It's rare, I've found, for anyone to talk about past miscarriages--recent or more distant. Before I'd had my miscarriage, I'd heard people say that they'd had one in the same tone as a person might say "Oh, yeah--I've had apple pie before." Somehow, the way that I'd always heard it talked about, so lightly in passing, made it more difficult when I experienced it myself, because I wasn't prepared.I wasn't prepared for the rawness. The power. The overwhelming, shaking, trembling anger at the universe. It stunned me and took my breath away. I had not expected that a miscarriage would cause me to collapse on a bed and sob myself to sleep as I cried out, over and over, that I wanted my baby back. I did not know that people felt that way, about this.I hadn't expected that it would shatter my heart--the first time that I knew, with certainty, that I was broken inside. I experienced the burning of pure, undiluted sorrow. The rational, logical part of me stood aside and said, "You, my friend, have lost it. You have two beautiful children, a husband that loves you, and a wonderful life. Pull it together." I felt so guilty for feeling so sad.I went for my follow-up appointment with my obstetrician. He is a good man, and a kind one. I sat there on the table with my hands clasped together as he told me that it was perfectly common and normal. That as many as 1/3 of pregnancies end in miscarriage, so--this was my third child, it was my turn. I could hardly see straight. I could hardly breathe. I was trying so desperately not to let my grief show. I felt like I had no right to be grieving.It seemed to me, at the time, that grief was understandable for women who lost children, infants, or even babies later in pregnancy. But for those of us still in the first trimester, it wasn't allowed. Which is why, when my doctor handed me a pamphlet and encouraged me to join a support group, I recoiled. I wasn't about to compare my pathetic experience to others who had lost two year olds or had stillborns. They had a right to be devastated and grief stricken. I was simply weak.
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I have often felt that the pain and loss I felt at loosing my unborn child was to much to express. It was all I could do to breathe and everyone else seemed to just expect me to bounce back and be my normal happy self. Not so. I agree there is so much guilt, not just for feeling sad, but what did I do wrong. The answer to both is I am not doing anything wrong. That which we were put here to do was aborted and we are having to put our worlds back together. I am sorry that you felt alone, no one who has suffered a miscarriage would truthfully tell you that they don't understand that it is one of the worst experiences a woman and a loving spouse can go through.
ReplyDeleteHave hope, though the pain does not ever truly go away the edges will dull overtime and with the help of people who understand and love you, you can learn to breathe more easily and not become over obsessed with your other kids. Remember that you are a princess and that dreams will come true, they just might not be the dreams that you once thought they would be.