Part II
This post is just me whining and complaining about Part I. I won't feel bad if this never gets read, but I'm hoping it will be a cathartic experience just to write it all down.
Since the beginning of the month, when we found out the baby was gone, a lot of emotions have surfaced. Grief, denial, embarrassment, worry, doubt, anger, and a host of others. The biggest question is "Why"? Why, after all it took to even get pregnant did this happen to us? Only about 20% of medically recognized pregnancies end in miscarriage (more happen earlier, but happen so close to the time of a normal period, most people don't even know). Based on my age and health, I only had about a 10-15% chance of miscarriage. That means even worst case scenario, I had an 80% of a full term pregnancy. About 1 in 5 couples suffer from infertility. About 1 in 5 pregnancies end in miscarriage. Fate dealt us a bad hand.
I feel defeated. I feel foolish for getting so excited. Going through the infertility process tested what little faith I had. This blow has effectively shattered it. How can a God who bases His church on family and places so much emphasis on children, make it so difficult? Women in The Church are raised to believe that motherhood is what we need to strive for. It's ingrained as our identity. Men have the priesthood, women can become mothers. So not having children = no purpose or identity as a woman? Why is this one, most basic thing being denied?
We had it, we were there, and He took it away. I had no control over the chromosomal makeup of the child, but He did. He could have let us conceive a normal child that would have made it, but instead we get the short-end of the stick, again. There is nothing physically wrong with Doug or me, no medical reason we shouldn't already have two kids. What more can we do? We have done everything we can, it's in His hands. And this is how He takes care of us. Blessing in disguise? It sounds like an overused cliche by now. Can't I just get a blessing that looks, feels, and acts like a blessing?
I hate that people say, "You're young, you have plenty of time." Or, "I know someone that has had multiple miscarriages, and it took them 8 years to have a baby. So it could be worse." I don't mean to downgrade other's trials, but just because someone else may have "had it harder" doesn't make my pain any less real. My suffering any more bearable. I'm ready to throw in the towel, waive the white flag, and admit defeat. I don't want to "try" anymore. If we got pregnant again, I'd be even more paranoid about miscarriage, and if it happened again the pain would be double. It hurts less to be steadily sad, than to get excited and then have the drop of disappointment. I'm done with the roller coaster of emotions. If I just accept that having kids won't be a part of our family, I can move on and focus on other things. I can get a career, and work in a job that makes me happy instead of working just to earn money. We can plan trips to travel the world without worrying about making plans too far in advance and having to cancel because I'm pregnant.
I also hate the ambiguity of mourning a miscarriage. Most people won't even know it happened, but you're dying inside. You have to go on with life, and act like nothing happened unless you want to tell everyone you come in contact with about it. The pregnancy wasn't something tangible, it was a line on a pee stick and a picture on a screen. But the loss feels just as real as someone stealing our baby. There are people all around you who continue to have normal pregnancies, and you have to smile and congratulate them. Some of them know how lucky they are, others can't even fathom it.
I'm going to whip out my 5 year old vocabulary: Life is so unfair. So much injustice, and I'm supposed to turn my frown upside down. Grin and bear it. Find a positive side. Take this trial and become stronger from it. Pray for comfort, since I can't pray to have my baby back I have to pray "for the strength to overcome." Maybe one day I will, but that day is not today. <insert Lord of the Rings meme here>. I'm bitter and angry, but those emotions fuel me so I have the strength to get out of bed in the morning. I know I can't hold on to these feelings forever, it would drive a person mad. But right now, it's all I can muster up.
I feel defeated. I feel foolish for getting so excited. Going through the infertility process tested what little faith I had. This blow has effectively shattered it. How can a God who bases His church on family and places so much emphasis on children, make it so difficult? Women in The Church are raised to believe that motherhood is what we need to strive for. It's ingrained as our identity. Men have the priesthood, women can become mothers. So not having children = no purpose or identity as a woman? Why is this one, most basic thing being denied?
We had it, we were there, and He took it away. I had no control over the chromosomal makeup of the child, but He did. He could have let us conceive a normal child that would have made it, but instead we get the short-end of the stick, again. There is nothing physically wrong with Doug or me, no medical reason we shouldn't already have two kids. What more can we do? We have done everything we can, it's in His hands. And this is how He takes care of us. Blessing in disguise? It sounds like an overused cliche by now. Can't I just get a blessing that looks, feels, and acts like a blessing?
I hate that people say, "You're young, you have plenty of time." Or, "I know someone that has had multiple miscarriages, and it took them 8 years to have a baby. So it could be worse." I don't mean to downgrade other's trials, but just because someone else may have "had it harder" doesn't make my pain any less real. My suffering any more bearable. I'm ready to throw in the towel, waive the white flag, and admit defeat. I don't want to "try" anymore. If we got pregnant again, I'd be even more paranoid about miscarriage, and if it happened again the pain would be double. It hurts less to be steadily sad, than to get excited and then have the drop of disappointment. I'm done with the roller coaster of emotions. If I just accept that having kids won't be a part of our family, I can move on and focus on other things. I can get a career, and work in a job that makes me happy instead of working just to earn money. We can plan trips to travel the world without worrying about making plans too far in advance and having to cancel because I'm pregnant.
I also hate the ambiguity of mourning a miscarriage. Most people won't even know it happened, but you're dying inside. You have to go on with life, and act like nothing happened unless you want to tell everyone you come in contact with about it. The pregnancy wasn't something tangible, it was a line on a pee stick and a picture on a screen. But the loss feels just as real as someone stealing our baby. There are people all around you who continue to have normal pregnancies, and you have to smile and congratulate them. Some of them know how lucky they are, others can't even fathom it.
I'm going to whip out my 5 year old vocabulary: Life is so unfair. So much injustice, and I'm supposed to turn my frown upside down. Grin and bear it. Find a positive side. Take this trial and become stronger from it. Pray for comfort, since I can't pray to have my baby back I have to pray "for the strength to overcome." Maybe one day I will, but that day is not today. <insert Lord of the Rings meme here>. I'm bitter and angry, but those emotions fuel me so I have the strength to get out of bed in the morning. I know I can't hold on to these feelings forever, it would drive a person mad. But right now, it's all I can muster up.
It got read! And I don't know if it helps at all to hear this, but I get angry too. I was (am) mad that this happened repeatedly to H&D and I'm mad that you & D now are going through it too. It's beyond sucky and far into the realm of heartbreaking. Hope can be devastating and I totally get what you mean by feeling foolish and embarrassed for even letting yourself hope (but you *shouldn't* because it was a great thing to hope for and not at all your fault that the hope crashed down around you, ... but "valid" or not it is how I would feel, too). It can hurt to hope.
ReplyDeleteOh! And I completely agree with your observation about people trying to compare what happens to you to other people's misfortunes. It's like they are, certainly unintentionally but still!, belittling your pain, or dismissing it, or invalidating it. So RUDE! I wish you could say to them, "I don't care right now what other people may be suffering because in this particular moment in time it is about ME and MY pain, disappointment, frustration, and anger. And my feelings are valid and legitimate, too. They don't have to be measured against other people's in order to be important." There simply is no comparison. There shouldn't be.
I love you, Liz.