Be Still...

It was one year ago today that I spent the morning in the emergency room miscarrying for the first but not the last time. Not long after that experience I would miscarry again.

I have never written about the miscarriages publicly. It may sound ridiculous but admitting out loud to people that I have miscarried feels utterly embarrassing. Just the word leaves a bad taste in my mouth. If you’ve ever wondered if it’s possible to feel embarrassed, ashamed and incredibly disappointing just by speaking one word…it is possible.

I wasn’t sure I ever wanted to share what I had originally written about the miscarriages because I wrote while the experiences were still very fresh and in all reality while they were still happening. It’s all of my darkest writing to date. But it’s been a year, writing is therapeutic for me and it’s time to be honest and no longer feel ashamed to admit what happened.

I won’t bore you with the full pages upon pages of verbal vomit that I had originally put onto paper but I will share a few pieces from each. The first miscarriage occured in June 2013 and the next in January 2014.

Excerpts from June 2013:

…Hours later the doctor and her posse came back into the room. I heard her mumble something to the rookie following her around about “taking this serious” before she walked into the room. Her once positive and bubbly demeanor was gone as were the plastic smiles that anyone had worn before. She proceeded to talk about the many things it could have been… I didn’t care to hear all of that…I just needed her to say it out loud in words that we would understand so that it was confirmed and real. She never really did say it and instead told me to follow up with my doctor. It was actually a nurse that I had not yet met that said what I needed to hear. She came in with my discharge papers and to take my blood pressure before I left. As I sat staring ahead, numb to what she was rattling on about I did happen to hear her ask, “Do you have any questions?”

 I did. I baited her with my question because I needed to hear someone actually say it out loud…to make it real...so that everyone would stop dancing around the truth with “mights” “coulds” and “possiblies”. So I asked her, “What am I supposed to say to my doctor when I call her to follow up?” And that is when she said it, “Well you miscarried so you will need to tell them that…”

I miscarried. I never thought that one word would hurt so much. In fact a few days later I would be researching miscarriage when I saw it:

Miscarriage: Synonym – Failure.

Yep, that pretty accurately describes how I feel. I failed to keep our baby safe, healthy or alive. I failed at the one thing I’ve always wanted and now I just feel broken.

…Ironically, I had originally written my 10 week (what was supposed to be my first visit) doctor’s appointment in my calendar in pencil…I never write anything in pencil but I did with this particular appointment because I was hoping that I would get an earlier appointment to finally see the baby. I erased that appointment (and all of the hopes I had associated with it) from my calendar and wrote my now much earlier appointment in pen. Pen seemed appropriate this time…because there isn’t anything to hope for with this visit…it’s just an empty meeting that won’t change a thing.”

Excerpts from January 2014:

“…It’s been a couple of weeks since that day: blood tests, sonograms and calls with the nurse all confirmed that I would be miscarrying soon. My choice? Wait for the miscarriage to happen naturally or go in for a D&C. I chose to wait – partially because there’s a risk of scarring with the procedure and we’d have to pay a chunk of money for it but mostly because the procedure just lingers in my mind as an abortion…that would stick in my mind always even though this would not be the same scenario.

So here I am…weeks later…finally miscarrying after nearly 10 weeks of pregnancy in a most painful and uncomfortable way. It’s been 5 days…it could take up to 10 they say. Physically…exactly what they said should be happening is…and that’s a blessing I suppose. Emotionally? I’ve never been more broken, jaded, angry, bitter, disappointed, lost, heartbroken, upset, mixed up, disenchanted, negative and ready to give up the dream. For the first time in our marriage, my husband is the positive one, the rock and the one keeping hopes up. For the first time in our marriage, I don’t see the silver lining or the hope that it will happen one day…those places in my head and heart are full of something dark right now. Jaded is probably the best word for it…I’m jaded. I no longer have it in me to find hope in the doctors, friends and family who say “It just wasn’t right this time and it is all for the best….It will happen for you guys…You can’t give up because it will all work out”.

Sure.

My hope? That one of these days I wake up and can find that positive outlook again…that I can put on another brave face and try to start a family again. My fear? That I’ve lost the ability to be positive in the face of this mess…that I’ve lost the drive to try and start a family again because it hurts too much physically and emotionally every time this happens. So I’m writing and I’m praying. Because I don’t know what else to do.

So there you have it. I have always been a glass half full kind of person so these feelings of sadness, anger and bitterness that decided to set up shop in my head were new to me.

I got through it – some days were fine and some days included time spent curled up in a ball on the floor of the room that was supposed to be a nursery. Every day was filled with prayer. There doesn’t seem to be a best way to cope with heartache.

If you happened to stumble onto this post because you are going through a miscarriage or went through one: I’m glad that Google happened to send you my direction. I hope that my words and the small pieces of my story help you in some way. The most comforting words that I read during both experiences came from people who didn’t sugar coat it and who exposed all of their ugly insecurities for the world to read about.

It’s been one hell of a year and here is what I can say with confidence:

I do not feel stronger. But my marriage is – the hurt that was born of these situations brought my husband and I closer together. I thank God for him every day.

I am blessed.

I am jaded.

I am hopeful.

And when all else fails…I am still.

The Lord will fight for you; you need only be still. - Exodus 14:14 - 

Write even when it feels wrong...

I love to write. In school you’re forced to write about so many things that you don’t really care about, that you don’t want to research and focus on, that I think some kids eventually associate all writing with those homework related labors…and they stop.

I started writing journals in elementary school that continued all through junior high and high school and well into college. I had planned on keeping them forever to someday look back with nostalgia upon those memories. I think writing down memories is important because you never know how long your mind will be allowed to hold onto them for you.

The journals were filled with all kinds of things: daily tasks, crushes, happiness, work, family, trips, love, anger, etc. None of it was my best writing but it documented daily life. I destroyed most of those journals one day after sitting and reading through some of my more angry entries that seemed to bring those hostile feelings to the surface again for no good reason. I had decided that the journals had to go so that I could not reference those bad days anymore. Any grudges or fights written about in the past would all be thrown away. I had decided that if those days and those feelings did not remain in my memory on their own, then they were not worth being in my life at all anymore. It’s silly and I probably shouldn’t have done it so hastily but it does demonstrate the power that a memory has…even when it’s just dusty writing on a page.

I digress.

I love to write. And that’s why I started writing online years ago to an audience that may not exist. I love the days when I feel so inspired about something that I have to start writing it down immediately because I don’t want to lose it. I love when the words are coming to me so quickly that I hardly have time for my hands to catch up and by the time the pages have been typed I have no idea what I’ve said.

You’ll notice that I haven’t written on this particular blog in months.

I love to write. But we’ve been through some challenges throughout the past year that have left my heart, mind and writing at a loss. I’ve written 3 entries…8 pages detailing the challenges of the past year but no one has read them or has known that they exist. I have kept most of my words to myself, typed up for the sake of getting them out of my system and for the purpose of remembering exactly how I felt in those moments.

Recently, I finally wrote about some of the struggle on my other blog, Full of Reason. Admitting loss, failure, worries, and fears to other people…it’s like walking into a crowd naked. I don’t know that I will ever have the guts to share those 3 entries with anyone. But I have come to realize this:

Writing is sometimes more than just putting words on a page to entertain or to educate others. Sometimes writing is therapy. Sometimes it’s a dialogue with God. Sometimes writing it all down forces you to come to terms with it. And…as was the case with those dusty old journals…maybe the simple act of destroying the writing is more helpful than the writing ever was to begin with.

Why an entire post about the benefits of writing? Well I spent some time today reading a woman’s blog that details her family’s struggle through losing 3 babies over the past year and most recently finding black mold in their family home that forced them to abandon their house and get rid of most of their belongings. There is darkness, honesty and vulnerability in her writing but it always seems to be laced with hope. And the very fact that through all of the ups and downs she continues to write it all down for the world to see is the perfect example of how writing can help someone through even their darkest days.

It’s worth the read – I’d recommend starting with “Charlie’s Story” first http://www.charliessong.com/ to really get an understanding of why she started writing in the first place.

So you may be asking yourself…is there a moral to this long winded post?

Not sure there is one…I just felt like I needed to write.

Love,

Elyse