Sunday, March 18, 2012

The Ugly Truth

Inspired by a similar horrific account in Chapter 36 in the book Those Who Save Us by Jenna Blum

You will see a positive pregnancy test and with a thankful heart, will you will envision 9 months of growing life.  You will plan plans, dream dreams, hope hopes the likes of which your heart an soul have ever known.  You will officially call yourself a mother, your loved ones will celebrate with you.

The the bottom will drop out.  One moment, everything is bliss then you feel it, you hear it, you sense it, you watch it.  No matter how or when it happens, your world will go silent and scream all at once.  You will grasp for those plans you planned,  hopes you hoped, the dreams you dreamt the likes of which your heart and soul have ever known, and will never know with the life you are losing.

As the life you created slips through everything in you that you are using to keep it from slipping on, parts of you will slip away as well.  Holes will permeate your entire being.  The love for your child, the super glue to ANYTHING that has left damage on you in this life, will erupt from you.  You will beg and plead, to anyone who will listen to tell you it isn't so.  You will deny that it is happening and pray that they are wrong.

You will kneel down on fresh  knees with hands clasped and bargain for your child's life, you will offer your own.  You will scream for a miracle.

You will cry with every cell of your body, sometimes with no sound yet speaking volumes.  You will sob, repeating your laments over and over again.  You will squall without embarrassment or fear of judgement.  Your tantrums will cause others to weep and you will weep harder because you don't want them to hurt like this with you.  Your body will convulse, you will heave, hyperventilate.  Eventually you will draw still, quiet, yet screaming inside.  You cease without the energy eventually to summon everything you have in you to unleash your sorrow again.

And sometimes you won't be able cry, as the deepest darkest corners of where your pain is but your sorrow hasn't found yet are just too dark and deep to even touch.   The sorrow you feels reaches deep into your bowels stealing your ability to nourish yourself or keep anything you try to nourish yourself with down.

You will WANT to feel better but won't be able to fathom how, ever again.  You don't want the despair but it latches on.  You probably will struggle with depression, anxiety, aggression, panic attacks, and lack of focus, often in as a little of a span as 5 minutes.

You will sign papers and learn to hate your signature.  There will be forms, an entire rain forest worth of paperwork to fill out and even more after the fact.  And they won't stop there, every medical form until the end of time will require you to stain it with your loss.

You will leave a medical facility with empty arms, maybe the very same facility that you should've left with your baby.  The silence will kill you but you have nothing to say.

You will arrive at your home with an empty car seat, if there were time to buy one at all.  You will walk into an empty house, by an empty crib, with an empty womb.  You won't be sure what to do with yourself, this was not a part of the plan.  You will wonder what the plan is now.  You will be exhausted but not from taking care of a new born.  Crawling into a ball will be your desired position, but the fetal position can be painful just on the name alone, not to mention it is not NEARLY tight enough for you to hide from the world.

Your body continues to function even though your brain and heart seem to stop.  If you were not lucky enough to watch your child grow even as few months, you will witness with despair as your womb empties it's contents the way it normally would after the birth of a child yet usually it signals your bodies healing process that makes you stronger to care for your newborn.  You will note the irony of that process and how it relates to you.

If an autopsy is performed, they will explain what happened, calling it "an event".  Soon after your loss, those who knew you before "the event" will ask to see pictures or for details about the birth.  You will want to scream the ugly truth to them, but you know that they just didn't know. In your anger, you will want to answer the questions about your kids honestly. Eventually, you just can't stand the shock and discomfort the truth brings so you have to weigh your options when revealing it.

Everything you thought beautiful in the world will be tainted.  Colors will fade.  Feelings will numb.  There will be clouds all around.  Lyrics of your favorite songs will have new meaning, you won't enjoy them the same, if at all.  There will be holes in EVERY aspect of your life that nothing and nobody can fill.

You will ask "Why me?"  You will question God, maybe even curse Him.

People will think you have Postpartum Depression, possibly confusing it with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.   You will want to take everyone's sage advice and shove it where the sun doesn't shine, even though you know how supportive they were trying to be.  You will be angry when life goes on for everyone else, but you're still missing your baby.  You will wince while looking at pregnant people or young babies.  Everyone else's joys run a distant second to your pain, often limiting your enjoyment of them if you can muster up any joy at all.  You will be in the crowd but totally alone.

You will still cry, without warning, without cause, without provocation.  It will take a microbe of thought that will bring you to your knees.  You will have days of joy and feel guilty about it.  You will want to talk, be silent, scream, die, hide, stay in bed, walk away, be around others, be alone.  You will dread anniversaries and birthdays yet when they pass it's further proof that you are surviving.  You will ache in places you didn't even know had feeling in.

You will gt up everyday that you possibly can and, no matter how hard it is, you will face the day yearning for the night to blacken so the hurt can't be seen dreading having to gather the courage to rise again for another day.

Days will turn into weeks, weeks into months, months into years.  You will wonder how you're still standing, how you made it this far.  People will marvel at how strong you are even though you feel like shrinking into a dark corner.   If you're lucky, you will be surrounded by family and friends who understand that this will never be something you "get over".  Unfortunately, there will be people in your life that wish you would.

You will question the thought of trying for another baby, though you yearn for it!  You will worry that having another baby will bear the same morbid result.  If you're lucky enough to conceive again, you will rarely enjoy a moment of the pregnancy, analyzing every moment, waiting for the bottom to drop out again.  You will feel like a hypochondriac at EVERY doctor's appointment, questioning EVERY thing your OBGYN says and spewing out your fears like scalding coffee.

You will get a slight relief when/if your baby is born healthy but feel you should be more refined in your parenting efforts as you should have had more experience with the baby you lost.  As your rainbow baby thrives and meets milestones, you will wonder what it would've been like with your Angel Baby.  You will absorb EVERY joy that your rainbow baby offers, but in your alone time, you will grieve those same joys that you will never have with the child you lost.

If you're even luckier, you will have other parents who have lost their children that you can lean on and walk this horrible journey with.  You will all be in a club you never asked to be in.

You wouldn't wish this nightmare on your worst enemy.  You will wonder how and when you will ever be whole again.  And as long as you're experiencing all of the above, you are stronger than you think you are, you are a survivor and the longer you survive, the stronger you will become.

And on that day, when you are reunited with your baby, you WILL be whole!  

No comments:

Post a Comment