Pregnancy after Miscarriage

I've decided to use this blog to try and keep track of some of the things I'm feeling this pregnancy...of the changes that are going on in my world and how they are affecting me. I hope I can use it not only to talk about the hard things, but as a place to share joys as well. Our other blog is more dedicated to updating family on the status of CJ and now the new baby. I don't really find my voice there as I rattle off CJ's accomplishments for the week. I don't know. I just feel like I've lost myself a bit.

I am now 23 weeks pregnant. By all accounts I'm healthy with a healthy and thriving baby inside of me. He or she moves a lot although not as much as CJ did. I should be extremely happy right now. I am. Really. Sometimes I have to remind myself, but I really am. I just never had any idea how hard being pregnant after a miscarriage would be. Lucy's (the daughter we lost) due date came and went somewhere around when I was 10 or 11 weeks. It was an ending of sorts. Once the date passed, I realized that it wasn't a dream. She wasn't coming. It was hard. So many said getting pregnant again will make up for the loss, but it doesn't.

I have been struggling to find out what lesson I was supposed to have learned by her passing. I look in the mirror as I grow bigger and worry that something will still happen with this pregnancy. I'm too cautious and too tired. I am worried that my fear and worries are effecting the baby inside of me. I get angry too often.

Mourning is a hard thing when you've lost a pregnancy. It's private. It's not something you are supposed to share with others. People have so many views on pregnancy, viability, fetuses v. babies. This miscarriage gets tied up into those things. It brings up to people the abortion debate. If I mourn a "baby" that only made it 11 weeks inside of me, then I am giving power to a pro life movement. If I don't then I am denying my true emotions. All of these things become so complicated for people, it seems best not to bring them up. It's best to simply not talk about it at all as if it never happened. The problem is that it did. The problem is that it will affect this pregnancy and any other pregnancies I may experience. I am not going to discuss my political views here, but on a personal level I am trying to mourn the loss of a child that I rarely feel comfortable even mentioning. It's strange and lonely to be in this position.

Missing

Tomorrow I will graduate law school. I will be walking across the stage in full academic regalia looking out at the audience and seeing my friends and family. They are so proud. You won't be there though. This triumph, made in part by your kindness, is what ultimately left you to part. It's strange to think that my life goes on without you even though at times I am still so angry and hurt by your parting. I feel as if you should be there as you've always been supporting me. Was law school even worth it? I lost you. I lost Lucy. How can this honor make up for the sacrifice that was made? I wish you were there.

Birthday

Lucy's due date is coming up. By now I would have likely been at home eagerly awaiting her arrival. All of us are thinking it and we miss her as if she was actually here. I have had people say to me that at least she wasn't born because how horrible it is for parents to lose a child. The thing is to me and it seems to many mothers it is the same thing. In my mind, I see her as a baby as a little girl with yellow curls bouncing behind her. I see her in a little dress stepping on the bus for the first time and I can hear her sweet laugh. I don't know. Maybe it's not normal, but it seems okay for me. An old school mate just lost her 11 week old son. I'm not sure how it happened, but it has instilled a great deal of fear in me. I feel for her and her family. I can't imagine how hard it is to explain to the other little kids. I'm 10 weeks pregnant now. We are excitedly cautious unsure at what point we will feel comfortable. Two ultrasounds with heartbeats, all tests come back with good numbers, and yet I am worried. For now, we're just concentrating on getting through the emotions that will come on Lucy's due date and making certain that she knows we don't think of the new baby as her replacement.

Fear

A friend recently blogged about fear and it got me thinking. It's amazing how most people would say that I have been fairly fearless in my life and I suppose in a way that is true. Now fear seems to be a constant in my world, fear to move on, fear to stay still, fear to become what I thought I wanted to become.

I started this entry a few weeks ago and hadn't found the time to return to it. Today I started a new one and realized that fear is difficult. Once you get past the monsters and you move on to the next level new monsters emerge. It takes a lot to stand up and be counted. It takes a lot to remember who you thought you wanted to be. The question that remains to be seen is "Is it worth it?" Does fighting the monsters make a difference or is it simply a futile and redundant game?

I'll let you know.

Lucy

We named her Lucy. Most people don't even know that... It's too hard for people to hear or understand. People find it strange...she wasn't ever even here. What they don't realize is that she was still mine. She was here inside of me...her little heart was beating next to mine. I never imagined it would be this hard. I can't sleep even with pills. I see her everywhere. I smell her sweet baby smell. I am doing better. I can now see other mothers with their little girls and not cry...at least not until later. Even still, I can't put away her blanket. I can't find a way to put the ultrasound in a box to try and close the chapter. Everyone wants to know when we will try again. I want to, but it's hard know that it won't bring her to me. I will always feel the loss of her sweet soul. I want to be logical and rational. To simple state these things happen...to believe people when they so lovingly state god knew what he was doing. She's better off. The problem is I can't. The problem is she was my daughter. The problem is Lucy will never know how much I love her.

Cancer

She's dying. We've all believed for so long that she wasn't dying. BUT SHE IS. She's dying and there is nothing we can do about it. The cancer is eating her away and we sit at work, at home, at school and forget (or try to) that she is sitting at home dying. I e-mailed her and offered to bring by some dinner or come to keep her company. As if food and the few words I have could be of comfort. As if I can say something to erase the fact that she will never have children, that she will never be married, that she will never have the life that I take for granted when I'm stressed or tired or moody.

Through it all she's been worried about me. Worried that the loss of my baby could put me under some spell I can't awake from when it's she that will soon be sleeping. I feel helpless and wonder how one person can be so selfless and wonder what I can do to help the young people that will be so greatly impacted from the loss of her. I can't imagine. I can't begin to imagine. Would that I could make her world and mine intertwine as to keep her safe and strong and make that darkness disappear.

Miscarriage

What a strange word. A word that I often used as I spouted on my soapbox of the many miscarriages of justice that exist in our society. Thinking only of the word as something that sounded somewhat intelligent or at least more intelligent than other words that I could come up with. It was such a weighty word- MISCARRIAGE. A charge if you will. Certainly a word to strike fear or at least illicit a strong response.

Never did I think the word would have so much meaning in my life. Now the word seems so slight for such a big happening. When I lost the baby people didn't actually use the word much, but it has come to haunt me over the last few weeks. I keep taking it out to inspect it...look at it from each side...try to understand how that word can describe the process of one day going to sleep with your child safetly tucked inside you quietly sleeping and the next to be empty again. It's a strange word. It sounds almost serene now...oops! I miss carried that...instead of the significant truth that it really becomes. My child is lost and I was the only one in charge of watching over her.