A warning: this is going to be yet again another post about the insight into miscarriage and how much it sucks. So if you’re getting tired of reading these posts (as you should be), then you should probably skip this one. But please come back, I’ll try not to always be this depressing.
I had my first appointment post-D&C today and it was….well, it happened. I was okay up until about 2 minutes into waiting in the waiting room and watching glowing-pregnant woman after pregnant woman walk in and I lost it. The tears came and they weren’t going to stop. That was supposed to be me. I’d be 8 months pregnant at this point with the second one, coming in weekly by now, anticipating anxiously what the next month would bring. Or I’d be just starting to show with the third, coming in for my 12-week appointment. But I am neither. I am someone I can’t quite recognize just yet. I’ve said this a few times, but I feel like I’m stuck in the in-between. I’m no longer the woman filled with hope and excitement of being pregnant for the first time, all the thrill still ahead of you, none of the fear of what might happen. That woman is still lucky. And I’m also not the new mother cradling her newborn, or losing sleep with the midnight crying. Where does that leave me? They don’t ever talk about this woman. They don’t tell you what it’s going to feel like, how you’re going to feel lost and unsure of how to go about your life as this new unwanted you. I am sure women who decide not to try again figure out who they are, as do, obviously, the ones that successfully get pregnant. But not at this point. At this point, I can’t see the hope that everyone keeps telling me to have. I’m sure I will get it again, but not yet. I’m still pissed that I’m not pregnant, that my body failed for a third time to grow a baby. That I’m here again so soon.
When they put me in the room to wait for the doctor, the tears were able to freely fall and I starting sobbing like a 5-year-old that fell off the swing. Looking around I realized they put me in the only room in the practice with absolutely no baby pictures. I guess I should be thankful, but instead it bothered me. There is no ignoring the fact that I was pregnant, and now I’m not. So by putting me in the only non-baby room it makes it the white elephant. It puts me in that category that I mentioned above. The woman that no longer belongs in the room with smiling babies, but not in the room with the endangered animals, either.
So yes, there is no way to make me happy at this point, if that is what you are thinking. My doctor is ordering almost every test they can do, so perhaps we will get an answer. I asked her if we should want something to be wrong so that it can be fixed, or if we should hope that everything comes back negative. She didn’t have an answer for that one. I’m not sure which way I sway, but I kind of feel like having something definitely wrong would at least give us somewhere to start. That way we wouldn’t be working on just hope the next time around. And let me take this opportunity to say that I love my doctor. She is kind, to the point, and just seems badass. She’s definitely more Christina Yang than Meredith Grey (whew!), but with a little Izzy in the mix, too. I am happy she’s on my side. There’s something to be positive about.
I’ll keep you updated on the results of the tests. I am sorry that this entire blog is just one long crying session. I hadn’t intended it to be like this. Maybe the fog in Bodega will lift eventually.