Geeky Talks
Looking back and the archives I’m thankful for
If ever you think you want top blogging, or wonder why you do it, and I know you will, I have something for you: You used to write well back when you started and then you got busy and forgot and now you write shit. So keep those archives handy, ok?
Also, because one day you just might be glad you blogged through your entire miscarriage experience so you can sit with a friend and empathize in a way you might not remember three years later.
I was doing just this very thing, fishing around my miscarriage archives, when I looked up, teary, at my husband.
“Didn’t we get baby O out of the deal later?” he asks.
“Yes, he was the baby after the one we lost,” I reply remembering back to the cycle I missed after the miscarriage. It was my pregnancy with my second born. It was a complete shock.
“Are you glad you have your archives to remember this, though? Is it easier to read knowing it came out ok?” He is honestly asking.
“No.” My voice wavers. “It still sucks.”
And it does. No matter how many children you birth or how fantastic your job/house/holland trip/children are, when you look back at those four weeks of life, it still stings just a little bit.
Which is why we can empathize with a miscarriaging mom.
So, here in order, is my story of the miscarriage. I hope this helps someone else one day. And I hope you never live through that again but enjoy the smell of your next newborn soon.
The first positive home test which is certainly not the last.
The over-sharing to all people, strangers included.
The official “what to watch for” list I was sent home with. *characters are messed up here. This entry was imported.
Vaginal Sonogram Fun For the Family
Nothing says miscarriage like an Elmo DVD, Kleenex and a bottle of Vodka.
When the universe craps on you, grab some toilet paper.
Thoughts on God (Featuring proof that Jenny - The Bloggess commented here and I loved her first. Neener Neener and wow, I know you’re all seething in jealousy right now.)
Activity as Normal (AKA: When we made baby O)
It was hard. That time in life isn’t the most fun, although I get how “normal” it is. But watching your blood pass, waiting for your baby to leave, wanting to at least get a glimpse of the tissue so you can, as cheesy as it sounds, say good-bye, is something you hope nobody experiences. But when they do, it’s best to send lots of love and chocolate.
And hope for next time.
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As much as it sucks for you to have had to go through the entire awful (and how could the word awful even begin to encompass it) experience, I’m glad that your friend who’s losing a baby at least has you to comfort her with some knowledge of what she’s going through.
Thank you for your honest and open account - and please know that your friend is in my thoughts and prayers.
Sending out some psychic hugs, too, because going over painful memories should always get you hugs.
And a little bit of booze.
*HUGS*
What a timely and beautiful post. Thanks for sharing your story. I’ve lost two pregnancies this year and can relate to your story. October 15th is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day. I’ll be thinking of you and all the other women who have had to endure this pain.
Sixty plus years ago my late mother had a miscarriage, hence the six years difference in age between my brother and me. All she said
when asked about it “It was a sad situation.” Those five words live with me to this day. I asked my aunt what happened. Evidently one day my mom told her she “didn’t feel life inside” her anymore.”
Fast forward to a forum I used to read where someone’s sister lost one twin, while the other was born fine. They did not know what to do, the hospital was going to “dispose” of it. A nurse on the forum snapped to attention and led them by the hand, urging them to do a proper funeral with a proper burial with a proper name. The family, who couldn’t think straight, was endlessly grateful.
This came to mind as I read your posts about miscarriage. And this is my two cents I would have offered to you, had I known about your blog.
Name the baby that meant so much to you, maybe you already had and I missed that part. Send away for one of those stars that can be named after your children. Plant a tree or rose bush somewhere special, maybe in a park with a little plaque “In the Memory of”. This was a very special baby to you. It deserves a bit of recognition just as you and your husband do for being its loving parents for the time it was with you. Love is eternal and timeless. It’s powerful stuff.
I was fishing around recently trying to find the letter I wrote to the baby I miscarried in 2005. I couldn’t locate it, sadly. There are so many things about the miscarriage I remember clearly, though, and agree with you about waiting for that sign of tissue to say goodbye. I remember that moment most of all.
While having Jack took the focus off of the sadness and what I lost, it’s still there somewhat. I don’t think I mourn for the loss of the child (I feel like I got the child, just a little later) - it’s more that I can feel that emptiness and loss and devastation just barely under the surface. I mourn the loss of naivete (as I was stressed out during my pregnancy with Jack) and the pre-miscarriage me. That loss affected and changed me in so many ways and it was a rough process.
Anyway, I’m glad you shared this. I think it’s important. I felt so alone when it happened to me and don’t wish it on anyone.
I LOVE that you’re sharing these posts again—the help they might provide to someone else who needs it surely must add a new layer of “it sucks and it will always suck, but at least SOMETHING good came out of it.” It takes a pretty giving soul to bring them back out again. Kudos.
Your words are healing and I hope you never stop blogging.