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May 30, 2013 |
A secret club exists in this world, one of which you may or
may not know some members.
Nobody really intends to be initiated into this club, it’s not one that
you readily sign up for. And once
you find yourself submerged in the club, you feel confused and angry and
guilty. You did not ask to be
here, at least, you don’t remember asking to join. You momentarily feel isolated and alone and scared but when
you open the door to the meeting room, you find friends and neighbors and
family members greeting you at the door.
You had no idea they were members, afterall, this secret club is rarely
discussed. They rush to you,
surround you, wrap their arms around you.
They tell you everything will be all right. They tell you this
is not your fault. They tell you you
are a great mama. And you cling to these
words, though they feel as hollow as a rotted tree. You know they sincerely mean them, but you don’t believe
them. You know. You know.
I joined this secret club in January, about two weeks after
our sweet Maddy died. We had just
returned from an amazing family vacation and were so excited for a fresh
start. The winter had already been long and
2013 was not off to a great start.
We couldn’t wait to share the news that Charlie was going to be a big
brother in July. Because of our
travel plans, my twelve-week appointment was pushed back a couple weeks, but I
was feeling fine and had no risk factors that we were aware of. Three days before the
heartbeat appointment, I started spotting…
and though my midwives assured me this was sometimes normal (whatever that
means), I knew. I knew.
And so began the longest weekend in my entire life: knowing, comprehending, processing,
asking, grieving, crying. Lots and
lots of crying. I asked the Universe
Why Me? Why US? But of course, there were no answers. I asked Why those people? Why
that baby? But again, there were no answers. But through it all, there was hope. I
had hope. I knew we would try
again. I knew Charlie would be a big brother. He’ll be an amazing big brother. I knew I’d be a mama to two. I knew we’d
have a fourth family member at the table.
And so, I tried not to dwell on the loss, and focused my energy on the
future.
Slowly, over the next few months, the emotional pain subsided
and was gradually replaced with some kind of acceptance. We focused on Charlie, we focused on
work, we focused on the never-ending snow. We focused on getting through winter. Something “they” never tell you about
miscarriage is that your body is tricked into thinking you just had a baby so
you get the joy of experiencing all the crazy hormonal bouts—without a baby at
the end of the day. They don’t
tell you that it’s physically painful and an incredibly emotional process. They don’t tell you that your entire
physical cycle is completely out of whack for months to a year--- and that’s
normal. So on top of the winter
that never ended, I was dealing with the aftermath of this loss, and trying to
focus on the future.
I questioned everything and was easily infuriated. Everywhere I looked, people were
pregnant. Everywhere we went, we
saw babies and siblings. My desire
to have a baby was increased by ten thousand, and yet, so was my amazement with
the child we have. Every single
day, I have looked at Charlie and wondered how each of his cells divided so
perfectly into the little boy that he is.
How did we escape any problems the first time around?
Work was particularly difficult for me as parents would come
into my office and complain about their children, their living situations,
their babies on the way. One
particular expectant mother came into my office complaining about her
pregnancy, explained that it was unwanted and was going to put such a damper on
their lives. The next day, I drove
by and saw her standing outside her house, seven months pregnant, smoking her
cigarette and screaming at her other two children. I drove on as tears streamed down my face. There are no
reasons. It just is.
But through the spring, I continued to try to focus on the
future. I wearily believed the snow would melt and that someday we would be
proud parents to two chidren. And
on Mother’s Day, 2013, we focused on the beautiful HCG numbers we received from
the lab. How appropriate that on
that day, I learned that I got to be a mama again!
Things were different the second time. I was cautious about everything, even
giving up my morning coffee and never ever
missing a prenatal vitamin. I put
off getting highlights in my hair, never ate cold sandwich meat, bought latex
gloves for cleaning, and even tried to eat a few more green veggies. After having a miscarriage, I was privy
to extra ultrasounds and early testing.
On May 30th, we saw the flicker of a perfect little heartbeat
at seven weeks, and my anxieties lessened but were not completely gone. In January, the baby had stopped
developing around nine or ten weeks, so for me, I needed to see a heartbeat
flickering at twelve weeks.
On Monday, we went in for a second ultrasound—just to get a
more accurate idea of a size and due date. This was a routine check—there were no indications that
anything was wrong. However, as
with the previous pregnancy, I had the tiniest inkling that something wasn’t
right. My nausea had all but
disappeared, my exhaustion had significantly lessened, and I hadn’t had the
urge to eat a bagful of gummy worms for weeks. My previously tight shorts were not as tight, and I had lost
a pound or two over the last week.
Something wasn’t right. I hesitantly mentioned this to Mason on
Sunday night, but yet, I still believed everything would be okay.
But Monday, I became a two-time member of the secret
club. The mood was light and
casual as our doctor began the ultrasound, but within seconds I knew something
was wrong. There was no movement
on the screen. No beautiful
flickering heartbeat. The air
suddenly became still, all chatter ceased. My breathing became irregular and I caught Mason’s eye as he
shook his head.
The rest is sort of a blur. Confirmation. Questions. Lack of answers, and lack of reasons. Realization. More realization.
Tears. And more tears.
And now we’re home.
The exact same place we were 48 hours ago, yet our place has shifted dramatically. Everything surrounding us is the same, yet nothing is the
same.
This time, I fooled myself into believing that if I stayed
just a little disconnected from the pregnancy, if I didn’t quite believe it, then I’d be spared from any emotional toll if there
a problem occurred. Mason said things like, “when the baby comes” and “in
January”, but my vocabulary sounded more like, “if the baby comes” and “maybe
in January”. I never could make
myself believe.
Now, I find myself thinking that had I just stayed positive,
had I really connected to the pregnancy, had I rubbed my belly every morning,
things would have turned out differently.
Maybe if I had been more relaxed, maybe if I had created more positive
energy, maybe if I was less anxious, maybe if I had said a few prayers, maybe
if I hadn’t had terrible thoughts about my inability to parent two children,
maybe if I hadn’t specifically asked the Universe to make this decision for me,
maybe maybe maybe…. things would have been different.
This time around, my grief is so different. It’s so much more confusing and also more
straight-forward. Not only am I
grieving the loss of this baby, but I’m grieving the look of my future
family. At one time, we thought
about having only one child, but we eventually came to the conclusion that we
really wanted a sibling for Charlie. We wanted him to have that relationship, to share his
childhood with someone else. We
wanted him to experience the lessons that come with having a brother or sister. Not to mention the fact that Charlie adores babies, and dotes on them like crazy. But now, the hope of having a sibling
for Charlie is not present. Both
Mason and I are getting older, and while Hollywood minimizes this fact, it’s a
very real issue for us. And
honestly, I’m not sure that I could physically and emotionally deal with this
again.
So many people have texted me messages of kindness and
support. I’ve been sent virtual
hugs and I feel those arms from friends and family wrapped tightly around me
right now. Deep down, in my heart
of hearts, I know that things will be all right. But right now, my heart
is breaking into little pieces and I’m desperately trying to piece it back
together. Poor Charlie is asking
why I’m sad and the best answer I can give him is that I lost something that I
loved a lot. He’s showered me with
hugs and kisses and hasn’t left my side this morning. I feel deeply guilty for not being able to bring this baby
into the world for him to love with us.
I know that it is irrational to feel responsible, yet I will always
wonder if my thoughts and doubts somehow affected this pregnancy. Rationally, I understand that there are
no answers and that whatever our family ends up looking like, it will be
perfect for us. But in the
meantime, I’ll be hanging out with my irrational brain while I try to move on,
a little more day by day.
Oh Karah! I am so so sorry for the losses you have been dealing with. I pray that someday soon your dream of having another child will come true. HUGS!
ReplyDeleteI wish I knew what to say to make you feel better, but you're too darn smart and have probably already thought of whatever words of comfort I could try and give you. I've always been the type that thinks if it's meant to be, it will happen, but I realize that doesn't make a person who is hurting feel any better. Continue to be grateful for what you DO have because you have a great life, and there are a lot of people that would love to have what you have. I'm here for you if you ever need anything!
ReplyDeleteAw, shit.
ReplyDeleteI'm so sorry, Kari.
Be gentle with yourself. Your thoughts are totally understandable (I thought them too, exactly) but you did nothing to cause this.
Catching up on your blog and saw you reference the depression you felt this summer and so I went snooping and found this post. I am so so sorry you had to experience this... twice.
ReplyDeleteI, too, joined the club in January and am pretty that's why I have yet to purchase a single thing for this baby due in April. There's still a piece of my heart I'm saving for that "I told you so" moment so it maybe won't hurt so bad if it happens again. (Not logical but my emotions rarely are.) I was going to send you a personal note but not sure if I have your most up to date email address so I'm sorry for blabbing here.
I'm so sorry for your loses and am sending good vibes your way for your family... all 5 of you.