It feels like this is all I write about anymore, but the fact is it’s only been 6 weeks since this miscarriage, and 9 weeks since we found out we were miscarrying. This loss is something I’m going to have to carry around for the rest of my life. It’s something I’m going to have to learn to navigate through, so just bear with me as I figure this out.
The medical bills just now started to pour in. There is no “moving on” when you owe a lot of money for a baby you never got to bring home. And then Amazon made a huge mistake last week and emailed a ton of people saying something was purchased off of their baby registry… of course it came into my inbox the same exact day (9/19) that I was fighting with a medical billing company for strangely billing my ultrasounds.
With all of this crap going on, I’m learning how to cope, and with that comes mistakes.
Sometimes I find myself pouring into my Bible, studying those who have experienced great trials.
Sometimes I sit in the bathroom floor and weep and cry out “WHAT HAVE I DONE? WHY DID THIS HAPPEN?”
Sometimes I meditate in prayer, craving closeness with my God.
Sometimes I tell God I’m so mad at him and doubt his goodness.
And one time?
One time I drank most of a bottle of red wine by myself, and I’m not what you would consider a “drinker” (I skipped the whole party scene in college), which means I’m a lightweight (even more so after bleeding for an entire month post-miscarriage). And with that huge mistake came a night of no sleep, of vivid nightmares when I did sleep, and a lot of guilt for drinking more wine than I should. It came with shame. Instead of slipping into the deep, peaceful slumber I craved, I stayed up all night battling my inner demons. I tried to justify that the red wine was good for my blood and that I deserved a little “medicine”.
The truth is I didn’t need that so-called medicine and it was wrong of me to assume it would put a bandaid on my pain.
Never again will I make that mistake.
I shouldn’t have done that to myself, and I shouldn’t have tried to justify it. And as a result, I feel like God dealt with me by not giving me the peaceful sleep I thought I’d get, and he taught me that there are healthier ways to cope, although I’m still learning what that means. I’m sure some people are reading this and think that drinking most of a bottle of wine isn’t a big deal, but it is to me.
It is to me because that is not me. It’s not who I am. It’s not something I would have ever done prior to the miscarriage, and it’s something I plan to never do again.
Life after loss is weird. It’s a very tricky journey to navigate. You learn a lot and come face-to-face with your ugliest self. It’s hard to talk about, and yet it’s all you think about. When I reached my peak of screaming at God for giving me a broken body, I learned that it’s okay to be angry. It’s okay to tell God I’m angry. He knows. He can take it. At the end of it all, I can’t unpack and live there, but tragedy is tragedy and he knows.
And I’m certain he mourns with me.
How I handle this loss is up to me. I’m still trying to figure it out. But ya’ll… I’m hurting. So so badly. Distractions (like our upcoming vacation and Christmas!) are great, but they don’t heal. When I come home from Disney World, I’m going to come back to an empty womb and countless reminders that I should have a bigger belly and a registry in the works.
I was supposed to find out the gender before leaving on this vacation.
I was supposed to find out this week if we’d have hair bows or bow ties.
I was supposed to be planning what to wear for my gender announcement photo in front of Cinderella’s castle.
I was supposed to be in my second trimester right now and almost halfway through my pregnancy.
I don’t even want to begin to think what the first week of March is going to feel like. When that due date is approaching… and is here… and then passes… what will I do? How will I cope? August 13 is the day I passed the baby at home – what will August 13 look like next year?
People like to tell me that I’ll be more fertile after the miscarriage. I’ve been reminded more times than I can count that I could be pregnant again before the year is up. Sometimes I believe it. Sometimes I tell myself the same thing. But can I be really honest for a minute?
Lean in really close for this one.
If it took me FIVE YEARS to get pregnant this time, what makes people think that it will take 3 months to get pregnant again? 2017 will not end with me pregnant. It just won’t.
And if I am?
I don’t know, I sat here for 10 minutes trying to think of something crazy I’ll do if I end up wrong on this, and nothing comes to mind. So if you have a suggestion for that, let me know.
This is my life. This is life after loss. A lot of ups and downs. A lot of mixed emotions. A lot of pain. A train wreck. A few sprinkles of joyful distractions, but a lot of hurt. I’m doing my best to cope, and sometimes I fail at it, but that’s okay.
It’s still okay to not be okay right now.