The warm weather is absolutely contagious. If there is a time of the year that I am happiest, it's usually now. I can't say I'm happy exactly. Waking up every day is a difficult struggle for me, but there are wonderful windows of time when I can just embrace the sunshine, leave the nightmares of home behind, and tuck away the pain for a little peace.
I will have to be honest here, what to many is a healthy desire for some needed fresh air and activity, isn't such a healthy desire for me. It may seem that way, but deep down, my need to exercise goes beyond healthy. I'm a work in progress though and activity is a good thing regardless of my intentions. I would much rather be too active than not active enough.
With school and work and spring rains I am limited on the amount of days I get to get out and enjoy a long walk, jog, or otherwise, but to my delight I am loving every moment I get. This time last year, I had just started losing weight. I was still over 200 lbs. I was just starting to feel the effects of losing weight and the gradual increase in my ability to do things, but truth is, I still couldn't do a lot of things like I wanted.
Fast forward a year. I am at a normal weight now. I am still unhappy with my body and I still struggle with the idea that I am still heavy. I didn't think that I would struggle with that, but I do. My identity has been plus sized for so long, that it's hard to shake that and embrace the person I am now. I am just now starting to realize and appreciate some of the changes in my body's ability to move.
Today I rode a bicycle for the first time since I was a kid. I have had that bike for a year, but last year it was uncomfortable and physically I wasn't quite up to snuff yet. This year, I have been so fearful of trying again and failing. I finally took a chance today, got the bike in working order and pedaled off for about twenty minutes before I had to come back in to take care of dinner. It felt so great!
After dinner I went to church and took my kids outside. I chased them around for the better part of an hour, running, jumping, climbing. It took me by surprise. I love being able to keep up with the kids and interact with them on a different level. I love that I jog to my car now, or sprint up the stairs. I used to trudge up the stairs, winded at the top.
I am telling you all this, because I remember. I remember that conversation with my doctor. He looked at me very seriously after a couple of years of devastating attempts to have a child and said, "I think we need to talk about your weight." My doctor was wonderfully sensitive and kind. In fact he didn't even discuss weight with me until my health took a very precarious turn. I look back now and realize he probably should have talked to me sooner. The feelings I had were horrible. I was embarrassed and angry. I knew he was right, but I couldn't admit to myself that I was one of the primary reasons for my childlessness. When I started losing weight I was a bit spiteful even, saying frequently that I would prove everyone wrong. Then Espe came...
I know how hard it is. Hormones fight against any weight loss like a strong current against a spawning salmon. It's slow, frustrating, and uncomfortable. For every success, there seem to be a dozen failures. There are tears, pain, and fear. Still, I would do it all over again. I have some tendencies that made this journey more challenging than some. It doesn't matter. I would still do it again. I realize that you have to find a place within yourself to finally commit to it, but I just wanted to throw this out there. There are other's out there in my situation. I want you to know, if you ever grasp even a tiny corner of the things you need to motivate you, hold on tightly and take the chance.
I'm not sure that my body will ever work properly again. Espe could have just been a chance miracle. I will never see him as anything less than a miracle. Still, I find so much peace in my situation knowing that I have done everything possible. Even more than that, I love what I have given myself in the meantime. I have a new life. For so long all I could focus on was making it from one test to another. Rarely was anything I did about myself and my own health and happiness. I can say, this one thing is for me and it's something I don't have to feel guilty or selfish about.
**** I want to make it understood. I realize that weight loss isn't the answer for everyone. I know there are tons of overweight women out there having babies every day. This is about me and my journey. We are all different.
Sunday, April 21, 2013
Friday, April 19, 2013
No Class
The semester is finally almost over for me. I have really struggled to keep up the motivation to finish out the semester. I only took two classes, but it has still proven difficult. I have a class on Monday night that has become my worst nightmare. The class is easy and would even be fun under normal circumstances. It's a tiny class. We have five people in the class, all girls. One of the girls just happens to be very pregnant.
I made the mistake of telling the girls in the class that I was pregnant. I was just so excited. I finally felt like a real person. The pregnant girl and another girl in class talked constantly about their kids. It was great to share my news with them, but it was so hard going back to class after I lost him. I felt ashamed. I know there isn't any reason for me to feel that way, but my heart seems to run on guilt and shame.
At first everyone was ok. No one said anything, which is what I needed. I work best when I can separate painful things from everyday life. The first day I went back, the pregnant girl was not there. She was sick. The second class, there she was. She was about 6 and a half months pregnant with number 3 and she was miserable.
She is like so many people that I have met over the years that take the mere act of getting pregnant for granted. I don't fault them for it. If I had been able to get pregnant easily and quickly, I may have been that way too. It doesn't make it any less painful.
We started a unit on classroom drama. We acted out a story over several weeks involving the Oregon Trail. One of the activities was a "campfire time". We would sit around and tell stories about how we came to be on the trail and about some of our treasures we brought with us. It was all made up, but there was a baby blanket from a lost child and stories of families and babies lost. I now leave that class every week crying.
Last week the pregnant girl came in hobbling, barely able to walk. She was 8 months pregnant and far beyond miserable. She complained the entire class about how awful she felt, how painful it was, how much the baby moved. I almost decided not to go back to class after that night. Her imminent labor was the only thing that helped me continue. This past Monday she wasn't back. I'm pretty sure she won't be back for the last two classes either.
I never said a word, but it really bothered me to hear everyone babble on about babies and such every week as if I wasn't in the room. I could understand maybe if it was a full class, but honestly, shouldn't the teacher elicit a bit of sensitivity?
I feel so horrible. I hate that I had such anger towards that girl from class. I really did though. I had to leave the room several times to avoid a confrontation. I just wanted to scream at her - at the whole lot of them. I wanted to tell her what I would give to feel my baby kick my ribs. I wanted her to understand to what lengths I would go to have Braxton hicks contractions or any of the other things she experienced. It hurt so much to see her so unhappy about something I would sacrifice everything to have.
I know it isn't her fault. We were taken down different paths in life. I don't know how I will feel in the 8th month of pregnancy if I ever get there, so I have no right to be angry with her. I simply miss my baby to the very deepest parts of my soul and I hate the unfairness of it all.
This isn't the only situation I've been in. I'm pretty sensitive to a lot of things still. It frustrates me how insensitive people can be. They aren't intentionally that way. They are wrapped up head to toe in their families and their lives. I hope I can be just as wrapped up in my child's life someday, but I pray that I will never ever forget that there may be people silently hurting around me. I hope I am forever cognizant of other people's situations.
I made the mistake of telling the girls in the class that I was pregnant. I was just so excited. I finally felt like a real person. The pregnant girl and another girl in class talked constantly about their kids. It was great to share my news with them, but it was so hard going back to class after I lost him. I felt ashamed. I know there isn't any reason for me to feel that way, but my heart seems to run on guilt and shame.
At first everyone was ok. No one said anything, which is what I needed. I work best when I can separate painful things from everyday life. The first day I went back, the pregnant girl was not there. She was sick. The second class, there she was. She was about 6 and a half months pregnant with number 3 and she was miserable.
She is like so many people that I have met over the years that take the mere act of getting pregnant for granted. I don't fault them for it. If I had been able to get pregnant easily and quickly, I may have been that way too. It doesn't make it any less painful.
We started a unit on classroom drama. We acted out a story over several weeks involving the Oregon Trail. One of the activities was a "campfire time". We would sit around and tell stories about how we came to be on the trail and about some of our treasures we brought with us. It was all made up, but there was a baby blanket from a lost child and stories of families and babies lost. I now leave that class every week crying.
Last week the pregnant girl came in hobbling, barely able to walk. She was 8 months pregnant and far beyond miserable. She complained the entire class about how awful she felt, how painful it was, how much the baby moved. I almost decided not to go back to class after that night. Her imminent labor was the only thing that helped me continue. This past Monday she wasn't back. I'm pretty sure she won't be back for the last two classes either.
I never said a word, but it really bothered me to hear everyone babble on about babies and such every week as if I wasn't in the room. I could understand maybe if it was a full class, but honestly, shouldn't the teacher elicit a bit of sensitivity?
I feel so horrible. I hate that I had such anger towards that girl from class. I really did though. I had to leave the room several times to avoid a confrontation. I just wanted to scream at her - at the whole lot of them. I wanted to tell her what I would give to feel my baby kick my ribs. I wanted her to understand to what lengths I would go to have Braxton hicks contractions or any of the other things she experienced. It hurt so much to see her so unhappy about something I would sacrifice everything to have.
I know it isn't her fault. We were taken down different paths in life. I don't know how I will feel in the 8th month of pregnancy if I ever get there, so I have no right to be angry with her. I simply miss my baby to the very deepest parts of my soul and I hate the unfairness of it all.
This isn't the only situation I've been in. I'm pretty sensitive to a lot of things still. It frustrates me how insensitive people can be. They aren't intentionally that way. They are wrapped up head to toe in their families and their lives. I hope I can be just as wrapped up in my child's life someday, but I pray that I will never ever forget that there may be people silently hurting around me. I hope I am forever cognizant of other people's situations.
Friday, March 22, 2013
Failure
As a kid, one of my favorite stories was Peter Pan. I don't think I was a normal kid. I didn't ever want to be a grown up. It seemed horrible to me. I fantasized about being swept away by a kid in green to a place where I never had to grow up. I loved Peter. In terms of super heroes, he was magical and magnificent to me. There was one thing I never understood about him though. I never could figure out why in this world he wanted so badly for that stupid shadow to be sewn back onto his foot. It used to frustrate me and I would often fast forward past it on the video.
Lately, I feel as if I have my own shadow. It has brought back memories of Peter and his refusal to let go of that silly shadow. Failure seems tethered to every aspect of my life lately. Rationally, I know that many of the things I count as failures are things far beyond my control, but it doesn't stop the darkness from creeping closer and closer to my heart. This is one shadow I have always had. I never felt even at a very early age that my best always fell short of the mark. I never manage to get enough done for enough people and I never seem to do any of it the way it should be done.
In my teens this eventually triggered my eating disorder. It was one way that I could be good enough. It was also a perfect breeding ground for the abuse I inflicted on myself when I felt I had failed once again. I could almost always find something I had failed at in my eyes. A missed quiz question, a botched scale in music, a misguided comment to a friend; anything no matter how trivial, resulted in restriction and punishment back then.
Fast forward 15 years and not much has changed. For years I let my food intake run rampant, but it never stopped the feelings of failure and punishment. For the past year however, I am right back in high school, every calorie awarded on a scale of failures and successes. I attributed a lot of that to the meds I was on, the emotional nightmare I entered when my student got sick, the insanely unhealthy schedule I was keeping, and the lack of sleep that ensued. I thought once I worked through all those things, the demons would dissolve.
Since the baby, I have been off my meds. My schedule is much easier to manage and I have opportunities to sleep. While not at peace completely, I am in a better place with the loss of my student, and I'm healthier thanks to my improved diet while pregnant and the introduction of vitamins. I also had a drive and determination to keep myself healthy in anticipation for our next pregnancy. There was hope.
Something happened. I don't know what set it off. I feel as if I am spiraling downward into a bottomless hole again. I have no desire to eat or take care of myself. I cry a lot. I put most of my energy into painting on a mask of okay for everyone, but on the inside and when I'm alone, I am a shattered fragment of what I pretend to be. My food demons are raging right now and the shadow of failure is suffocating me. I don't know what to do.
This experience has really brought to light how much infertility weighs on my heart. I tell myself over and over - I know - conception is something beyond my control. Still, I feel so much guilt, failure, inadequacy, and pain over it. I think it did play at least a part in the reappearance of my food issues. I feel like I have failed my husband, my family, myself, our future, and most of all God. I feel like maybe I have done something wrong, or I never live up to His expectations. I feel like He is punishing me or just ignoring my pleas.
Sometimes in those really dark moments of grief, I wonder if maybe God decided that my being a mother was just a bad idea. Perhaps he decided that it was better if I didn't parent Espe after all. Maybe I angered him to the point that He took him from me. My food demons like to tell me that I was too gluttonous and self-indulgent. My moral demons like to point out some of the poor choices I made like drinking at a party a week before I finally tested or the smoking, or even the thoughts I had about certain people and things going on. I know I internalize my pain and grief. I always have. This is beyond anything I've ever experienced though. There are days I wake up and cry, wishing I had never opened my eyes. There are nights I go to sleep praying I won't open them the next morning. I don't want to be the person I am now. If I can't have Espe here with me, then I want to be with him there.
I know these are horrible thoughts to most. I realize they make most people squirm uncomfortably, but I can't stop them. I can't make myself un-think them. I don't want them there anymore than anyone else would. I would never act on these thoughts, but they still linger in the darkness, just another shadow sewn to my foot. It makes me wonder what shadow Peter was clinging so tightly to.
Lately, I feel as if I have my own shadow. It has brought back memories of Peter and his refusal to let go of that silly shadow. Failure seems tethered to every aspect of my life lately. Rationally, I know that many of the things I count as failures are things far beyond my control, but it doesn't stop the darkness from creeping closer and closer to my heart. This is one shadow I have always had. I never felt even at a very early age that my best always fell short of the mark. I never manage to get enough done for enough people and I never seem to do any of it the way it should be done.
In my teens this eventually triggered my eating disorder. It was one way that I could be good enough. It was also a perfect breeding ground for the abuse I inflicted on myself when I felt I had failed once again. I could almost always find something I had failed at in my eyes. A missed quiz question, a botched scale in music, a misguided comment to a friend; anything no matter how trivial, resulted in restriction and punishment back then.
Fast forward 15 years and not much has changed. For years I let my food intake run rampant, but it never stopped the feelings of failure and punishment. For the past year however, I am right back in high school, every calorie awarded on a scale of failures and successes. I attributed a lot of that to the meds I was on, the emotional nightmare I entered when my student got sick, the insanely unhealthy schedule I was keeping, and the lack of sleep that ensued. I thought once I worked through all those things, the demons would dissolve.
Since the baby, I have been off my meds. My schedule is much easier to manage and I have opportunities to sleep. While not at peace completely, I am in a better place with the loss of my student, and I'm healthier thanks to my improved diet while pregnant and the introduction of vitamins. I also had a drive and determination to keep myself healthy in anticipation for our next pregnancy. There was hope.
Something happened. I don't know what set it off. I feel as if I am spiraling downward into a bottomless hole again. I have no desire to eat or take care of myself. I cry a lot. I put most of my energy into painting on a mask of okay for everyone, but on the inside and when I'm alone, I am a shattered fragment of what I pretend to be. My food demons are raging right now and the shadow of failure is suffocating me. I don't know what to do.
This experience has really brought to light how much infertility weighs on my heart. I tell myself over and over - I know - conception is something beyond my control. Still, I feel so much guilt, failure, inadequacy, and pain over it. I think it did play at least a part in the reappearance of my food issues. I feel like I have failed my husband, my family, myself, our future, and most of all God. I feel like maybe I have done something wrong, or I never live up to His expectations. I feel like He is punishing me or just ignoring my pleas.
Sometimes in those really dark moments of grief, I wonder if maybe God decided that my being a mother was just a bad idea. Perhaps he decided that it was better if I didn't parent Espe after all. Maybe I angered him to the point that He took him from me. My food demons like to tell me that I was too gluttonous and self-indulgent. My moral demons like to point out some of the poor choices I made like drinking at a party a week before I finally tested or the smoking, or even the thoughts I had about certain people and things going on. I know I internalize my pain and grief. I always have. This is beyond anything I've ever experienced though. There are days I wake up and cry, wishing I had never opened my eyes. There are nights I go to sleep praying I won't open them the next morning. I don't want to be the person I am now. If I can't have Espe here with me, then I want to be with him there.
I know these are horrible thoughts to most. I realize they make most people squirm uncomfortably, but I can't stop them. I can't make myself un-think them. I don't want them there anymore than anyone else would. I would never act on these thoughts, but they still linger in the darkness, just another shadow sewn to my foot. It makes me wonder what shadow Peter was clinging so tightly to.
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
And down again
The rate at which I can fall catches me by surprise most of the time. I will be okay. I will be coping and smiling through the day. I will cling to hope and feel a tiny bit of peace settle in my heart. Then without warning Wham! Something out of the blue blindsides me and I fall hard and fast. I feel so sorry for all the yo-yos I've played with in my life. Up and down and up again. At least for them it was predictable most of the time.
I feel detached most of the time from the reality of what happened. It's like a dream or something that happened far away from where I am. It is my coping mechanism. I shut things out when they are too tough for me to deal with. I guess this is no different. Today, I've felt reality lurking on the surface. I'm struggling with the desire to stay healthy. My weight and food are becoming an issue again. I've been okay. Things are just simmering.
I was doing okay. I finished work, took hubs to work, and stopped at the grocery store. I was in a quiet mood, mulling things over and the time alone was good for me. I decided I should stop and pick up the mail. The bills came. Two bills. Two bills that sum up the life of our Espe. It ruined my afternoon. It felt so wrong to have to pay for the most heartbreaking moments of my life.
I've held my heart at arm's length for a while, and I've gotten out of bed, gone to work, loved my kiddos, smiled at people as they passed by. Today though, I can't do it. I miss Espe. I miss my happy. I don't want to be this person. I don't want to be "trying" again. I don't want to endure this two week wait which I am trying to blow off as an unlikely possibility. My heart keeps whispering "maybe it worked". I don't want a maybe. I want it all to be okay.
This is one roller coaster ride I wish I could end. The good news is, today I'm at the bottom of the hill, which means I'll eventually be on my way back up for a little while.
I feel detached most of the time from the reality of what happened. It's like a dream or something that happened far away from where I am. It is my coping mechanism. I shut things out when they are too tough for me to deal with. I guess this is no different. Today, I've felt reality lurking on the surface. I'm struggling with the desire to stay healthy. My weight and food are becoming an issue again. I've been okay. Things are just simmering.
I was doing okay. I finished work, took hubs to work, and stopped at the grocery store. I was in a quiet mood, mulling things over and the time alone was good for me. I decided I should stop and pick up the mail. The bills came. Two bills. Two bills that sum up the life of our Espe. It ruined my afternoon. It felt so wrong to have to pay for the most heartbreaking moments of my life.
I've held my heart at arm's length for a while, and I've gotten out of bed, gone to work, loved my kiddos, smiled at people as they passed by. Today though, I can't do it. I miss Espe. I miss my happy. I don't want to be this person. I don't want to be "trying" again. I don't want to endure this two week wait which I am trying to blow off as an unlikely possibility. My heart keeps whispering "maybe it worked". I don't want a maybe. I want it all to be okay.
This is one roller coaster ride I wish I could end. The good news is, today I'm at the bottom of the hill, which means I'll eventually be on my way back up for a little while.
Monday, March 11, 2013
In working order
I don't enjoy being back in the "trying" realm again. It not only brings up the pain of what has happened every single time we surpass third base, but it also brings in this flood of fear, uncertainty, pain, and dread. It also makes me feel like such a failure. The intensity of all of those feelings at once is exactly why I quit trying. I couldn't live like that anymore. Yet, here I am right back in the maze hoping for some cheese.
My body has let me down so many times. My first instinct was to expect failure. I have a hard time believing that my body is really doing what it is supposed to do now. It is unbelievable that I managed to get pregnant, especially with what I was doing to my body. When I lost Espe, I was so scared that I had lost my one chance. It's hard to wrap my head around the idea that it could happen again.
We decided it would be good for both of us to start trying immediately. We aren't going to wait for a normal cycle. We were told that was okay, and we're going with it. I wish I weren't as hopeful as I am. I know that it might not work. I'm trying to prepare for that, but I also know that right now I need that hope to get me through the day. I'm working on balance. I don't want charts and crazy, but I do need to feel like I am doing all I can do. I know what days I should ovulate and what signs to look for to suggest that it's happening. I remember anxiously waiting for signs before. I would convince myself that things were close enough, or that maybe I just worked differently.
This weekend, I have seen signs. I have felt signs. I know that my body is doing what it is supposed to. There is no guessing or convincing. It's mind boggling. Before I wasn't paying attention. I had no reason to think things were working, but it really is. It helps with the failure and fear. I know it may take a little while, but knowing that for the first time in my adult life, my body is working with me makes this a little easier to manage.
My body has let me down so many times. My first instinct was to expect failure. I have a hard time believing that my body is really doing what it is supposed to do now. It is unbelievable that I managed to get pregnant, especially with what I was doing to my body. When I lost Espe, I was so scared that I had lost my one chance. It's hard to wrap my head around the idea that it could happen again.
We decided it would be good for both of us to start trying immediately. We aren't going to wait for a normal cycle. We were told that was okay, and we're going with it. I wish I weren't as hopeful as I am. I know that it might not work. I'm trying to prepare for that, but I also know that right now I need that hope to get me through the day. I'm working on balance. I don't want charts and crazy, but I do need to feel like I am doing all I can do. I know what days I should ovulate and what signs to look for to suggest that it's happening. I remember anxiously waiting for signs before. I would convince myself that things were close enough, or that maybe I just worked differently.
This weekend, I have seen signs. I have felt signs. I know that my body is doing what it is supposed to. There is no guessing or convincing. It's mind boggling. Before I wasn't paying attention. I had no reason to think things were working, but it really is. It helps with the failure and fear. I know it may take a little while, but knowing that for the first time in my adult life, my body is working with me makes this a little easier to manage.
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
In Limbo
I feel like I have multiple personalities right now. I can manage to make it through a day without dissolving into a puddle of tears. If I ever find myself home alone and quiet, I become a big mess very quickly. I try to at least appear as if I'm functioning on the outside, but on the inside I'm not and parts of me don't want to. I'm trying to stay positive about the future, but the future is so uncertain and scary. Sometimes I just sit and stare off into space, unsure of how I feel or how I should feel.
The functional side of me is usually pretty numb. I ignore what's going on in the back of my mind and spend a lot of time convincing everyone around me that I am okay. I absolutely hate the occasional run in with someone I've not seen lately. Twice today I had someone ask me how "the little mommy" was feeling. Each time I took a deep breath and told them we lost the baby. It's getting easier to detach from that statement, but watching the horror cross their face is awful. I feel so guilty. I feel like I have single handedly ruined their day. I don't like being that person.
The messy side of me usually waits till I get home. I will run myself ragged for as long as I can, avoiding home and any quiet alone time I might have. The quiet is usually inevitable though and when it comes, so does the flood of tears. Sometimes I fight the tears and sometimes I just let the overtake me for a while. I will pull the covers tight over my entire body like a cocoon and the grief consumes me. It is here that I acknowledge the empty ache. I miss him most in this place. I have my darkest thoughts just after this too. Sometimes I cry so hard my muscles ache the next day. I hate that place and I will fight to the very end of my strength to avoid being alone with myself.
I am not sleeping well. I fight sleep a lot too. I have these nightmares. I keep dreaming that I am running frantically around searching for something. Sometimes it is clear what I'm searching for and other times I just know I'm searching for something. The panic is always there though and when I wake up I know what I've been searching for. I'm always searching for Espe. I will hunt for him for hours in my dreams terrified that I have lost my precious baby. It makes waking up in the mornings a gut wrenching experience. I've been managing about three or four hours of sleep each night, but even that sleep isn't good. I wake up exhausted and heartbroken. The circles under my eyes make me look like I've been in a nasty fight. I've considered taking something, but that brings up a whole new personality...
We're trying. I hate it. I hate saying it, I hate thinking it, I simply hate it. I bled for 8 days. I decided it was important to claim my body again and we started back up the first night I had stopped. I cried the whole time. I didn't want to be in that situation. I didn't want my body back as my own. I wanted Espe back. I'm glad we did what we did, but it was still hard.
I did some reading and heard a lot of stories about people ovulating and successfully conceiving just two weeks after a loss. I held on to that hope for a couple of days to get me through the hardest parts of my grief, but I'm trying to be realistic now. It took us ten years for the first. I'm not a patient person either. I am preparing for another long haul with this. Still, we have consulted a calendar and we'll see where it leads. We're trying to have fun with it and we started early so we could hold on to at least a little spontaneity. I think it will be okay, but I cry every single time. It will get better I'm sure. Consulting the calendar is the only thing we have done so far, and it's all we plan on doing for a while. I just want a loose idea of when we need to be busiest. If I've learned one thing from this, it's that whatever is meant to be will be no matter what I do. I'm trying to embrace that philosophy.
The only thing we can do is wait. I'm so tired of waiting.
The functional side of me is usually pretty numb. I ignore what's going on in the back of my mind and spend a lot of time convincing everyone around me that I am okay. I absolutely hate the occasional run in with someone I've not seen lately. Twice today I had someone ask me how "the little mommy" was feeling. Each time I took a deep breath and told them we lost the baby. It's getting easier to detach from that statement, but watching the horror cross their face is awful. I feel so guilty. I feel like I have single handedly ruined their day. I don't like being that person.
The messy side of me usually waits till I get home. I will run myself ragged for as long as I can, avoiding home and any quiet alone time I might have. The quiet is usually inevitable though and when it comes, so does the flood of tears. Sometimes I fight the tears and sometimes I just let the overtake me for a while. I will pull the covers tight over my entire body like a cocoon and the grief consumes me. It is here that I acknowledge the empty ache. I miss him most in this place. I have my darkest thoughts just after this too. Sometimes I cry so hard my muscles ache the next day. I hate that place and I will fight to the very end of my strength to avoid being alone with myself.
I am not sleeping well. I fight sleep a lot too. I have these nightmares. I keep dreaming that I am running frantically around searching for something. Sometimes it is clear what I'm searching for and other times I just know I'm searching for something. The panic is always there though and when I wake up I know what I've been searching for. I'm always searching for Espe. I will hunt for him for hours in my dreams terrified that I have lost my precious baby. It makes waking up in the mornings a gut wrenching experience. I've been managing about three or four hours of sleep each night, but even that sleep isn't good. I wake up exhausted and heartbroken. The circles under my eyes make me look like I've been in a nasty fight. I've considered taking something, but that brings up a whole new personality...
We're trying. I hate it. I hate saying it, I hate thinking it, I simply hate it. I bled for 8 days. I decided it was important to claim my body again and we started back up the first night I had stopped. I cried the whole time. I didn't want to be in that situation. I didn't want my body back as my own. I wanted Espe back. I'm glad we did what we did, but it was still hard.
I did some reading and heard a lot of stories about people ovulating and successfully conceiving just two weeks after a loss. I held on to that hope for a couple of days to get me through the hardest parts of my grief, but I'm trying to be realistic now. It took us ten years for the first. I'm not a patient person either. I am preparing for another long haul with this. Still, we have consulted a calendar and we'll see where it leads. We're trying to have fun with it and we started early so we could hold on to at least a little spontaneity. I think it will be okay, but I cry every single time. It will get better I'm sure. Consulting the calendar is the only thing we have done so far, and it's all we plan on doing for a while. I just want a loose idea of when we need to be busiest. If I've learned one thing from this, it's that whatever is meant to be will be no matter what I do. I'm trying to embrace that philosophy.
The only thing we can do is wait. I'm so tired of waiting.
Friday, March 1, 2013
Aching
More than anything right now, I miss my baby. I desperately miss him. I ache with every cell. I know so many people have experienced miscarriage. I get that. I have heard loads of stories this week. I feel like a wretched human being for getting so frustrated with those people. They are simply linking the chain. They found someone they could share their pain with, and I in no way want to minimize the pain they experienced. Everyone's situation is different and this is a painful experience no matter the circumstances.
However, as unexpected as this miracle was, Espe was carefully planned and considered. We weren't like so many people that weren't ready or weren't planning on expanding their family only to be surprised. This little person has been in our hearts for a decade. We have gone through hell and back and would gladly do it again. Our hearts have been shattered time and time and time again 122 times to be exact.
We have known Espe through our hopes and dreams for ten years. We have anxiously waited for him to finally join our family. Hope has come and gone. That place that becomes your heart once hope has disappeared - I wish that on no one. It is the darkest, loneliest place I have ever been and I am terrified at the thoughts of returning there.
Hubs actually reassured me last week in the middle of a particularly nasty meltdown with the notion that we had experienced so much heartache. We had already been through so much grief and we had been clinging to a thin line of faith for so long that surely God would not expect us to endure more. Surely this was finally the happy ending we had prayed so fervently and wholly for. The realization that He did indeed intend for us to walk this road, has been one of the hardest things thus far.
I'm trying. I'm trying to be positive and strong. I'm trying to look to the future. I try to tell myself just like the doctor and countless friends and family, that we have finally climbed the hardest hurdle. We know we can get pregnant now. Our past has jaded me though. I dread "trying". The only point of reference for me is so horribly disappointing and I don't know if I can go through that again.
We've tried to address that. For now we are going with a very short plan. We are going to set our sights for the next couple of months. There will be no doctors or medical intervention. There will be no thermometers or charts by the bedside, and we are both vehemently against scheduling bedroom sessions. I have a general idea of when things theoretically should happen. I kept hubs in the dark and he's happy with that. Even my idea is only an idea. I have no idea what my body will do or if it will even work again. We just decided that the moment the bleeding stopped, we would return to our new normal since my weight loss and perhaps amp that up a bit. I don't want any stress or tension again. We're just going to act like teenagers. Teenagers that pray fervently and ceaselessly for another chance at a miracle.
However, as unexpected as this miracle was, Espe was carefully planned and considered. We weren't like so many people that weren't ready or weren't planning on expanding their family only to be surprised. This little person has been in our hearts for a decade. We have gone through hell and back and would gladly do it again. Our hearts have been shattered time and time and time again 122 times to be exact.
We have known Espe through our hopes and dreams for ten years. We have anxiously waited for him to finally join our family. Hope has come and gone. That place that becomes your heart once hope has disappeared - I wish that on no one. It is the darkest, loneliest place I have ever been and I am terrified at the thoughts of returning there.
Hubs actually reassured me last week in the middle of a particularly nasty meltdown with the notion that we had experienced so much heartache. We had already been through so much grief and we had been clinging to a thin line of faith for so long that surely God would not expect us to endure more. Surely this was finally the happy ending we had prayed so fervently and wholly for. The realization that He did indeed intend for us to walk this road, has been one of the hardest things thus far.
I'm trying. I'm trying to be positive and strong. I'm trying to look to the future. I try to tell myself just like the doctor and countless friends and family, that we have finally climbed the hardest hurdle. We know we can get pregnant now. Our past has jaded me though. I dread "trying". The only point of reference for me is so horribly disappointing and I don't know if I can go through that again.
We've tried to address that. For now we are going with a very short plan. We are going to set our sights for the next couple of months. There will be no doctors or medical intervention. There will be no thermometers or charts by the bedside, and we are both vehemently against scheduling bedroom sessions. I have a general idea of when things theoretically should happen. I kept hubs in the dark and he's happy with that. Even my idea is only an idea. I have no idea what my body will do or if it will even work again. We just decided that the moment the bleeding stopped, we would return to our new normal since my weight loss and perhaps amp that up a bit. I don't want any stress or tension again. We're just going to act like teenagers. Teenagers that pray fervently and ceaselessly for another chance at a miracle.
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