Instead of making New Year’s resolutions I choose a word that I would like to focus on throughout the year. This year, I chose GROW.
Grow was meant to have so many meanings for me this year. I was going to grow as a woman, a wife, my belly was going to grow, our family was going to grow… G words and that one that begins with M.
This year has been taken over by another word beginning with G instead: Guilt.
Guilt because I was not able to save my pregnancy. Or was I? They say do not blame yourself, there was probably something wrong with the baby and it was just a process of natural selection, there was nothing you could have done. Although that is true for many to most miscarriages, for this situation, I do not believe that to be true. What was wrong with my pregnancy, and what is wrong with me, is that I have a pituitary tumor. It causes EXTREME hormonal imbalances and there was one in particular that was crucial for a healthy pregnancy that was dangerously low, my doctors and myself were aware. The specialist insisted on sending my prescription for a medication through snail mail, instead of simply calling it in. Took them two weeks to get it to me, and by then, I had lost the pregnancy. My child was already dead. It’s the past, you cannot change it, it’s time to move on. If it was your child, would it be that easy? I know I could have been more educated, more demanding, something! But I was not. I did not know. That’s guilt. Glum
Guilt because my husband is sad too. He hoped for this pregnancy more than me. He was the one thinking positively when things started to look bad, when the pregnancy was no longer viable. Everyone thinks he’s fine, he didn’t carry the baby, he didn’t feel the physical pain that I did. His pain gets put on the back burner and that’s NOT fair. We do the best to take care one another, but I know he’s always worried. He came home from deployment for a brief bit of happiness, and then the worst pain we’ve ever known. He’s such an amazing, loving husband and wants to always take care of me, but he needs cheering up too. It was our baby that died. Grief stricken.
Guilt because I have four pregnant friends that I avoid. Minus one, who gets where I’m coming from, for the most part. Their due dates are all within a month of what would have been my own. They’re all finding out the sex of their babies. They’re putting together nurseries, buying baby clothes, the life inside them growing and starting to show on the outside. Here I am, feeling sorry for myself, because my child is dead, barely having had a heartbeat for very long. I would have known if my child would have been a boy or girl by now, who they would’ve and could have been. Anything I bought for the baby, all the maternity clothes, are packed away in our basement in a corner. I thought if I could not see them, then maybe I wouldn’t think about it, and that did not happen.
I’m going to be fair to myself here in this situation though. It’s been a very mutual avoidance. Their happiness reminds me of my loss, my loss makes them uncomfortable about their happiness. Every milestone of theirs will now be a reminder of what I could have had, what life my child is missing. I’m not going to say I’m being a bad friend, necessarily. I’m alone in my sadness just as much as I’ve left myself out of their happy baby events. The majority of what they know about my moods and my life now, and even what happened to me that day and the following days after my miscarriage – they learned here, on my blog, not through talking to me directly. Gloom.
Guilt because happiness feels wrong. It’s getting to a safe time for me (getting my body back to normal, hormones leveled out, and postpartum effects passing) and my husband to try again for baby number two. There’s so much uncertainty involved with this. I will never have a carefree pregnancy, I will forever worry because I have experienced the worst that could happen and it may very likely occur again. Am I ready? Are we ready? Are we expecting a new pregnancy to fix the pain of the loss of the first?
I am not trying to make excuses for how I feel for you or even for myself. Everything I feel and have felt are completely normal. There’s no such thing as grieving perfectly. Regardless, it has to happen. For me, writing about it helps me greatly, and if you do not like what I have to say please refer to the x on the upper ride side of the browser.
I will GROW from this, I will be okay again, my husband and I will be happy again and the loss will not affect us as much. There’s no fully overcoming miscarriage, though, and we are aware of that. No matter if we have more babies or we do not, we can not undo the death of our child. We’re getting better, day by day, week by week. We’re going to counseling, and I do not think that the sessions help us all that much. The thought that we are trying to heal by going to counseling, by doing something actively about it, however, is there and helps.
PLEASE NOTE: The average cost of IVF (In Vitro Fertilization) is $12,400 whether it works or not. The average cost of a domestic adoption in the United States ranges anywhere from $30,000 to $50,000. We are aware these options are available, but please educate yourself on realities and costs before suggesting them.
One day, hopefully soon, we won’t feel so gypped, grieved, and grouchy. Instead, we’ll be the giddy, goofy, giving, and good-natured people we used to be, but a revised version.
We’re trying, one day at a time. The little support we have received from friends, family, and all those I’ve been lucky enough to meet on social media, HAS helped TREMENDOUSLY. Thank you to those people! Thank you to those people who have genuinely listened/read and cared about our story and recovery, and not for the sole purpose of another G word (GOSSIP).
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