Here I am two weeks after my ERPC to remove the 10 week old fetus that died two weeks previously. I had been thinking that once the procedure had been done I’d be feeling better. Right? Wrong. I’m feeling worse. Progressively worse. I’ve got the sense that I’m drowning and trying to claw my way out of a well that is swallowing me up. How will this ever get better?
I’m one meltdown in. My kitchen got the worst of it. Screaming, crying, broken glasses, throwing any object in site. It wasn’t pretty. To be expected yes, but I sure wish it made me feel better. It didn’t.
Now I seem to be wavering between self-loathing and devout pessimism. Although rationally I know I didn’t do anything to lose this baby my heart won’t forgive myself or my body for letting me down. Nor will it forgive myself for taking the time I need to grieve. I’m continually beating myself up for being sad, knowing it won’t help our chances for the future. And I’m beating myself up for not taking the time I need to feel better. I can’t win.
If I was anxious about the future before this last miscarriage, now I feel like there is no future. Rationally I know we are doing everything we can to investigate the unexplained losses but deep down I feel like it’s never meant to be. Like I couldn’t possibly go through this another time. How can I find the strength?
Thankfully hubby has been the most supportive partner I could have ever dreamed of. He can handle anything, any of my tears and fits and pessimism and self-doubt. Always has an answer to everything. Where would I be without him?
It’s a good thing he’s here because I’ve shunned nearly every friend I have. I’ve gone from a bubbly outgoing person with lots of friends to a complete hermit. It sounds horrible but I couldn’t possibly handle it any other way. I have too many friends who are in a breezy carefree pregnancy, others who’ve just had one. All of which got pregnant month one of TTC and a long time after we’ve started trying. I can’t even bring myself to see them or talk to them. I’ve become the elephant in the room with those who know my situation which only makes me feel worse. It has struck me just how little people can know or understand about what it feels like to lose a pregnancy multiple times. No one knows what to say or what to do. I can’t blame them, I wouldn’t have either.
I guess they are all waiting for the old me to come back. But the old me I feel is gone and has been replaced with someone who is in constant pain and anxiety, who no longer has a sense of humour, who doesn’t want to talk small talk. Something inside me has died and I fear I will never get it back.
The only thing I feel at times that keeps me going is 1) hubby and 2) hoping that the next appointment, the next test, the next treatment will find an answer to the numerous unanswered questions. So I guess in that sense I haven’t lost hope yet completely.