Wednesday, March 4, 2009


So, imagine the scene from a semi-low-budget Hollywood comedy-action caper. Three young men (one of them is Ralph Maccio - the Karate Kid) are perched at the top of Jones Street in San Francisco with a shopping cart. Ralph and one buddy climb in to the basket of the cart and the third buddy holds the handle bar and readies himself with one foot on the ground and the other ready to push off. And push off he does, and those crazy boys zip down the steep, steep street, steadily gaining speed. Close-up of Ralph's face, eyes bulging, mouth open, screaming "Holllyyyyy shiiiiiiiitttttttt!!!" as the cart races precariously through the intersections, cars screeching to a halt as the cart swerves on two wheels and readjusts shakily, whizzing past honking horns and screaming motorists, throwing the boys around inside, but never toppling, past construction cones and spooked policemen on horseback, until is finally slows at the bottom of the hill and they all tumble, unhurt, onto a manicured lawn.

My turn. I climb cautiously into the cart at the top of the hill. I take off. And at the first intersection, I t-bone a moving van.

That's just one of the scenarios in my poor little head lately, the feeling that as I am coming to terms with the loss of this pregnancy, the world goes on, blissfully slipping around in their own pregnancies, bellies growing, shopping for new crib bedding, hearing tiny whirring heartbeats from a microphone to their bellies. 

The past week has been an emotional shopping cart ride, to say the least. I have literally felt every emotion in the book: Sadness - Guilt - Shame - Peace - Grief - Jealousy - Confusion - Acceptance - Anger - Frustration - Annoyance - Exhaustion - Tranquility - Despair - Loneliness - Relief - Loss. Most days I can hardly roll out of bed in the morning and I'm still not quite sure why.

I have received so many touching gifts from all of you, though. I've read your cards. I've listened to your voice mails. My house looks like a garden wonderland. Your hearty soup has warmed my belly. I've heard your messages. And I'm sorry that I haven't wanted to talk, and that I didn't invite you in for a few days. But I think I just didn't want to hear what you had to say. Because everything happens for a reason. Because it happens to women every day. Because I can and will have another child. Because it wasn't meant to be.

And I know all of these things to be true, I do, but I would rather be carrying a living child inside of me, and be looking forward to holding him in my arms in September. Because we were ready. Because we planned. Because we tried. Because I'm meant to be a mother.

But I did reach out to you, and you responded in kind, and I am confident that that has made all the difference. I think that as women (hell, as humans), we are apt to deal with our difficult situations in the quietest (read: "strongest") way we know how, because we don't want to burden anybody, and because our pain is often our own. But I must say that the biggest lesson I have learned so far from this whole ordeal is that I am loved, dammit, and I have people to reach out to because I needed to feel the love, and feel it I did, and this has made all the difference.

The person I most want to thank for this is my friend Christina, my new Boise friend who is one of the strongest people I have ever met. She works diligently for the local hospital in a program called Share, which helps parents to deal with the pain of the loss of a child. She was actually the very first person I called after receiving the news, even before I spoke to any family member. And she listened and she felt and she came to the house and she brought me a remembrance kit and she let me know that it was okay to feel however I wanted to feel, because I had (we had) indeed lost a child. And I fully credit her for letting me know that I deserved to feel support. And so I reached out to all of you, and you were there.

My darling sister in law Teresa flew up from San Diego last week to be with us, and I cannot express my gratitude. She offered that maternal, female support that, while Mikey and John are awesome men, only a wonderful woman can provide. Thanks again, T! While she was here to offer support, and since my body still hadn't caught on to the fact that it was supposed to be doing something to move the process along, we decided to help things out a little by taking a prescription drug that would... help my body do its thing. 

So on Thursday night, I hunkered down with a marathon DVD session of The Office and waited. And waited.

Turns out, it didn't frigging work. I'm beginning to think that my body is just a little slow on the uptake. That the reason Luciya was 12 days late being born wasn't necessarily because she was nice and comfy in there, but because my body just hadn't gotten the memo that it was time for this baby to be born. About a week ago. I've been having acute flashbacks to those frustrations.

So, I go in again this afternoon to have some seaweed inserted into my uncooperative cervix, and I'm totally not kidding. The moisture in my body will make the seaweed expand, and tomorrow I will be admitted for a D&C.

And then, hopefully, I will be somewhat healed, emotionally and physically, and I'll be able to return to Stroller Strides, which my body is desperately missing.

Again, I thank each and every one of you for all the love you have shown me and my family.



CB said...

I am crying now! You know the perfect way to describe things, I wish I could have read this to the Share group last night. They really needed this!
You are so loved my dear.

The Smith Family said...

We're thinking of you still! We're sorry you're still going through this extremly rough process. We hope you get some peace and closure soon. Loves!