First I give you a big hug (or at least tell you I would, if you were right here, which I wish was the case).
Thank you for talking about this. As you know, I had been interviewing women about their birth stories, and I was told a lot of things, but most women who get to miscarriage will stop themselves short and look pained. Because the women I was interviewing had children, they would always motion to them and say, but then this new child was born and so I will not talk any more about it. I always wished they would, but did not know how to broach the subject since it was obviously too painful. I wished they could talk about it because the entire point of the book was to be REAL about birth and pregnancy and all aspects of it, and no one would speak honestly about how they felt. So thank you for being real about it, and goddamn am I sorry that you had to go through this.
I remember the pink lines. I remember the sudden mama force that popped up for me. I remember how the two little lines anchored me into the future.
My Grandmother had eight children. The first seven were born healthy and strong. By the 8th child (when my grandmother was in her 40's) my oldest aunt came home to find my Grandmother on the kitchen floor, giving birth to a full term stillborn baby. My aunt helped deliver the child, but they never named the baby. I never knew anything about this until my grandmother had died. No one would talk about what happened that day. Who knows how my grandma was comforted afterward. There could be no rest for a woman with seven other kids to think about. The day I learned that I ached for my grandmother. It is the ache of a thing no one can ever fix. It is the saddest story my family never tells.
I understand the guilt. Before I knew I was pregnant (I was about 3 weeks in), I went on vacation and drank wine and smoked and sat in the hot tub for at least 45 minutes. Imagine my horror when I missed my next period and realized there had been a tiny person trying to get started that whole time. The entire pregnancy was marred by sleepless nights where I imagined my child had been altered by my actions. I refused tests to see if there was anything wrong with the baby because I figured I would not abort regardless and I would love the child even if there was a major disability. Despite the fact that kids came out perfectly healthy, there was nothing to ease those late night fears, except for me to remind myself, over and over, that I am good person, that I will handle whatever comes up, that everything will be ok eventually.
It is really sad that this is so common, but worse still that despite that you should feel so alone and isolated.
In the past I have had strange future flashes and never said anything because I feared I might be wrong. But in this case, my honest to god gut feeling, is that you will be a mama. And a damn good one at that.
I hope you're right that I'll be a mom (and also that I'll be a good one!). Even if I don't end up with kids who share my genetic material, I'd like very much to have a family. I can't really explain why that is, which is weird. Maybe I just want to help things grow. (Speaking of that, we got a couple of tomato starter plants from the farmer's market, just so we could try to grow *something* in our would-be garden this year.)
I don't remember when it was, but at some point you wrote about your births and talked about how making low pitched noises helped more than making high-pitched noises, and I thought about that when I was going through the painful part of the miscarriage on Tuesday. I don't know if it really helped me much, but it at least gave me something to think about other than "ow".
Oh Julia. I got all teary imagining you going through the whole birth process without a doula. It is hitting my hard, how sad it is to tell a woman she will miscarry, send her home to wait for that moment and offer nothing but physical pain killers and no support. When a woman is about to have a baby, she is given support, people who know the process come to you and hold your hands and get you water and help you make noises. Just because the outcome is not the same, does not mean that the process should be ignored, like a party no one wants to go to.
I am glad the noises helped focus you. That was the single best advice I got when I was in labor. The tub probably helped as well.
You are brave and strong and no one can take that away from you.
Thank you for talking about this. As you know, I had been interviewing women about their birth stories, and I was told a lot of things, but most women who get to miscarriage will stop themselves short and look pained. Because the women I was interviewing had children, they would always motion to them and say, but then this new child was born and so I will not talk any more about it. I always wished they would, but did not know how to broach the subject since it was obviously too painful. I wished they could talk about it because the entire point of the book was to be REAL about birth and pregnancy and all aspects of it, and no one would speak honestly about how they felt. So thank you for being real about it, and goddamn am I sorry that you had to go through this.
I remember the pink lines. I remember the sudden mama force that popped up for me. I remember how the two little lines anchored me into the future.
My Grandmother had eight children. The first seven were born healthy and strong. By the 8th child (when my grandmother was in her 40's) my oldest aunt came home to find my Grandmother on the kitchen floor, giving birth to a full term stillborn baby. My aunt helped deliver the child, but they never named the baby. I never knew anything about this until my grandmother had died. No one would talk about what happened that day. Who knows how my grandma was comforted afterward. There could be no rest for a woman with seven other kids to think about. The day I learned that I ached for my grandmother. It is the ache of a thing no one can ever fix. It is the saddest story my family never tells.
I understand the guilt. Before I knew I was pregnant (I was about 3 weeks in), I went on vacation and drank wine and smoked and sat in the hot tub for at least 45 minutes. Imagine my horror when I missed my next period and realized there had been a tiny person trying to get started that whole time. The entire pregnancy was marred by sleepless nights where I imagined my child had been altered by my actions. I refused tests to see if there was anything wrong with the baby because I figured I would not abort regardless and I would love the child even if there was a major disability. Despite the fact that kids came out perfectly healthy, there was nothing to ease those late night fears, except for me to remind myself, over and over, that I am good person, that I will handle whatever comes up, that everything will be ok eventually.
It is really sad that this is so common, but worse still that despite that you should feel so alone and isolated.
In the past I have had strange future flashes and never said anything because I feared I might be wrong. But in this case, my honest to god gut feeling, is that you will be a mama. And a damn good one at that.
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I don't remember when it was, but at some point you wrote about your births and talked about how making low pitched noises helped more than making high-pitched noises, and I thought about that when I was going through the painful part of the miscarriage on Tuesday. I don't know if it really helped me much, but it at least gave me something to think about other than "ow".
Reply
I am glad the noises helped focus you. That was the single best advice I got when I was in labor. The tub probably helped as well.
You are brave and strong and no one can take that away from you.
Much love.
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