I suppose it isn’t a surprise that I feel funky and out of sorts. I have a nasty headache. I’m tired and drained and stressed. But I’m at Dad’s house. If the house were a little more babyproofed it would be way way more restful. I can’t really ignore her here and that’s hard.
There’s a part of me that wasn’t 100% certain that I had a miscarriage before because I never had a positive pregnancy test. The past few days of seeing what is coming out of my body has dispelled all doubt. This is my second miscarriage in less than six months. I talked to my midwife. This might be coincidence. This might be a problem that is easy to fix with minor medical intervention. She didn’t really want to say but there was the strong hint that this might be a sign that something is Wrong. I know that it’s a small chance. But I still freaked out when I kind of had to acknowledge that. I had cryosurgery and was told then that I might have trouble getting pregnant because she was taking off a lot of the surface of my cervix. Then I had a hard labor. There is a non-zero chance that something was damaged. I’m scared.
And I’m a petty, horrible bitch. I found out today about two more pregnancies in my relatively close social circle. I’m jealous. I’m angry that my body isn’t working right. I’m upset that they aren’t having this hard of a time. And then I think about my friend who hasn’t been able to get pregnant at all and I feel like the worst sort of horrible person. How dare I be upset about having problems now when I have such a wonderful, beautiful child.
But it hurts. It hurts so much. I hate that I feel betrayed by my body. My body has more or less always done what I wanted it to. My body doesn’t have a lightening fast metabolism, but I’ve proven that I can have the kind of body I want (I just don’t care enough to maintain it). I don’t have allergies. I’m mostly healthy. The Meniere’s hasn’t actually made my life harder at this point. I have disliked having the stomach acid problems, but enh.. that’s just whining.
This is awful. This is hard. I feel broken and bad and horrible and defective.
{{{{{HUGS}}}}} if you want them.
I’m so sorry. That’s a terrible loss in itself. And it’s made more difficult by all the hormones. Be as gentle with yourself as you know how.
*hug*
I’m over here, sitting with you. And next week sometime, I can come over there, and sit with you. And we can talk.
You know you aren’t “broken and bad and horrible and defective,” I hope, but I grok pretty completely why you’d say that. Remember to feel everything you are feeling so you don’t blindside yourself later with something you stuffed. Even if it’s hard, do yourself that favor.
Love you.
I know it probably doesn’t matter much, but in my world, how I see you? Not broken, not horrible, not bad, not defective. Big love to you and yours.
I think everyone, sooner or later, has to deal with the sensation of being betrayed by their body. Usually that happens in middle age — it is, in fact, more or less the definition of middle age. But it sucks that it’s happened to you so young and so sadly. Here’s big hugs and big hopes for a better-behaved body next time around.
I’m sorry about the stress and the sadness. Hopefully this is just a glitch.