Thank You All For Your Support
My dear friends,
I have been composing this letter to all of you in my head for days now. I am posting this everywhere that people have expressed their support. The loss of our baby has been the most difficult challenge that I have had to face. My head keep spinning with the thought that I had a baby, but now I don’t. The loss and emptiness I feel is so very profound.
What I do not feel, thanks to all of you, is a sense of isolation or being alone. Normally when something bad happens to me, I only want to curl up in a ball and shut out the world. Yet the outpouring of support that I have received from my online friends has let me know that people do care and that I am not alone in this.
I have received wonderful advice about coping from women who have experienced losses of their own. One piece of advice about not thinking of getting over the grief, but instead getting through the grief, stays with me all the time.
I am back at work today, though I would much rather not be here. Someone outside my office was talking about her pregnancy and I almost shrieked at her, “Do you mind? I just lost my baby!” I know that type of response is irrational. The world hasn’t stopped just because I lost my baby. But I kind of wish that it had.
I still know nothing about the whys of this tragedy. Because the baby’s death was about 2 weeks before I knew anything, the tissue may not grow enough for chromosome testing. The doctor who performed the procedure is convinced that my fibroids are the reason for the fetal demise. Yet this seems odd since I had no fibroids in the uterine canal, and from what I understand, generally if you miscarry because of fibroids, it is early in the first trimester or you experience preterm labor in the 3rd trimester. But maybe I’m wrong.
Having some answers will help me decide where to go from here. Do I bother trying again? Do I have surgery on my < 4cm fibroids, at the risk of losing my uterus entirely (since I have already had a major myomectomy) or do I move to adoption and just forget the whole pregnancy thing? I just don’t know. But neither Mason nor I want to give up on being parents. Someday, somehow it will happen.
My husband has been a rock through this all. As many of you know, his addiction has plagued much of our 3 year old marriage (our anniversary is in 2 days). When he was not sober, he was never present for me. I felt as though I were married to a shadow, not a true person that I could rely on. However, this year has brought a new sobriety to him. He is working a good program and I see that he is now present for me. Yet still I have been wary. It is hard to have faith in someone who has disappointed you again and again.
But through this trauma, there has been no disappointment or failing me on his part. When I had my D&E, he was so worried, more worried than I was. The post operative pain I had was severe. I kept trying to feel better so that we could go home and he could see that I was OK, yet I continued in agony for hours. I knew that he was down in the waiting room beside himself with concern. Finally when they decided to admit me overnight, I asked the nurse to let him come in to see me, since visiting hours were long over by the time I would get to my room. He walked into the recovery area with such a mixture of anxiety, relief and love on his face. I will never forget that image. What did I do to deserve such love and concern, more than I ever received from my family? My husband’s return to me is a blessing and I am grateful.
Not long ago, I blogged about guilt versus gratitude. I lived most of my life feeling extreme guilt for anything positive that happened, rather than understanding the gratitude of receiving support and love from those who do value you. I never thought that I had such a positive influence on the blogsphere and the message boards until you all made it clear that I did. And I feel so very grateful in this knowledge.
Thank you for your support, your prayers, your calls, and your reaching out to me during my time of greatest grief. These words feel insufficient, but they are the best I have right now. Thank you again and again.
I have been composing this letter to all of you in my head for days now. I am posting this everywhere that people have expressed their support. The loss of our baby has been the most difficult challenge that I have had to face. My head keep spinning with the thought that I had a baby, but now I don’t. The loss and emptiness I feel is so very profound.
What I do not feel, thanks to all of you, is a sense of isolation or being alone. Normally when something bad happens to me, I only want to curl up in a ball and shut out the world. Yet the outpouring of support that I have received from my online friends has let me know that people do care and that I am not alone in this.
I have received wonderful advice about coping from women who have experienced losses of their own. One piece of advice about not thinking of getting over the grief, but instead getting through the grief, stays with me all the time.
I am back at work today, though I would much rather not be here. Someone outside my office was talking about her pregnancy and I almost shrieked at her, “Do you mind? I just lost my baby!” I know that type of response is irrational. The world hasn’t stopped just because I lost my baby. But I kind of wish that it had.
I still know nothing about the whys of this tragedy. Because the baby’s death was about 2 weeks before I knew anything, the tissue may not grow enough for chromosome testing. The doctor who performed the procedure is convinced that my fibroids are the reason for the fetal demise. Yet this seems odd since I had no fibroids in the uterine canal, and from what I understand, generally if you miscarry because of fibroids, it is early in the first trimester or you experience preterm labor in the 3rd trimester. But maybe I’m wrong.
Having some answers will help me decide where to go from here. Do I bother trying again? Do I have surgery on my < 4cm fibroids, at the risk of losing my uterus entirely (since I have already had a major myomectomy) or do I move to adoption and just forget the whole pregnancy thing? I just don’t know. But neither Mason nor I want to give up on being parents. Someday, somehow it will happen.
My husband has been a rock through this all. As many of you know, his addiction has plagued much of our 3 year old marriage (our anniversary is in 2 days). When he was not sober, he was never present for me. I felt as though I were married to a shadow, not a true person that I could rely on. However, this year has brought a new sobriety to him. He is working a good program and I see that he is now present for me. Yet still I have been wary. It is hard to have faith in someone who has disappointed you again and again.
But through this trauma, there has been no disappointment or failing me on his part. When I had my D&E, he was so worried, more worried than I was. The post operative pain I had was severe. I kept trying to feel better so that we could go home and he could see that I was OK, yet I continued in agony for hours. I knew that he was down in the waiting room beside himself with concern. Finally when they decided to admit me overnight, I asked the nurse to let him come in to see me, since visiting hours were long over by the time I would get to my room. He walked into the recovery area with such a mixture of anxiety, relief and love on his face. I will never forget that image. What did I do to deserve such love and concern, more than I ever received from my family? My husband’s return to me is a blessing and I am grateful.
Not long ago, I blogged about guilt versus gratitude. I lived most of my life feeling extreme guilt for anything positive that happened, rather than understanding the gratitude of receiving support and love from those who do value you. I never thought that I had such a positive influence on the blogsphere and the message boards until you all made it clear that I did. And I feel so very grateful in this knowledge.
Thank you for your support, your prayers, your calls, and your reaching out to me during my time of greatest grief. These words feel insufficient, but they are the best I have right now. Thank you again and again.