Hmm... how to write this post. I suppose I should begin with the obvious statement that pretty much everyone knew but me: I'm not okay. I said I was okay. I was quite convinced of it myself. But things started sneaking up on me, things that I didn't plan, and my iron-clad plan of being totally-okay-at-all-times-no-matter-what started to fail. I should provide a week+ in review.
After Dr. Robot delivered the news a week and a half ago that there was no heartbeat, I didn't cry. Instead, I went back to work in a complete daze and, a few hours later, left with my coworker for a quickie business trip. Emotions? What emotions? Instead of thinking or feeling, I had no choice but to enjoy the company and the state of Michigan. I suppose I could have called off the trip but I opted for distraction. That was Thursday and Friday. On Saturday, my first unoccupied day, I crashed. I was hugely, impossibly depressed. I laid on the couch, watched Hoarders* and, when the spirit moved me, cried and made more tea.
*Hoarders is an incredible show to watch when you're feeling sad. It is the only place where you can watch truly mentally ill people on television. It makes you feel like you have your shit together. I kept telling J that I was going to start collecting things. He was only somewhat amused by this. Hoarding: Buried Alive is a pale imitation of Hoarders and is generally a total crap show. Avoid.
Sunday I felt much better and life resumed. Monday I began "positive bleeding" and was actually quite proud that my body was figuring things out for itself. I was relieved to not have to make a decision about a D&C. Work was insanely busy and left me racing through the week, changing my maxi pads (it's like the 1950s in my pants, no tampons), and answering thousands of emails. At moments where I got to pause, I even felt happy, reminding myself that I did indeed get pregnant. I do still focus on this positive aspect. On Saturday, as with the previous Saturday, I crashed again though not quite as hard. Picked myself up on Sunday, had a lovely day where I laughed and felt very nearly normal, and then life intervened. My cousin announced her pregnancy. I realized with horror that my whole "okayness" scheme hinged on nobody getting pregnant ever again. Perhaps not a fool-proof plan.
Here's the thing. My cousin absolutely deserves to get pregnant. She has spent much of her adult life helping her parents care for her developmentally disabled brother and thought for many years that his was all the care taking she could manage. She met and married an incredible guy who has wholeheartedly accepted that her brother is an integral part of their marriage, and all of a sudden having a family became a possibility. And now she's 12 weeks pregnant and that is wonderful. Only a year and a half of infertility and actively miscarrying has sucked out my soul. I have almost no ability to share in other people's joy over pregnancy. I can intellectually acknowledge that happy things are happening to them but simultaneously I feel completely and heartbreakingly empty. Unbearably sad, envious and furious with the universe. It doesn't feel like the me that I know. At horrible moments in this difficult journey, I completely lose myself. I know that I need to give myself a break. Nine days is not a reasonable amount of time to expect to heal from losing the first glimmer of a baby you've ever had. There's just no speedy recovery from losing a second heartbeat that you've grown yourself. I think I need to reframe my "okayness" plan. From now on okay is a relative state. Time will heal and my anger and disappointment will fade. The me that I know will come back, perhaps a little wind beaten and with any luck, stronger.