On Christmas day my mom asked me what it was
like to lose four pregnancies and I couldn't figure out how to answer her. Despite
the fact that I was and am totally consumed by my current diagnosis (unexplained
recurrent miscarriage), I just couldn't find the words.
I've watched this reality unfold in my life
over the last 2 years. Its impact on me, both positive and negative,
changes monthly, daily, hourly. I cherish the bond it has created between
my husband and me. I dread the days when I feel the pain of it so keenly.
When it comes to saying anything at all out loud about it I can identify when
I'm in the thick of it or when I'm feeling light despite it. When I need
to I can cry or I can find comic relief. But I couldn’t actually describe
what the pain is like (very uncomfortable for me because I inherited an
obsession with analyzing feelings and finding the right words for them from my
mother.) I couldn't answer her.
The same day she asked me this question she
also gave me a book called The Story of Edgar Sawtelle by David Wroblewski. To my mom's surprise (and total horror) the book focuses on miscarriage
for the first 40 pages or so. I assured her it was ok and we had a little
laugh about the bad luck of her book choice - good comic relief. It turned out to be incredibly good luck. The same day she asked me
how it felt to have four miscarriages I found the closest thing to an accurate
description in this book.
When he turned to leave she set a hand on his
shoulder, and so he waited, watching when he thought he should watch and
looking away at other times, and what he saw was her coming back together,
particle by particle, until at last she turned to him with a look that meant
she had survived it.
But at what secret cost.... To explain what
happened later by any single event would deny either predisposition or the
power of the world to shape. In her mind, where the baby had already
lived and breathed (the hopes and dreams, at least, that made up the baby to
her) was a place that would not vanish simply because the baby had died.
She could neither let the place be empty nor seal it over and turn away
as if it had never been. And so it remained, a tiny darkness, a black
seed, a void into which a person might forever plunge. That was the cost,
and only Trudy knew it, and even she didn't know what it meant or would
ultimately come to mean.
--The Story of Edgar Sawtelle by David
Wroblewski
About
a year ago I was completely unsure of my ability to survive all this. I was sinking and waiting for
everything to get better and it just wasn’t. It was during that terrible time
that I started crocheting, knitting, buying fabric, and making plans. It was
the only productive thing I could find the mental energy to do and it continues
to be one of a handful of things that are keeping me sane. I find out someone is pregnant – I can
escape into crocheting a sweater.
I find myself at one family gathering or another with babies and
children – I start stitching together the next project in my head.
Finally, after miscarriage number three, I
reached out to a good therapist and started taking a good anti-depressant. But, even before my first appointment
and before the drugs could take effect I made a decision. I simply decided I needed to be
ok. It sounds weird but I
did. That decision hasn’t been a
total antidote to heartache and anguish by any stretch but it was a much-needed
moment of clarity. It was the
beginning of acceptance for me. I
could never describe that moment or feeling to anyone either.
The book did it for me again.
I know what it's like to disappear into bad
feelings. I know how tempting it is. You think by going further
into it you'll finally come out the other side and everything will be okay, but
it doesn't work like that.
--The Story of Edgar Sawtelle by David
Wroblewski
That’s
what it felt like. Like I knew I
had to make the decision because I had fooled myself into thinking that better
would just…come to me. But I realized I
had to decide on better.
These
words are helpful for me on days like today. A few weeks ago we started the very early stages of the
adoption process. Then I found out
I was pregnant and yesterday I found out I’ll be having a fifth
miscarriage.
I
know that Sean and I will have our family someday, somehow – whether through
adoption or pregnancy or a combination.
In the meantime, I’m trying to take comfort in finding ways to survive
it and finding the words to describe it.
Here’s
to finding the words.
