I've just come from Issa's... go read it so you know what I am talking about... I'll wait for you.
A miscarriage is one of those things that people will say is "for the best" or "wasn't meant to be" or "God's will"... very few say what you want them to say which is, "This is so f*cked up!"
Like Issa, I was 14 weeks when I lost my 3rd child. Past the magic "12" week number... in the safety zone!
Unless your child had stopped growing at 10 weeks, like mine.
I went to the OB for pre-op the day before my D&C was scheduled and as I was up there on the table, with my feet in stirrups, trying to mentally disengage from my surroundings, I heard the distinct sound of what I thought was rushing water. I remember wondering if someone had turned on the sink?
It took a moment to realize that the sound was not water crashing into a basin, but rather blood, pouring out of me and crashing on the floor.
I spent the next week in the Critical Care Unit of the hospital, grateful that I had the good fortune to hemorrhage in my doctor's office.
When I finally returned home I was so happy to see my children, so overcome with how close I had come to leaving them motherless, that the miscarriage, the loss of my baby, was moved to the back of my mind, it became secondary.
How are you? friends would ask? Good, I'm so lucky, is how I would answer.
I focused on the here and now. How blessed I was to parent these beautiful boys... it "wasn't meant to be" I told myself... "God's will", I told myself... "For the best." I told myself.
And I moved on.
And the next year I had a hysterectomy.
And then the next year, while cleaning out the garage, and coming across the box of saved baby things... blankies and booties and feetie pajamas, all those sweet and tiny things that I had kept from Jake and Jack... things that I wanted to see my newest baby in... the grief sucker punched me. I finally cried. I sobbed and I pulled my hair... I lost my breath and clutched at my sides from the pain of physical sorrow... I wasn't grateful and I didn't feel lucky. I felt screwed and betrayed and angry and goddamnit, I wanted my baby.
It's been 8 years and I still think of that baby... not all the time, but once in awhile... deep in my thoughts and I think maybe, in some way, my baby helped bring Eva to me to help me heal and stop thinking of what might have been.
I don't really know why I wrote this post... I guess Issa's brought it all back... and I want women to stop glossing over pain and being "ok" with things and stop being so strong for others...
Some of this is also brought about by the myraid of BlogHer posts I have been reading... some really wonderful and talented women were intentionally hurt and in a couple of instances humiliated by others and I think... damn, isn't part of this weird Internet community about support? Aren't we here for each other?
I think if I had a blog back in '00 my experience would have been different because I would have known that there was a "safe" place to vent my feelings and share my story.