Thank you for all the comments and emails sent over the last few days. They were comforting and much appreciated. Really, I am doing surprisingly ok with the whole thing. The first couple of days there were a lot of tears but now I just feel relieved that it is over. I took the week off of work (which no doubt my employer is not happy with despite the reason) and I plan to spend as much time as possible with my husband and daughter. In spite of the circumstance it is a rare thing for me to have so much free time available for the two people I love most in this world. Being with them is the best medicine there is.
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
Saturday, March 16, 2013
G3 P2 A1
About eight weeks ago I took a home pregnancy test and it was positive. Yesterday, at 12 weeks and 1 day, I had an ultrasound and was told that the fetus had died. I watched the screen with the same sense of foreboding I had when we were having the ultrasound that first revealed there was something wrong with George. Back then I watched that screen, seeing fluid in his belly, knowing that something was very wrong. This time I knew within seconds of seeing the baby that there was no heartbeat. Like previously, I waited for the doctor to say it first before I actually believed what I already knew to be happening. It is amazing how the human spirit will hold on to the smallest sliver of hope against all possibility.
This pregnancy wasn't planned. I mean, it was and it wasn't, if that makes any sense at all. Things here have been really tough. I sometimes think that this city is out to get us and that we would have been better off taking our chances with The Earthquakes and The Terrible Housing Market and The Terrible School System back in L.A. We just can't seem to catch a break here. There will be days when there seems to be a little light at the end of the tunnel but inevitably it turns out to be just a mirage.
When George died I felt like the world had singled me out when every one else was easily doing that which I seemed to not be able to do; have a healthy baby. There was self-pity oozing out of my pores for months before I realized that I was not in fact special and did not in fact deserve a good outcome from a pregnancy anymore than the next person. Realizing that didn't make me any less sad but it made it easier to live with myself. I think coming to an understanding about that years ago is going to make this loss less traumatic for me. At least I am hoping it will.
Now I get to decide which way the rest of this miscarriage plays out. Having a choice in how I end the physical part of this experience gives me a sense of control that otherwise I would not have, so that is good...I guess. Wait it out, take a pill, or have a procedure. I'm scared of all three, frankly. I wish there was a fourth option that did not involve pain, bleeding and crying.
In two weeks it will be three years since George died.
Fucking March.
This pregnancy wasn't planned. I mean, it was and it wasn't, if that makes any sense at all. Things here have been really tough. I sometimes think that this city is out to get us and that we would have been better off taking our chances with The Earthquakes and The Terrible Housing Market and The Terrible School System back in L.A. We just can't seem to catch a break here. There will be days when there seems to be a little light at the end of the tunnel but inevitably it turns out to be just a mirage.
When George died I felt like the world had singled me out when every one else was easily doing that which I seemed to not be able to do; have a healthy baby. There was self-pity oozing out of my pores for months before I realized that I was not in fact special and did not in fact deserve a good outcome from a pregnancy anymore than the next person. Realizing that didn't make me any less sad but it made it easier to live with myself. I think coming to an understanding about that years ago is going to make this loss less traumatic for me. At least I am hoping it will.
Now I get to decide which way the rest of this miscarriage plays out. Having a choice in how I end the physical part of this experience gives me a sense of control that otherwise I would not have, so that is good...I guess. Wait it out, take a pill, or have a procedure. I'm scared of all three, frankly. I wish there was a fourth option that did not involve pain, bleeding and crying.
In two weeks it will be three years since George died.
Fucking March.
Sunday, March 10, 2013
timeline
At first you count the minutes. It is the only way to keep moving forward. Keep breathing in and out. It has been ten minutes.
The minutes turn into hours and you stare at the clock. It has been 24 hours.
Hours accumulate against your will and so you start counting in days. You have to start eating, everyone loves to tell you. But everything has lost its flavor. Every color is gone. It has been six days.
Soon you move on to marking the passage of time in weeks. You watch as people, who walked with you during the minutes and hours and days, start walking ahead at a faster clip. It has been four weeks.
Eventually you make the move from weeks to months. You start to look at the time trailing out behind you and wonder how it is possible that you have survived as long as this. It has been five months.
Finally time passes in increments of a year. You look at your future spreading before you and you begin to realize the missing is never going to go away. It will get better because it already is better. But you know that the missing will be your constant companion. It has been one year.
Now. Still the missing, even with the happy, always the missing. It has been nearly three years.
The minutes turn into hours and you stare at the clock. It has been 24 hours.
Hours accumulate against your will and so you start counting in days. You have to start eating, everyone loves to tell you. But everything has lost its flavor. Every color is gone. It has been six days.
Soon you move on to marking the passage of time in weeks. You watch as people, who walked with you during the minutes and hours and days, start walking ahead at a faster clip. It has been four weeks.
Eventually you make the move from weeks to months. You start to look at the time trailing out behind you and wonder how it is possible that you have survived as long as this. It has been five months.
Finally time passes in increments of a year. You look at your future spreading before you and you begin to realize the missing is never going to go away. It will get better because it already is better. But you know that the missing will be your constant companion. It has been one year.
Now. Still the missing, even with the happy, always the missing. It has been nearly three years.
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