Last April I had a dream that I was pregnant.
I had never been pregnant naturally before.
My twins are IVF, and never had I been pregnant other than with them.
So it seemed completely unrealistic,
especially considering we were not at all trying or hoping for a third child.
And besides, a dream is a dream!
I wrote to some school friends, jokingly brought up how I was eating uncontrollably
and exhausted, saying I must be depressed. And funnily enough, I did mention the dream to them.
A good friend half-jokingly said I must be pregnant. He asked if I had checked or not.
How I could be pregnant was beyond me.
But strangely enough, I checked, once, and then again.
Pregnant and pregnant. The result was conclusive.
There was confusion in my mind, doubt in my ability to manage a baby 10 years after the premature twins. I was exhausted enough.
But then, I realized what a gift I had just been given. I started to look at it differently. I was happy. The kids were overjoyed. They were elated.
I refuse to keep such things secret anymore, so I told my family and many of my friends.
How I didn’t think my dream was a premonition or a warning I don’t know! How obvious it was though that I was pregnant, because there was already nausea within the first few weeks, in retrospect, is always ridiculous.
Then things turned.
I was falling apart,
most notably, my physical health.
I was vomiting day and night,
exhausted beyond anything I’d ever experienced,
and then I was finally hospitalized for dehydration.
There was a fleeting moment where it felt
as though it was down to my life or that of this new life. I didn’t have the courage to make such a decision. I didn’t think I had to.
Eventually, it was made for me.
“There’s no heartbeat,” we were told at the 12 week check up.
I have this interesting way, which is quite natural for humans in the face of adversity I believe, to become extremely matter of fact when there is anything urgent, stressful, or devastating to manage.
So, I did what I had to do with little emotion expressed.
As we do naturally, we do what we have to and then allow the emotions to come through later. But in the past, I always had the tendency to suppress feeling and avoid looking at anything not only during but also after the situation.
But this time, I allowed myself to feel whatever it was I would.
The loss of that unborn baby ripped me apart.
The memory, the pain, still comes in waves.
How often it is, that the story of the miscarriage is suppressed.
Even in this day. It is hidden because of shame, or because it’s not important enough to mention, perhaps.
Why is it that we are told not to share with others, that we are pregnant until the three month mark? Is it because it’s shameful to have a miscarriage?
I actually felt supported by my friends and family while going through mine. And the number of women who opened up to me about their own miscarriage stories made me realize just how prevalent, how painful, and important it is to discuss and support others who are going through one.
My feelings after, were all over the place.
After the physical health was back under checks, it was the mental health that needed following up on.
Oh there was relief, there was pain, and grief
In the shame, the guilt, and the blame,
Between healing walks along the beach, tears rolling down.
Uncontrollable resentment, bringing me and others around me down.
The never ending internal chattering.
Story after story.
Over and over.
For no one but myself.
The magnificent view of the sea, sitting at the beach, being in the pool,
Water became a healing tool.
It came naturally.
I was drawn to the water.
I couldn’t live a day without it.
The loss of that baby, it was a sacrifice, made for me.
To live on,
A few more years, during which time,
I am to live my best life possible,
to feel joy
to try new things,
In this life,