WARNING: Angry post ahead.
This was my acupuncturist’s advice. “You should not talk to people about your loss. They won’t understand and will only make you feel worse. I would not even talk to Mr. Husband if I were you because men will never understand.”
I poo-pooed this advice away. Of course I’ll talk to my husband about this! It is his loss, too. It is our job to be there for one another, right?
I’m starting to think I was wrong.
Four weeks ago I would spend my evenings blissfully reading about the growth of Pip, reading reviews on cribs and all-terrain strollers, brainstorming names and making a list of things to sell in order to make room for our new family member. Now my evenings are spent reading blogs of women who have gone on to have successful pregnancies, researching Trisomy 15, reading about how to lose weight after a miscarriage, reading about how to move on. I cry to Mr. Husband about my worries and fears and I urge him to agree to genetic testing. He refuses and says to just relax.
Before he was kind, compassionate and patient. Now he is annoyed. He snaps that this will work and that we have nothing to worry about. He hisses that everything has gone perfectly so far. I stare at him opened mouthed – no, actually we have fell into the shitty statistic every, single, time. Let me rehash:
- I was and am the woman who does not ovulate
- I was the woman who had an EXTREMELY rare reaction to Clomid
- I was the woman who hyper stimulated
- I was the woman who failed to respond to her next round of stimulation
- I was the woman whose estrogen failed to rise during IVF
- I was the woman who produced 27 eggs but only had 6 embryos to freeze
- I was the woman who bled during her pregnancy
- I was the woman who lost her baby
- I was the woman whose “products of conception” had the rare Trisomy
I see very little about this list that is “perfect” and I see every reason to be genuinely concerned about repeat loss. Telling me to “relax” and that “everything will be ok” is not what I need to hear. Sitting back and being apathetic about testing is not what I need to do. I need more answers.
This miscarriage has not had the effect on him that it has on me. He was out-of-town when I got that first positive test. He was gone for my beta. He was out-of-town for my three brief weeks as “pregnant.” He was gone for that fucking ultrasound where I saw my dead baby. He did not feel the changes in his body, nor did he feel when the pregnancy stopped. I knew when Pip died. He does not wake up every morning and see a soft, pudgy person with tiny deflated breasts. He does not huff and puff on his bicycle because he has been away from it for so many months. He does not have time ticking away as the dreaded “advanced maternal age” creeps closer.
I have tried to talk to friends about this. They say they are sorry and to hang in there, it will work. Some question my desire to have children at all, pointing out how hard their life as a mother is. Some have the nerve to tell me this is “God’s plan.” Some insist that now that I have had a loss I will suddenly ovulate normally and conceive without help. I want so badly to hiss, “fuck your God’s plan,” I want to scream at the mothers who dare to complain about their children and I want to laugh hysterically at the women who suggest that it will “happen on its own.”
I used to read posts much like this one from women grieving loss and think to myself, “Surely it is not that bad. Be tough! Solider on!” Now I feel like a horrible, rotten person for thinking that – this is the most isolating thing a woman can go through and some days, being tough is not an option. I am sure I have left overly optimistic comments on other’s posts and I’m absolutely certain my good intentions brought more tears and heartache. To all of you I have unintentionally hurt, I am so sorry. I had no idea.
If I could be so stupid, so naive to the pain these woman were feeling, of course my friends with children, my friends with faith, my friends without loss won’t understand. Of course my husband, who was not even present for my brief pregnancy, would be less than supportive. Today I understand what my acupuncturist meant. It was a lonely journey to get here, and will be a lonely journey to recover.