Numbers and numbness
3.120.2700.54. 9. All these numbers hold a meaning. But let me start at the beginning, because they will make more sense that way.
Estes Park, CO is a beautiful place. It sits about 7500 feet above sea level, and on a good night,without the moon shining, you can see what seems like a million shooting stars. So one August night, curled up in a blanket to shield myself from the cool mountain breeze, as a star fell across the sky, I shut my eyes tight, held my breath and I wished for another life to join our family. I laughed off my wish as quickly as the star faded from the sky, because honestly as beautiful as the star streaming across the sky was, I knew that a wish is just that... a wish. We had a great vacation, but by the end of the vacation the altitude was certainly getting to me.. and me me wonder. Was it the altitude, or was it the magical shooting star flaming out across the sky carrying my wish with it? And the day we got home from vacation, we learned that my wish ( my many prayers ) had come true. Pregnant.
Elation. A smile that could not be erased. Wishes do come true.
The first week passed quickly and without fanfare. Work resumed, life resumed, but all the while I carried with me a secret that made the days a little brighter.
But then there was Spotting. And Google. Then More spotting. A call to the Doctor's office. Google. Wait...I'm sure all will be well.
Friday, September 19th. All day.. sick to my stomach. I felt terrible, which I could only see as a positive sign. I had a doctor's appointment and the first real indication that all may not be ok. The sonogram showed only a yolk sac, which either meant we were earlier than we thought, or things were not going to be ok. The doctor met with us, and spoke, with sympathy already in her eyes. "Chances?", we asked. "50/50"..she said " I'm sorry".
Monday, September 22. Red. Scary... not ok. Back to the doctor's office, where we were told that I was miscarrying... utter devastation, even when it's what I was expecting to hear. A sonogram was completed just to confirm what we already knew. Except.. it looks like something is moving. A more thorough sono was completed... 120 beats per minute. 120. A heart beat. And an irregular sac. 3. Low progesterone... supplements and bed rest were prescribed. It was now a battle between "lumpy" as we affectionately named the baby, and my body... who were clearly at odds with each other. No shooting stars that night.
Tuesday, September 23. Red. More red... calls to the doctor's office and a response to 'hang tight'. Cramps. Pain. The inherent knowledge that something was not ok. A call from the doctor's office. 2700..and dropping. Hcg, the pregnancy hormone, is dropping, and a miscarriage is inevitable. Please come see us.. now. A call to the husband and a rush to the office. Pain. Sonogram was next and showed what I knew was to come....the heart beat that rushed to our ears yesterday was fading and irregular. 54. The sac was lowering with every cramp as my body tried to push it from my body. The salty taste of tears down my cheeks. A hug from the doctor and an appointment at the hospital two hours later. "I'm so sorry"...
The next few hours were a whirlwind, a blur, and still don't seem real. A trip to the hospital, where medically I cared for my life and our chance at future life. And then home.. to bed. I remember waking up the next morning, still in a fog, hand on my belly, where it had been resting for a few weeks. I remember having a moment where I was still pregnant, where life was still growing inside of me.. and then I remembered. In a second a weight crashed down on my chest, where it still sits. Physically, my heart is still heavy... it still aches.
How does one mourn something that they never really knew? No really, I'm asking.. because I don't know the answer and I wish I did. Logically, I understand. I have a brain that favors science over fiction, so my brain understands. But my heart, my heart doesn't understand. My heart is sad. And mad. And disappointed. And scared. And did I mention mad? I guess like all grief I'll have to go through my stages, and I'm not to acceptance yet... I'm still in anger.
Life goes on.. and I'm going through the motions, but in every situation, in every moment I am surrounded by a fog that reminds me that things aren't ok yet. I'm sure they will be someday, but not yet. Someday this ache, this numbness, that has a hold of my heart will fade, but I don't think it will ever go away all the way.
The final # above is 9. 9 months from now is May, and in that future I was holding our child.. Truman's sibling and my husband's child. May will come and go, and there will be tears shed. Tears for a future that won't occur. But all I can hope for is a future where I can look 9 months into the future and see happiness again. So the next time I see a shooting star I'll close my eyes, hold my breath, say a silent prayer for the soul that never got to join us, and wish for a a future that does hold another member of our family.
(As a sidebar to all of this, I'd just like to say that without the support of my friends and family I wouldn't even be to a place yet that I'm ready to blog about this. And most importantly, without the love and support of my husband who has been there for every second, every emotion and accepted everything ( or nothing ) that I've had to offer, I wouldn't be upright yet. He is more than a good man.. he is a god send. )
Estes Park, CO is a beautiful place. It sits about 7500 feet above sea level, and on a good night,without the moon shining, you can see what seems like a million shooting stars. So one August night, curled up in a blanket to shield myself from the cool mountain breeze, as a star fell across the sky, I shut my eyes tight, held my breath and I wished for another life to join our family. I laughed off my wish as quickly as the star faded from the sky, because honestly as beautiful as the star streaming across the sky was, I knew that a wish is just that... a wish. We had a great vacation, but by the end of the vacation the altitude was certainly getting to me.. and me me wonder. Was it the altitude, or was it the magical shooting star flaming out across the sky carrying my wish with it? And the day we got home from vacation, we learned that my wish ( my many prayers ) had come true. Pregnant.
Elation. A smile that could not be erased. Wishes do come true.
The first week passed quickly and without fanfare. Work resumed, life resumed, but all the while I carried with me a secret that made the days a little brighter.
But then there was Spotting. And Google. Then More spotting. A call to the Doctor's office. Google. Wait...I'm sure all will be well.
Friday, September 19th. All day.. sick to my stomach. I felt terrible, which I could only see as a positive sign. I had a doctor's appointment and the first real indication that all may not be ok. The sonogram showed only a yolk sac, which either meant we were earlier than we thought, or things were not going to be ok. The doctor met with us, and spoke, with sympathy already in her eyes. "Chances?", we asked. "50/50"..she said " I'm sorry".
Monday, September 22. Red. Scary... not ok. Back to the doctor's office, where we were told that I was miscarrying... utter devastation, even when it's what I was expecting to hear. A sonogram was completed just to confirm what we already knew. Except.. it looks like something is moving. A more thorough sono was completed... 120 beats per minute. 120. A heart beat. And an irregular sac. 3. Low progesterone... supplements and bed rest were prescribed. It was now a battle between "lumpy" as we affectionately named the baby, and my body... who were clearly at odds with each other. No shooting stars that night.
Tuesday, September 23. Red. More red... calls to the doctor's office and a response to 'hang tight'. Cramps. Pain. The inherent knowledge that something was not ok. A call from the doctor's office. 2700..and dropping. Hcg, the pregnancy hormone, is dropping, and a miscarriage is inevitable. Please come see us.. now. A call to the husband and a rush to the office. Pain. Sonogram was next and showed what I knew was to come....the heart beat that rushed to our ears yesterday was fading and irregular. 54. The sac was lowering with every cramp as my body tried to push it from my body. The salty taste of tears down my cheeks. A hug from the doctor and an appointment at the hospital two hours later. "I'm so sorry"...
The next few hours were a whirlwind, a blur, and still don't seem real. A trip to the hospital, where medically I cared for my life and our chance at future life. And then home.. to bed. I remember waking up the next morning, still in a fog, hand on my belly, where it had been resting for a few weeks. I remember having a moment where I was still pregnant, where life was still growing inside of me.. and then I remembered. In a second a weight crashed down on my chest, where it still sits. Physically, my heart is still heavy... it still aches.
How does one mourn something that they never really knew? No really, I'm asking.. because I don't know the answer and I wish I did. Logically, I understand. I have a brain that favors science over fiction, so my brain understands. But my heart, my heart doesn't understand. My heart is sad. And mad. And disappointed. And scared. And did I mention mad? I guess like all grief I'll have to go through my stages, and I'm not to acceptance yet... I'm still in anger.
Life goes on.. and I'm going through the motions, but in every situation, in every moment I am surrounded by a fog that reminds me that things aren't ok yet. I'm sure they will be someday, but not yet. Someday this ache, this numbness, that has a hold of my heart will fade, but I don't think it will ever go away all the way.
The final # above is 9. 9 months from now is May, and in that future I was holding our child.. Truman's sibling and my husband's child. May will come and go, and there will be tears shed. Tears for a future that won't occur. But all I can hope for is a future where I can look 9 months into the future and see happiness again. So the next time I see a shooting star I'll close my eyes, hold my breath, say a silent prayer for the soul that never got to join us, and wish for a a future that does hold another member of our family.
(As a sidebar to all of this, I'd just like to say that without the support of my friends and family I wouldn't even be to a place yet that I'm ready to blog about this. And most importantly, without the love and support of my husband who has been there for every second, every emotion and accepted everything ( or nothing ) that I've had to offer, I wouldn't be upright yet. He is more than a good man.. he is a god send. )
Always & forever here. xxoo
ReplyDeleteOh my darling. You never have nothing to offer.
ReplyDelete