It’s happening all over again. This miscarriage is different from the last one. Yesterday afternoon my husband and I were on our way to a party up in the mountains. I started cramping; the cramps were very strong. I called my CNM’s answering service and she called me back moments later. “Drink a few quarts of water and lie down” were her instructions. I figured that instead of just assuming the worst that we would continue up to the party where I would “drink a few quarts of water” but sit down. We were following friends up to the party, and they were not aware of what was going on and did not know that I was pregnant. As soon as we got out of the car I felt the blood. Once inside the door I rushed to the restroom. I saw fresh pink blood all over my liner. I ran out of the house in tears. GREAT! And now everyone probably knows what happened to me. Our friends definitely do . . .
We went to the hospital as instructed. My cervix was closed and hcg levels were good (11,000) but the ultrasound implied an empty 5 week gestational sac. What really stinks is that it’s possible that the fetus was “hiding”. But the fact remains that I bled a lot yesterday and continue to bleed today.
I was supposed to see my chiropractor this morning. I called in to her office, and they encouraged me to come when I felt like it. I went in around 10am – don’t know what it is about my chiropractor and the excellent care I receive there, but I often feel more vulnerable when I’m there with her. This morning was no exception – I bawled. She suggested that I schedule a massage with her recommended therapist which made me cry even harder. How am I supposed to pay for the chiropractic treatments, the hospital bills (both my husband & I have been there in the past month), all of my homeopathic self help, AND now I’m supposed to treat myself to massages? I feel completely conflicted because she told me that she is paying for my massage today. And of course I cried even more when she said that.
It’s also dreadful giving this news to friends and family members. It’s even hard to talk about this with my new internet friends. It’s hard to involve myself with birth-related work. It’s difficult to see people’s chat messages that grieve for others – not that it’s invalid . . . but it hurts. I had good talks this morning with my mom and my best girlfriend here in town.
I’m at home today. Can’t conceive of teaching. But I hate being here at home. I hate this space, this town, this weather, my body. I hate caring. I hate wanting. I hate grieving. I hate living one moment at a time. I hate not looking forward. I hate looking back. I hate remembering. I hate feeling anything.