This post may be triggering to those who have experienced loss, whether by miscarriage or stillbirth. It is raw, it is vulnerable. It is not for everyone to read.
How are you? How are you feeling?
Those questions get old. I know it’s all people can ask. I know they mean well. I would rather them ask then ignore. But it still gets old.
It gets old because it’s such a loaded question.
How am I? How do I feel?
How long do you have to listen? How much can you take? Will you be offended if I swear? Will you try to tell me it will be OK? Will you say, “At least it was early?” “At least you can get pregnant?” “At least anything…?” Will you squirm when I give you details? Will you judge? Will you abandon me later because you can’t handle it?
I have every feeling possible coursing through my veins.
I feel angry that I have to experience two back-to-back miscarriages so close together.
I feel devastated that my baby and placenta are sitting in a jar in my fridge. They will sit there while I figure out what I want to do with them. Do I want to send them in to be tested? Do I want to throw them away? Do I want to bury them in the yard with a plant? I am leaning toward burying them in the mountains I love so much. These are the things you have to think of when you miscarry…
I feel resentful that women who “just decided to see what would happen” are pregnant and staying pregnant.
I feel guilty when I feel “normal.” I should never feel normal again.
I feel annoyed that I have to wear regular underwear because I am still bleeding and need to wear pads. I hate underwear lines.
I feel terrified of having sex ever again because I am terrified of getting pregnant. Which is ironic, because getting pregnant and having a baby is the one thing in the world I want more than anything…and now I get to be terrified of it. Lovely.
I cringe every time I go to the bathroom because I wonder what else is going to come out.
I don’t sleep well because I fear waking up in a pool of blood.
I hate how I told so many people because now I have to “untell” them. They all give me the same response and I find myself trying to make THEM feel less uncomfortable. I want to make THEM feel better. I make light of the situation by saying, “Oh, it’s OK” when it is so not OK.
But I would still want to tell people again-because why WOULDN’T I want to celebrate?
I feel constant worry about my husband. He had to listen to me screaming and moaning in complete agony while I miscarried. What did that do to him? Can we ever try again? He wasn’t thrilled either time I was pregnant…and now he’s had to deal with this? Will he ever be able to bond if I get pregnant again? Will he tell me “NO” when I’m ready to try again?
How are you? How are you feeling?
I feel like dying.
I want to cry but nothing comes out…and when tears do start to well up I tell myself to stop because I’ve cried enough and I’ve got shit to do.
I want to run away.
I feel sick, lost, broken, angry, resentful, bitter, sorry, confused.
I feel heartbroken. This baby and I had a pact. I told it repeatedly to stay put. I told it to not leave me like the last one. I hesitated to get excited because of fear. But when my numbers looked better and better I would put my hand over my belly and remind it to grow. Grow little baby.
I feel betrayed.
I also feel like, “OK. I have to keep going. You’ve been down and out before and you have pulled through because dammit, Melissa, you are strong. You don’t give up. Your rainbow egg is still in your body. That egg still wants to grow and join your family. So are you going to allow fear to keep you from becoming a mama? No, you are not. You are going to be proactive. You are going to take steps to hopefully prevent this from happening again.”
I don’t want sympathy. I don’t want people to feel sorry for me. But I don’t want to be ignored either. I don’t want help, but I want all the help. It is a difficult position to be in. Difficult. I feel difficult. I feel needy. I feel whiny. I feel like I don’t deserve to feel anything.
But I feel everything. But despite all of that, I feel hopeful, because I know I also feel strong.