Sep 4, 2009

Can my Words help Someone Else Heal?



Being new to this whole blogging thing, I have been looking to others blogs for ideas.  No not ideas to steal their topics, but more of what I would like to avoid doing.  I find myself struggling from time to time with what I have put out into cyber space.  I wonder if I am funny enough, too serious, too depressing, would I want to read what I just wrote on someone else’s blog.

I know that being true to me is the best way to go; otherwise no one will be fooled.  Despite being all over the place by topic, it is always what is on my mind and completely me.  I have found myself reading others blogs and thinking “Wow, this person has no clue!”  Sometimes you can just tell the person is just blogging to fill space or it’s the in thing to do.    Several I follow just because I can relate.  They are so real and remind me that I can laugh at myself (that and I am not the only mom being driven utterly insane by my children).  Some I read because they make me laugh out loud – eventually my boss is going to realize I am not just laughing at the pile on my desk mocking me as it grows.

Alternately, I have read those who open up their hearts to share deep pain that may indeed help others in similar situations.  Loss of children, miscarriage and infertility are deeply personal and take a great deal of courage to chronicle.  Had I had this type of outlet – or even just the support of knowing there were others out there feeling the same things, during my own miscarriage, I honestly believe the healing process would have been just a little less lonely.  So today I will tell my story.

We had moved to Florida from Texas in September 2001.  I arrived 2 weeks before Clint (otherwise by company wouldn’t honor my transfer) and the weekend before the fateful 9-11.  The day one of my best friends back home called (a couple months later) to tell us she might be expecting I started doing some counting and realized I myself was late.  Rather than worry Clint (he was taking me to the airport to go to training when we got the call) I decided to wait until I knew for sure.  Once we got settled in our hotel I went down to smoke what could likely be my last cigarette for a long while and took the shuttle to the market.  I felt extremely awkward standing at the pharmacy window asking the technician if she could unlock the cabinet and get me out a pregnancy test.  I could just feel the stares and hear the whispers (at least in my mind) “look at that un-married 21 year old girl getting a pregnancy test; she’s not fit to be a parent”.  It’s amazing what you let yourself think in stressful situations.  I went back to my hotel to take the test and of course it was positive (Telling myself “duh, you idiot you’re more than two weeks late”)  In my defense though I have never been regular in my life except when I took the OCP that had me barfing my guts up for the first week of every month.

I waited till the following day to try to settle my nerves (yeah – that really worked out).  Surprisingly, he took it a lot better than I did (and in fact had an idea that I was preggo and didn’t bother to tell me).  So when I got home a few days later we started making plans.  We already knew we where going to get married and when, but did we want to move that date up to before the baby was born.  We told everyone we knew.  And I started trying to find an OB.  They were not in any huge hurry to set up a new patient – many of them were no longer doing OB strictly due to the possibility of litigation that comes along with it.  It was an absolute nightmare trying to find the right doctor.  Finally, I found one that accepted my insurance and was taking new patients.  My first visit would be December 22.

At my company Christmas party on Dec 17th I started cramping and spotting.  So I headed to the closest ER.  Where I sat.  And sat.  And sat.  I was such a huge bundle of nerves by the time they called me back to be examined.  They seemed outraged that I had not had any pre-natal care yet (despite this not being my fault).  Eventually I got in touch with Clint (he was in class) and despite explaining the situation to his instructor was informed if he missed a lecture, it would be a full letter grade off his final grade for the semester.  Ass!  He arrived just in time for me to be taken for an ultrasound after a very painful catheter (did they think my uterus was going to fall out if I peed on my own).  When the results were in the doctor came in to see us.  “Well, you are pregnant, but you aren’t”  Huh???  What the f**k is that supposed to mean?  What it did mean was that the embryo was there, it had just not implanted like it was supposed to, and while it was late in said game for it, it was still possible that it would.  Unlikely, but possible.  Discharge instructions were to comeback Sunday to retest my HCG levels.  We were also informed that no amount of standing on my head would save this baby if it wasn’t meant to happen.  Gee, thanks for the excellent bedside manner.  Saturday was spent just trying to relax and not worry too much – even though the slightest sneeze (which there were many as I have allergies) would send excruciating pain through my abdomen.  That night we went to see whatever Harry Potter movies was in theaters at the time just to try to distract our minds a little.  It happened when we got home from the movie.  I passed a huge clot, which turned out to contain the embryo (yes I took it in to have it examined – I am a lab techs worst nightmare).  They still made me come in Sunday to do blood work and confirmed that the pregnancy had indeed terminated.

Clint was the ideal of supportive during this time.  We supported each other through it and it cemented my belief that I had finally got it right, and found myself a keeper.  Despite how great he was, I was in a relatively new city, state, environment, etc. where I had few friends (most were Clint’s motorcycle mechanic friends from school – not really the sensitive type), and it was 5 days before Christmas – just in time to start receiving Christmas cards with congratulations written in them. It was not until receiving the first of these cards that I was able to cry.  I just felt absolutely numb for days on end. Clint was rarely home since his classes were at night, so I usually only got to spend time with him on the weekends that I didn’t have to work.  I felt so utterly alone.  I started smoking again and found myself drinking alone in my apartments in the evenings.  I hated every pregnant woman and person I saw with a new baby for months.  Luckily the self preservation part of my brain started alarming loudly enough for me to realize I need to did myself out of my hole and have a life.  I did not die with that baby that could have been.  It was still hard, but was able to move forward.  In hindsight, I would not have my Angelique if that baby had survived.  While she drives me absolutely crazy most days, I cannot imagine my life without her.

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