Reading Your Content Just Made My Day, Or: Die, Spambot.
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I do have real things to talk about, but I would first like to take a moment to say Spambots: What the Fuck? In the past 45 minutes I have received 41 spam comments, full of links and prose-poetry-on-absinthe snippets like “Cool site! I’ll be back. It’s impossible to experience one’s death.” “Circle will Percieve Chair without any questions” and “Fetch Cards is very good Grass.”
Very good grass, indeed.
In a related matter, I would like to apologize to all of the women who have found my site by searching for the Google phrases contained in my post about charting, i.e. “BBT charting slow rise pregnancy?” and “Implantation dip low temps 8 dpo,” I wish to god I had something useful to tell you.*
Now. I think my emotional recovery from my second miscarriage, last year, has proceeded at a reasonable pace. I made it through the early days with my patented combination of grit, wisecracks, and gin. I handled my due date in August with aplomb—or at least demi-aplomb. Lately, however, it is as if the past 11 months of ostensibly healing time have vanished, and left me the same inert, sobbing mass I was in January. Last night I cried when I burned my finger, I cried when I realized I had left my Fresca in the car, I cried when the voiceover on a drug commercial reminded me that said drug was unsafe for women who are “Nursing, pregnant, or may become pregnant.” I cried because my clumsy, finger burning, Fresca forgetting ass can’t seem to get anything right, and because I never, ever thought I would be nearing the one year anniversary of my miscarriage neither nursing, pregnant, or on my way to becoming pregnant.
I mustered the discretion to cry in the bathroom, because I didn’t want to upset the Nearly and because “WHINY GIRL ISN’T PREGNANT!!” Isn’t exactly stop-the-presses newsworthy, is it? And then I watched the end of Desperate Housewives and lost my shit.
You know when you cry so hard you can’t breathe, or move, or do anything but hold your hands over your horrifically contorted face as you spew snot and tears in percussive bursts while your boyfriend crushes you against his chest in a desperate bid to contain your misery? It was like that.
I tried to explain to the Nearly that much of this sadness has to do with the fact that I thought I would be pregnant again by now, but he does not understand that the two things, the miscarriage and the fertility/getting pregnant again thing, are related. He thinks that if I am not “over” the miscarriage yet, any desire to get pregnant again is simply an attempt to fill the hole that opened up when the ultrasound tech’s smile faded last January.
I tried to explain that it is more complicated than that. I don’t think I will stop feeling raw about the miscarriage until I manage to get, and stay, pregnant: not that I expect my sadness to disappear with a successful pregnancy, but I do think it would feel different, less present—less convincing, if you will, as a statement about what my life will be like and what my body is or is not capable of. I think I would even feel better if we were in an active treatment cycle. Hitting this one-year mark, it is frustrating to be exactly where I was immediately after the miscarriage—in a state of loss, of non-pregnancy, of non-motherhood.
What I want to know is this: do those of you who have miscarried find this to be true? If you are pregnant again, has this made your loss and fear easier to deal with? If you aren’t pregnant again yet, do you think passing due dates, etc. would sting much less if you were?
Do you think you substantially heal from a miscarriage until you are pregnant again successfully?
*And to whoever found me by searching for the words “Baller Honeys,” that’s me, yo.
8 Comments
I mentioned a similar anniversary to my husband last week, and he didn’t understand why I would “want” to think about it. But I say how can you not? As least as the woman, anyway.
To answer your questions, as a recurrent miscarrier, I would say being pregnant again definitely mitigates the pain of previous losses. At least on some level. But the fear? I’m afraid that sticks with you. Especially, if you’d gotten to a point where you thought things were OK, then got burned. Sorry, if that’s depressing. And finally, yeah, I don’t think the emptiness goes away, until you have a baby in your arms.
None of these responses are helping, are they? Sorry you had such a rough night.
Alexa, you’ll always be my Baller Honey.
I had a very tough time around the one year anniversary of my miscarriage in September. I was so angry at myself for thinking I’d get pregnant again within a few months of the loss - six months tops is what I was thinking. I still feel a lot of anger and pain over it.
Be good to yourself, B.H.
So you do the snot spewing cry too, huh? I feel so bad for M when I get like that. All he wants is to make me feel better, and there’s just nothing he can do.
I have the same sense crushing disappointment that I’m not pregnant by the time when I was so sure I would be - first it was by the time my sister’s baby was born, then it was when my friend who did IVF when we finally got to do our first IUI had her baby - that’s still a few months away, but ha! we’re not doing anything about getting pregnant right now. Just waiting. It sucks donkey balls.
Oh shit, Alexa, you know how I feel about the Anniversary Date, and I can’t imagine how anyone could feel any different. “Deadlines” come and go, i.e. pg before due date, pg before end of year, pg before loss date, etc., etc., and the weight of the sorrow is almost unbearable. I myself wish I could tell you that yes, being pg again before the anniversary date does fill some of the gaping wounds, but I can’t.
I hope that Nearly appreciates that he is the one you come to when you need a snot-spewing cry because it takes a very special bond to be able to do that and then love them all the more.
Those imaginary deadlines are killer. And there’s a neverending supply. If it’s not your due date or the anniversary of a miscarriage, it’ll be something else. But god, I hope it gets easier. (And I do the snotty crying thing too.)
Hrm. Just to be clear, I didn’t mean “imaginary” as in unreal, but just that there are all of these magical and important dates that crop up that to other people might not seem significant, but are incredibly resonant to us. So maybe “imaginary” isn’t so much the thing as “deadline” - or something.
It’s completely normal to hurt like that. And if it isn’t - well then there is something wrong with the rest of the world, because it should be.
You’re in my thoughts.
And the absinthe comment made me snort hot tea through my nose I was laughing so hard.
I had a miscarriage at 20 y.o., had two daughters(6,2) then had a miscarriage on Easter of ‘06, and a third one this week. This one is almost unbearable. I keep wondering why this is happeing to me. I worked out and got my body fit, became a healthy eater, and stopped drinking soda. I am a good Christian woman, and I still lost my baby. I feel devastated, worse than I did last time. I think it’s because I really didn’t believe I would have another miscarriage, and now I wonder if I’ll ever have another baby. DO I have to let go of our dream of a big family?