This post has been floating around La-La Land here in various forms for a while now. I've been hesitant to put my thoughts into words, let alone putting those words into the blogosphere. If anyone is reading this, then I did eventually hit "publish", casting aside all reasonable thought and acts of self-preservation. I know that not everyone will understand me. Shoot, it is likely that nobody will. However, most will still offer support and assure me that I'm not a freak and that, in fact, I'm perfectly reasonable in my thoughts. It isn't likely that someone will come right out and tell me that I am an awful excuse for a woman and that I got what I deserved. Some may think it, but I doubt anyone will actually say it to me. And I'm pretty sure that if anyone even thinks it that the "someone" must not have ever walked in my shoes and is completely lacking even the most basic of empathetic skills. In fact, the more I think about, and write about, "Someone" then less I like them and the less I care what they think. So why the hesitancy here? Maybe it isn't the imagined cruel response of some judgmental person, but rather the act of actually sharing of my thoughts, and claiming them as my own, that scares the bejesus out of me.
Hmmm, I've written a lot here, yet I still haven't said anything.
This most recent miscarriage has thrown me for a loop. Not that it happened, because believe me, I knew that was a very real possibility. The loop comes from how I feel about it. I guess the best way to put it is that I have such mixed feelings.
When I first found out I was pregnant I was freaked out, to say the least. Complete surprise was probably my biggest emotion, followed quickly by joy and then disbelief. The adoption was in the works at the time, and we were just waiting for the birth. I can't tell you the number of people who said, "Now that you are adopting you will get pregnant". I would just look away, knowing that I was already pregnant, yet also knowing that the pending adoption had absolutely nothing to do with me getting knocked up. I also felt a great deal of relief in thinking that maybe this was our answer to having our family completed. One adopted child, one biological child, all within 9 months. Irish twins. I felt like we finally had a winning lottery ticket. Life was finally going our way. My next emotion was panic. How were we ever going to pull this off? Two family leaves from school in the same year? How would we afford two kids on formula and in diapers and daycare? The panic continued full throttle once we brought Andy home. I was sick all day and awake all night. Worry was with me constantly, but it wasn't just worry about two babies in the house at the same time because actually that sounded like some fun. A lot of work, but fun, and oh what a joy to have our family complete. The worry came from being sick and tired and afraid that something would go wrong with either the baby or me.
Then we found out that this pregnancy might not be viable. At 7 1/2 weeks parts were measuring a little behind. By then I was sick, and tired, and annoyed to be facing this again. The waiting over the next week and a half through further testing and ultimately surgery was really rough. I wanted to be enjoying my new baby at home, but found myself distracted about the doomed baby within me. I felt robbed of the opportunity to give Andy a sibling. Then I got pissed. I just wanted it to be over.
After surgery I felt much better. A load had been lifted. The worry was gone. No more worries about my health, a growing baby within me, finances, another leave from school. I was free to just love on Andy without feeling sick or worried. I'm ashamed, so ashamed, to admit it . . . but I felt relieved to have miscarried.
To be continued, another time . . . .