Till We Meet Again…

Warning: this post discusses miscarriage.

I think I started to notice something was different with my body in September. I was tired and I was grumpy. I didn’t feel particularly well and then I was sick one morning. I barely made it to the bathroom sink. The rest of the morning I was nauseous. Then the next morning. Then the next. On the fourth day, one of my students, bless him pulled me aside while I was trying to unlock the guitars to tell me, “Mrs. G, I think you might be pregnant.” The cheek of that young man! He was worried about me though, and that was sweet.

 For three weeks I believe I was pregnant. It is crazy to think lightning struck twice, considering how scarred up my uterus is inside. Couple that with my pituitary Adenoma and it has to be an actual act of God for me to get pregnant.

We weren’t trying, we decided that even though the doctor deemed it safe for me to have kids, we couldn’t financially afford another child. So we weren’t planning on one. We use two forms of protection and I track my period.

So when my period started on that 4th week, I was a little confused, then I laughed. Obviously I had some sort of bug the last week! Silly wishful thinking.

Then the cramps started.

Then there was a lot of… inner stuff.

Then there was so much blood. I bled for almost 9 full days.

Then I knew. I didn’t want to speak it aloud. I mean the child was barely formed. People miscarry all the time. Just because this is the first time in my life I have/noticed I had doesn’t mean it was a big deal…

Except it made me a little sad. So I stayed home on that Tuesday after, September 11th oddly enough (a birthday that had meaning in my life long ago). I slept. I ate food that made me happy. I watched stupid crap on tv and I cried a little.

It seemed silly at the time because again I didn’t have to deliver or go through anything particularly traumatic. At times I felt a little silly being upset over a heavy period… that may have been more.

But as time passed and I really took the time to think… it was a dream to have more than one child. It’s a dream that we had and it never really popped up as a possibility and then, there it was.

For a little while any rate.

So I felt a bit stupid for awhile and decided I just had to talk to someone. Ry is a good guy but he just doesn’t get it. He voiced things similar to what I did, “maybe to was just a heavy crazy period,” and “Well, something wasn’t right so it had to happen. It wasn’t viable.” Which are things I thought too.

Except, it didn’t feel like those things it just felt… sad.

So I got up the courage to talk to two ladies I know and they were very wonderful. Loss is loss and we have the right to be sad about it, no matter how far along we ended up being.

I appreciated that. I supposed I almost felt ashamed to be sad considering the amount of time I was pregnant was barely a blip.

But hearing that my feelings were allowed really helped. Isn’t it nuts that somewhere in my life someone taught me my feeling weren’t valid unless large amounts of pain and suffering were involved? I always knew my emotions were a little screwball but it’s crazy that I had to ask permission to grieve.

It might be a singular thing, that only I have the joy to deal with.

Anyhow, then I was hit with strep and an ear infection and my husband got the flu and CDubs had a fever for a few days and bam! It’s the end of the nine weeks and here I am.

Still processing.

Still a little sad.

Cuddling my son a little more lately. (Which he doesn’t seem to mind)

But still very blessed to have amazing people in my life. I hope sincerely that you have amazing people in your life too.

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