I started this post 5 days ago, but it’s fallen victim, just like all the words swirling in my head non-stop, to this phenomenon of me not knowing what to say.
It’s been two weeks and one day since we lost our little girl. If everything had proceeded normally, we would have had our anatomy scan yesterday and maybe, I could have written a post about how I just bought my first pink thing for our baby. A large part of me believes Abby would not have co-operated anyways and given up the goods… given that she wasn’t particularly fond of co-operating with ultrasound techs. We’ll never know.
I do want to say thanks for all the comments, texts, emails, and phone calls. I also want to say that I’m sorry for screening those calls and not responding to those texts and emails. I just don’t know what to say. It’s taken some time, but I’m gradually letting people in. It’s uncomfortable, but I feel like I need to do it. So please be patient with me. And some of you are “safer” than others, I hope you can understand that.
How am I doing? I don’t know.
Physically, I think I’m okay. The only thing that hurts consistently is my lower back/sciatic area. This is a part of my body that I struggle with on a regular basis, but I think my body is adjusting to things going back to being un-pregnant. I think I’m still struggling to build back my hemoglobin. Taking a shower pretty much knocks me on my ass. And I keep having bouts of low blood sugar or something.
Emotionally, I’m not okay. I don’t know how to fix myself. I’m indescribably sad… empty even. I miss the feeling of my baby growing inside of me. I never felt her move but it’s amazing how soon in the pregnancy that I felt her presence inside of me. And now there’s just this profound feeling of emptiness. Gone-ness. I just want that back. I want to be pregnant again. It’s hard to believe that Abby ever existed. Everything about her is gone. All the physical aspects of her presence in my body quickly went away. I was eating a chicken wing on Superbowl Sunday and it made me cry because Abby would never have let me eat a chicken wing! All of the baby stuff in our house was quickly tidied up and hidden. I stuffed my (some unworn) maternity clothes in a far corner of my closet. The apps were deleted from my phone, the appointments deleted from my calendar, I unsubscribed from all emails to do with pregnancy. With one quick wipe, it’s like she was never a part of our lives. Except for the little pewter, heart-shaped urn that holds her ashes and the death certificate that came with it. That’s all I have left of my little girl and it fucking sucks. Well, that’s not all I guess, because there’s all the memories that are stuck up in my head, all the plans, the living baby ultrasound pictures and her recorded heartbeat in my phone — all reminders of what could have been.
Before I got pregnant, I wondered is it better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all? I remember reading blogs of women who had miscarried and feeling jealous, because at least they had been able to get pregnant. Sick, isn’t it? To be jealous of a woman who has had her heart torn to pieces.
I had a dream a few days after Abby was lost. I dreamt that I was crossing the border into the U.S. and I had forgotten my passport. I spoke to the border guard and he said I could still cross, but only for 15 minutes. This hardly seemed like enough time and I tried to convince him to give me an hour, but he said only 15 minutes. I proceeded to try to get onto the boat that would take us across and I had a really hard time getting on the boat. I was afraid to fall into the water and I had to have someone pull me aboard. I couldn’t figure out why it was so difficult to get on this damn boat when no one else seemed to have this problem.
Why was I given a taste of my dreams coming true only to have it ripped away? What is the reason? What am I supposed to be learning? I feel like I was given a glimpse of what it’s like to be normal and then laughed at for thinking that things could actually go my way. When I thought our IVF cycle had failed, I wrote “I’m so used to failing at this fertility stuff, that succeeding just seems like something that happens to other people.” It would appear that success continues to elude me and this time it took my daughter’s life.
I don’t know if this is better.