It’s not that I’m ignoring the pain, or that the pain even needs acknowledging, it’s just…. I need to get down to the nitty-gritty to put every single little feeling down on paper, before my brain turns censored.
Because I’ve done it before, and I’m doing it again:
I’m writing publicly about my miscarriages.
Did you notice the ‘s’ in the previous sentence?
That one little letter, that pluralizing squiggle, it stings.
Sometimes you welcome a second chance at certain life events. You readily enjoy another experience more than the first time. You can perfect what needs correcting. In rare occasions sequels actually do get better reviews.
Well as a miscarriage survivor reliving every event I swore off ever thinking about again so-help-me-God, I’ll tell you this first: it doesn’t get easier.
I knew what it was like for the ultrasound tech to shake her head in doubt.
I understood that small crown to rump measurements truly spelled trouble.
Before the doctor uttered her condolences, I already processed her apology.
Again, I question everything.
Again, I wonder why.
Again, I hurt. I cry. I yell, and I break things.
Again, I finally have a glass of wine in 5 weeks, a much certainly needed reprieve from heartache.
And again, I breathe deeply.
The texts and phone calls to support networks do not hurt, but hearing your sorrow for our loss brings out the raw sadness. I appreciate all the words and thoughts and prayers. I love the messages, which I’m sorry I tritely return. It all fills my void right now.
Next? genetic counseling and an OB who specializes in this world of crummy news. (I mean, come on, can we say “Angel”?).
This is not the end, it is only a chapter.
Starting the next chapter, again.