I haven't written in over a month because things got too tough to write about. (There's the proof that I'll never be a "real" writer, if I ever needed proof.) The unexpected baby is no longer to be expected at all. It was a long, tough ordeal, knowing for several weeks that the child in me was dying. And then there's the guilt from knowing that it hadn't initially been wanted anyway. But the worst is the sense of losing someone who was special and whom I would have loved to know.
It's ironic that few people know that I had this miscarriage, and yet I feel strongly that women should discuss miscarriage more openly. Losing a baby during pregnancy is far more common than anyone is willing to admit. And, coming from a family of 5 healthy children (and married to someone from a family of 4 healthy children), I never imagined that 2 of 4 my pregnancies might end in loss. After the fact, I learned that both aunts, a cousin, and my grandmother on one side of the family all had multiple miscarriages. Going through mine alone, before learning what a large company I was in, was tough. Are we ashamed? Irrationally, I do feel a sense of failure, vaguely feeling that my body did something wrong or wasn't capable of something important and maternal.
When my very first pregnancy ended at 3 months almost 4 years ago, the shock was unbelievable. Everything had been fine at the first ultrasound, and I had enough nausea, food aversions, and exhaustion to warrant several babies. There was no hint of anything being amiss. I still can picture everything that happened the day I found out and I still have those emotions when I recall the experience. I cried every day for 3 months afterwards and thought about my baby every day for several months beyond that. Holding my first child 14 months later is the only thing that fully healed me.
This recent miscarriage was the opposite in many respects: the pregnancy was the unexpected part and the miscarriage no surprise. It was a prolonged horror of a wait, knowing that my symptoms were too weak and the ultrasound results were bad news. Most of the mourning was completed during the pregnancy instead of after it. The rest came out with the "pregnancy products" (did they really call my baby that??) as I lay unanesthetized on an exam table in the doctor's office in serious pain -- physical and emotional.
On the day of the first ultrasound last month showing that all was not well, my 3-yr-old son, who didn't even know of the pregnancy, asked me why God sends babies down from heaven instead of keeping them with Him. Darling, He DOES choose to keep some babies with Him. Blessed child!
How strange that this mother of 2 will be a mother of 4 when I get there too.
1 comment:
It's my observation that even great writers cannot bear to write on many occasions. Your recent experiences certainly warranted a pause. You'll be a better writer for having done so. Don't worry, the words will come again, and it's probable that they'll reflect your feelings with more clarity, not less, with the passage of time. God bless you.
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