Two weeks ago, I was pregnant. Two days ago, I was not pregnant. Miscarriage #4 came and went as quickly as Fall seems to come: sudden and beautiful only to end way before you’ve had your fill of the reds, oranges and yellows.
We decided we were ready to try for another baby. I felt strong and determined and well, my husband, he was just going along with however I was feeling. He was leery but willing. Two friends recommended a homeopath to help me get pregnant. Lisa is a beautiful medicine woman. I picture her in the 1800’s dancing under the stars, loving the moonlight while she dries herbs and creates tinctures for her village. She has kind blue eyes that speak to your soul and she is brilliant. My second cycle after beginning treatments with her I was pregnant. I couldn’t believe it. But as floored as I was, I was emotionally absent.
I knew this pregnancy game well; I get pregnant, I miscarry, I fall apart, my family and friends pick me up and I spend three months questioning EVERYTHING and attempting to rebuild my life as a new person, one who now has Grief, Emptiness and Sadness residing in a small pocket deep within. I was cautiously optimistic yet extremely guarded.
I have built up a stone fortress around my heart, one that protects me from the catapults of Hope and Longing and Disappointment. I knew my chances at carrying to term were slim. But every so often, a bubble of Hope would slowly float up over the walls I had carefully crafted and it would burst around my heart, pouring Hope and Joy into my soul for a being that wanted to come Earthside. Then reality and Fear would set in and I’d remember the fortress and I’d retreat inwards.
And despite the homeopathic remedies, gut healing, vitamins, supplements, progesterone, meditations and prayers, I still miscarried.
I am STILL miscarrying and as I write this, my heart is breaking. I am a swirling tide under a calm ocean. I need to be strong for my little girl. She’s seen me cry too many times and I don’t know how much more she can witness before she’s affected in some unforeseeable way. Seeing her Mother’s Day gift damn near broke me.
This miscarriage happened while we were away camping so tears and wallowing weren’t acceptable in my books. I didn’t want our trip tainted for my daughter in any way. Plus, we didn’t tell her Mommy had a baby growing in her belly because it was too risky. Truthfully, we hardly told anyone because my Fear was so deeply rooted. Besides, what could I say to my people when it happened again? “Please pick me up off the floor again for the 4th time” or “Yes, can you please make us ANOTHER meal?” or “I need you take my daughter for the day AGAIN while I have a day to cry and wallow.” No thanks. I can’t and don’t want to keep doing this to my friends and family even though I know some of them are reading this saying, “no Kels, no”. Recurrent miscarriages get harder but for different reasons. For us, we tell less people so we have less support and then when it happens we don’t want to keep relying on everyone because I’ve already leaned on them four other times! It’s not fair to them. It’s not fair to me. None of this is fair. But what’s that saying? Oh right, LIFE’S NOT FAIR.
We stayed busy while camping and the sound of my breaking heart was an eerie silence, like fog drifting in over a bay in the early morning hours. It blanketed my heart and when I would stop and tune in, it’s silence scared me.
Then I had time alone and the sound became a loud, cracking sound. My heart had broken open to its grief like a tree limb snapped off its trunk in the middle of a storm. It hit hard and sudden and tears flowed like rain showers. Yes, I was emotionally unconnected to this baby most of the time but for those few fleeting moments when I allowed Joy in was enough to know how much I had secretly hoped this baby would stick.
Logic has no place in grieving and yet there I sat, filthy and sad staring into Mother Nature’s beauty, wondering where I went wrong AGAIN. Was it something I did or didn’t do? Should I have done this instead of that? Or should I have done that instead of this? The sound of my heart breaking was so loud that my brain couldn’t focus on the questions and therefore had no answers so I became a broken record: Where did I go wrong? Was it something I did? Was it something I didn’t do? Where did I go wrong? Was it something I did? Was it something I didn’t do? Over and over I mused these unanswerable questions until my husband finally sat me down and lovingly told me I wasn’t going to heal focusing on the why’s. That conversation added a humming sound to my heartbreak, like that of a refrigerator running or the monotonous drone of a dryer. It was heartbreaking to listen to another person try to reason with me. Didn’t he know that the why’s are what consume us infertile/struggling women? Didn’t he know that Grief knows no reasoning? Didn’t he understand that when there’s no reason behind a situation we grab onto the closest thoughts possible and search for an answer because if we allow ourselves to really feel in that moment we may never fully recover?
However, hours later with a tired mind and a deflated soul, my logical self knew he was right.
My heartache for all of my miscarriages will never go away. It resides in me now like my liver or my genes for brown eyes. I have to find a new way to be in the world again.
I can’t focus on the why’s lest I drive myself crazy. So for now my heartbreak song sounds like a cacophony of thunderous rainstorms and the refrigerator humming and the loud splitting of trees and seams and eggs and cow pattie splats and nails on a chalkboard. Some days it’ll be overwhelming and other days it’ll be silenced by the other sounds of Life: my daughter’s nonstop questions, my husband’s singing, my friend’s stories, the morning birdsong, the wind in the maples. Right now it’s loud and overwhelming but I know with time, the other sounds of Life will become dominant again and I will move forward with a quieter, more calming heartbreak song. For now, I need to give Time, Time and allow myself to heal, make peace with my body again and forge ahead. I am not okay now but I know I will be okay again regardless of the song in my heart. I will rise again. I always do.
United we rise,