As I type this, I am sitting in a most quaint sun room, the perfect place for reading good books. I am surrounded my windows and as I look out them, I can see families packing up their sun weary bodies after a long day at the beach. Faint cries of "Marco," "Polo" drift up from the swimming pool below as my nephews and a few sisters in law giggle and splash. Builder Boy is downstairs, happily playing Lego's with my niece, happy as a clam to have a playmate for an entire week. The rest of the 16 of us are downstairs watching a favorite movie. I sit in silence upstairs, tucked away in this sanctuary.
It's amazing how relaxed you can become at the beach. The sound of the waves, the feel of the salty breeze, the warm sand and the cool water. While my bag is stuffed with the many books I expected to read, I find that what I want to do more than anything else is to sit and observe...the pelicans as they soar above, the foamy waves in the distant horizon, the family playing on the beach below. My mind can't concentrate on the words, the stories, the characters. Perhaps it is my choice of books or perhaps my body has finally realized it can relax.
It didn't occur to me that I am still recovering. Once the pain subsides, I know it's time to move on. But two days ago, as I sighed loudly after a day of cooking, my mother-in-law said quietly, "You're still recovering." She said it in passing, almost as an afterthought, yet, I know her well enough to know that she had wanted to say it, wanted me to hear this, knew that I needed to hear it. Like any loss, others forget that you are grieving. They continue their own lives not held down by your unbearable sorrow. This is, of course, understandable, but it does cause you to feel rather alone. My mother-in-law's simple statement was reassuring and comforting-I AM still recovering.
My RE's office called yesterday...my final pathology reports came back. No molar pregnancy-thank the Lord. I am relieved beyond belief and so are my veins! She also said that there was no chromosomal abnormality. There was nothing wrong with the baby. While this is good news, I am terrified that I jumped the gun and did the D&C too soon. If I had waited to miscarry naturally, would the baby have lived? Was the baby just a slow-growing little thing? Did I kill my own baby? I trust my doctor that there was no heartbeat, that this was not a living baby, but it is terrifying nonetheless. And the what ifs abound. Still, with all this info I was still handling the phone message well.
And then the message said, "We have the sex of the baby. If you want to know, let us know." And that's when I felt it all over again. Like someone had socked me in the gut, the breathe taken right out of me.
And I had to remind myself that we are at the beach, and it is my time to relax...
I read somewhere recently that the intense grieving period following a miscarriage is 1-2 years. So I would guess you're definitely still recovering. Definitely relax and soak up the joy and ease around you. And then when and if you're ready, you can take the next step. ((((hugs))))
Posted by: Heidi | June 15, 2010 at 06:22 PM
Friend I do miss you! I also imagine the sex of the baby was what we talked about. It brought tears to my eyes and a prayer sent up from my heart. Our friend time can include builder boy! We still need to go to the science museum... I think that needs to be an ALL day thing!
Posted by: Corley | June 15, 2010 at 06:28 PM
Beautiful post. Yes, you are still recovering -- for as long as it may take, but that's okay and understandable. I'm very happy to hear it's not a molar pregnancy. I know it's hard to hear that everything was okay yet you still have to deal with the fact that the baby did not make it. I'm sorry, friend.
I hope you can do lots more relaxing at the beach. (I love watching pelicans, too. They are my favorite.)
Posted by: Stacey | June 16, 2010 at 02:46 PM