Updated: Dec 15, 2020
The response to my last post was absolutely overwhelming. Genuinely. Over a thousand people have read it and I would guess at least 10 per cent have got in contact to offer support. It’s given Eamo and I a feeling of love and hope that I know we have both clung to tight this week. For all of that, I cannot thank you enough.
Time is working its magic, however I was back in the doctors this week as my body clearly still doesn’t know its ass from its elbow. And without wanting to be too graphic, every visit to the toilet at the moment is a constant reminder of what happened a couple of months ago. So a visit to the GP, another internal examination, swabs and more tests later and my mind is struggling to keep a hold on all the thoughts of what might be going on.
I struggled a lot with involuntary thoughts when Rex was a baby. For a time my brain would play the most vivid, hideous scenes, almost all of which would end in either Rex or I leaving one without the other, or worst still, Eamo without either of us. They are the absolute worst.
A lot of therapy helped me get a hold on them, but I still haven’t mastered catching and stopping negative thoughts in their tracks. And how my brain is dealing with this miscarriage is a prime example. When the doctor asked what kind of things I’ve been thinking, I think even she was impressed to what lengths my mind has gone.
Highlights were/are mainly that my almost 40-year-old womb’s egg timer is up, Eamo will leave because we can’t have anymore kids, and actually, the more I think about it, he should because he might have a chance to have a baby with someone who isn’t a fucking lunatic. I could go on. Inventive, aren’t I?
My logical brain tells me that none of what’s happening with my body right now is in my control, that I need to give it a fucking break after everything that has happened and I should stop tormenting myself. But that doesn’t stop my brain doing it, annoyingly. The whole thing is just like the pregnancy, where I was just left in a state of limbo, waiting for my body to decide what the future holds. To say I feel vulnerable is a massive understatement.
Happy but sad
In better news this week, two of my friends, one of which who has also suffered terribly at the hands of miscarriage, have been in touch to say they are pregnant again. Both times I cried, not through happiness for them, but sadness for me. I’m sorry, I know that makes me the world’s most awful human. But I couldn’t help it. While I genuinely couldn’t be happier about the news for both of them, my initial feeling was that of overwhelming sadness.
I very guiltily confided in Gem about this recently and, having had her own issues conceiving, she likened pregnancy news for me right now to that of ‘being kicked in the fanny’. While I get being kicked in the lady bits would be a different kind of pain, I totally get the reference. The conflict you feel, being so happy for someone else and yet so sad for yourself, is difficult to both reason with and explain. I’m not going to lie, knowing Gem had felt a similar way made me feel a lot less ‘dreadful human’ and much more that how I’m responding to pregnancy in general right now is a normal reaction.
I made a bit of a promise to myself earlier this week, to give myself as much time and as many blog posts as I need to grieve and work my way through this miscarriage. I feel things right now that dictate my writing can’t really convey anything other that that of sadness. But if the last two years has taught me anything, it’s that finding the humour in life when the shit hits the fan is one of the best remedies. For me, anyway. It may not always seem appropriate, but if it’s a choice between laughing and crying, I know which option I’m choosing every time.
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