted that baby so much, I just don’t want to accept that it isn’t there.  Even though I KNOW IT ISN’T THERE because I saw it get flushed away.  Don’t even get me started back on THAT topic, because it’s killing me bit by bit every time I think about it.  (Yes, I will be talking about that with my counsellor today!)

Aaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.  I guess I’ve also had some anger, but even though, yes, I DO often think WHY WHY WHY, WHY ME, WHY DID THIS HAVE TO HAPPEN, FML!  I’m not USUALLY angry about it.  I tend to turn my anger into more sadness instead. 

The moment the baby came out of my body, I am very sad (it causes some guilt, maybe) to say that my body felt an intense sense of relief.  That’s one of the reason I got up immediately and looked in the toilet to see if there was a baby, even though the doctors had said there wouldn’t be.  I ‘knew’ in that moment that it was ‘over’ because something sizeable came out and then the contractions suddenly stopped.  Sure enough, there was my baby.  The labour was over, I had delivered my 3 inch dead fetus.  That part might have been over, but it felt like the nightmare really began in that moment for me.

While I was going through the miscarriage, the contractions getting closer together, the crazy amount of blood that was coming out…I recall saying to James, ‘I just need it to come out now, I have to get this over with, I can’t keep feeling this much pain.’  It hurts when I think about having said that, like I was just giving up on the baby at that point.  But let’s face it, I KNEW what was happening, it wasn’t something I could do anything about.  It HAD to come out, there was no other way around it.  It was hurting me so much physically that I knew what I had to do.

I just wish I had been given some heads up on how it might play out, or given some options for how I could choose to go about it.  I hate having regrets and usually try so hard not to regret anything, but I totally regret having my miscarriage on a toilet, particularly a self-flushing one.  I don’t think I will ever stop being haunted by that, ever in my entire life.  I want to be able to move forward and not lay awake every single night thinking about it, but no amount of counselling could ever stop that memory from existing in my mind, and I really can only be haunted by it.  I can’t see it in a good light.  I wish someone had told me I could do it differently.

While in those hours of going through a labour I said I needed to ‘get it over with’, that is about as far as I have come in terms of accepting the loss of my baby.  I had to accept what was happening to me in that moment…but at this point I can’t accept it as OK that it happened to me.  I don’t know what to think of it, 6 weeks after the fact.  I honestly think about it so much that it feels like it just happened.  How could 6 weeks have gone by already?  How is it that I am not pregnant when I should be 17 weeks now?  SEVENTEEN WEEKS.  My baby would be kicking me by now.  My baby should be thriving, just as Andrew did.  I should be complaining because I can’t sleep at night due to the baby hiccupping inside me the way Andrew did when he was in the womb.  I should be filling out my maternity clothes and eating for two.  Some nights maybe I do eat for two, but it’s called emotional eating, since there is just one (me) in this body.

I know, I know, I have to stop going on about it.  I should just try to push it away when it comes to the front of my mind.  But I can’t bring myself to do that for some reason.  Hence the reason I need therapy…I just find it shocking how this has affected me and how it’s sticking to me, nagging at me.  I’m usually so good at compartmentalizing things.  I know I should probably consider myself ‘lucky’ if this is the worst thing that has ever happened to me, but I can’t seem to help but feel a little sorry for myself.  It’s all relative right?  I know it could be worse, but that scares me even more because how could I feel worse?  I don’t ever want to feel worse.

I wish life didn’t have to be so hard sometimes.

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