(I started
writing this in a light hearted way. It
was meant to be humorous. It has ended
up being very dark. I’m sorry. I guess joking around and trying to act fine
doesn’t always work. I am doing this
post as an extended one, it has got so long.)
I’ll start with
the ugly.
When I got
pregnant this last time (my FIFTH pregnancy, how fucked up is that), a friend
of mine who also did IVF to have her twins and then had a total surprise baby 2
years later, said to me "don’t you feel proud of your body!" And I realized that
for the first time in years, I did feel proud of my body.
I’ve never had a
particularly good relationship with my body, but infertility killed what little
love I had for it. During infertility I
hated my body. I despised it. It had
betrayed me in the cruelest way possible. And I was trapped by it, slave to it. I
couldn’t do it without it, and yet it kept failing me. And then I lost Luke and Ben. My body not
only betrayed me, it killed my children.
Since the kids
were born, I’ve slowly, cautiously starting trying to build a new relationship
with my body. My body is the physical
means of me being able to care for and mother my children. Without my body, I can’t care for them. And
so slowly, slowly, I am started to build up respect for it, trust in it.
And then
yesterday happened. And in that moment I
went straight back to that place of hatred and betrayal. Once again my body had let me down, had
fooled me into believing it was to be trusted, and then betrayed me yet
again. I hated it. I felt so trapped by it. I want to run away from it, from the pain it
causes me, but I am stuck in it.
I know none of
this is logical. I might make no sense
to you, but this is how I feel. I know I
must respect my body, I know all of those good things about looking after
myself, for the sake of my kids etc etc. But in the moments of my rawest, darkest grief, I despise my body.
On Thursday I have
to go to hospital and lie with my legs in stirrups while I have my cervix
dilated and the fetus scraped from my womb. Cold, sterile. Scrape. The ultimate violation. Once again, I will bleed for weeks after wards. I don’t want to be there, in that hospital
bed. Every single fibre of my being is
screaming out not to be there again. And
yet I have to go. I wish I could disassociate my mind and soul from my body. I
can’t. I am trapped. Trapped by this
body that makes me go through this pain over and over again.
That’s the
ugly. The deep, dark ugly that threatens
my fragile hold on happiness.
Then there is
the bad.
The bad is that
I still feel so pregnant. There is no
sicker joke than looking and feeling pregnant and not being pregnant. Well, I am pregnant but it is with a dead
baby. I still feel sick, I feel nauseas,
tired. But it is a farce, a fake. I am a fake. A fake, fake, fake. How pathetic of me to believe I ever had a chance at 'normal'.
In moments like
this, moments of self-hate, it is hard not to give in to the punishing
behaviour of my past. I feel so ugly, so
fat. Fat and barren. Fatandbarrenfatandbarrenfatandbarren. I want to punish my body. Starve it. Punish it.
I want Thursday
to be here. I want this baby out
now. I want to stop feeling so
pregnant. Right now.
(They are
going to send the tissue away for testing, perhaps we will get some answers
from that. Perhaps not. I should know in about 3 weeks)
Oh dear. Perhaps that belonged under ‘ugly’ as well.
I was surprised, and not surprised when the scan showed no heartbeat. Surprised because I felt so pregnant. I know what pregnant feels like. And right up until that scan, I felt very pregnant. I was not surprised because firstly it all felt so surreal to start off with, and secondly because bad news like this no longer has the power to surprise me. Funny how those feelings, that room, that terribly still little blob on the scan all feels so achingly familiar. It's as if I never left.
I haven’t cried
much since finding out there was no heartbeat. I’ve been brave. Putting on a
brave face and joking around. Lightening up the mood so that other people
wouldn’t feel bad for me. It's ok! I'm ok! Look, I am fine, please don't worry about me! I've hardly cried at all. In fact I’ve
cried more while writing this post than I have cried since 1:30pm yesterday when I got the news.
I did cry a little
when I got this note:
Dear TERTIA ALBERTYN
Details of your hospital admission
Patient's name: TERTIA
ALBERTYN
Reason for going to
hospital: Missed abortion
Hospital name: KINGSBURY HOSPITAL
Treating doctor: WISWEDEL,
HEYLEN & LE ROUX
Date of admission: 22/03/2007
Authorised length of stay*.
1.0 days
“Missed
abortion”. I cried a little when I read
that. (WTF does that mean any way? A bit crap calling it a missed abortion.)
I cried when I
told my mother the news and she started crying. I cried even more when she said “oh my daughter, you really have had to
walk a long, hard road”. I hate that once
again, my mother is crying for me. I
keep causing my family so much pain.
I cried when
Rose cried after I told her the news.
I cried when
Marko seemed to want to hang on to the 1% chance that this might work out. (They did see a pulse, but they are 99% sure
it was mine. I got back tomorrow for
final confirmation that it is all over. My last scan before the D&C)
I cried a little
when I read your supportive messages.
But besides
that, I haven’t cried that much. I guess
you get used to this after a while. I’ve
been through worse.
Which brings us
to the good.
When I got the
news yesterday, all I wanted to do was rush home to my babies. I wanted to get home and hold them in my arms
and drink in their smell. I got home and
just held them tight. Until they said
‘stop it mama’. Buggers.
Besides all the dark
feelings above, my most overwhelming feeling is one of gratitude. I am so immensely grateful that I have my two
kids. I am so, so, so unbelievably lucky
and blessed. Words fail me to describe
how enormous this feeling of gratitude is.
This loss, more
than any thing else has reminded me who lucky I am. How far I have come, how bad things were
before and how blessed my life is now.
As hard as this
loss is, it is nothing compared to what life was like before Adam and Kate came
into my life. This loss was a brief
glimpse back into that world that I lived in for so long, that so many of my
friends are still living in. What a
dark, lonely, painful world. How lucky I
am not to live there still.
Being able to
put my arms around my two healthy, living children is the most wonderful
feeling in the world, and I am overwhelmed with how enormously lucky I am to be
able to do that. I am trying so hard to
try and put into words how huge this is for me, how lucky I feel. But I can’t find the right words. Loss is hard; infertility is much, much
harder.
I am really sad
this little baby didn’t work out, but I am indescribably grateful I have my two
beautiful children. It doesn’t make it
better, but it does make it easier.
My heart aches
for every single one of you who are still yearning to have your arms and hearts
filled in the way Adam and Kate fill mine. As always, you are in my heart.
Thanks to all of
you for your support and love. I really
do feel lifted up by all of you. It
helps so very much.
I'll be ok, I am a survivor, I've been through worse. I'll be ok, because the alternative is not an option for me. I'll be ok, because I have to be.
Love to all of you.
I'm glad Kate and Adam are a comfort - sometimes pain is so great nothing helps, other times you just look at your living children and realize what a miracle they are.
I once read that the from a neurological perspective, the cure for grief and depression was gratitude. I've tried to focus on my children and my gratitude for their presence in my life ever since then. It really does help the hurt.
This shouldn't have happened, though. You deserve better.
Posted by: artemisia | 22 March 2007 at 04:59 AM
I will think of you today.
xx
Posted by: Coral | 22 March 2007 at 08:14 AM
Oh, this is all sounding so achingly familiar. When this happened to me I too was feeling very pregnant, nauseous and with terrible heartburn. It happens because the placenta is still growing and developing even though the fetus is no longer viable.
I too decided on a D&C. It seemed quicker and easier and meant that I could start to let it go sooner. I'm glad that they'll be running tests for you. They'll be able to tell you whether it was caused by a chromosomal abnormality (which was the case for me), which is just a piece of bad luck which can happen to anyone.
Please email if you want to chat to someone who has been through the exact same thing (it even happened at about the same day of pregnancy).
Posted by: paola | 22 March 2007 at 10:50 AM
Tertia, I went through the VERY same thing in the fall. I am so sorry for your loss. I colored my hair darker, too. Lots of love to you and the family.
Posted by: merseydotes | 22 March 2007 at 05:11 PM
T - I don't check in with you (your blog) as often as I use to, life keeping me busy and life was treating you well so it has been easy to come and go. So after a long absence I'm here reading this and aching for you, and don't feel bad b/c I'm crying a little to. I wish there was a way to make this better.
Posted by: Anne | 22 March 2007 at 11:25 PM
I just want to hold you tight until you say "stop it." I'm so sorry you're having to go through this.
Posted by: projgen | 23 March 2007 at 01:55 AM
big warm hugs from me T ..sore heart & lump in my throat.. :'-(
[I really hope this gets lost in the comments but I've been here too, very few people know about it. Been there in sterile purgatory hovering somewhere between my body & hell being 'scraped'. Life is a funny old thing: I got hyperfertile + Rh negative (very humorous!) the irony is heartbreaking.] thank you so much for being so inspiringly brave.
Mxx
Posted by: Max Kaizen | 24 March 2007 at 05:52 PM
Thinking of you, T.
Best, MiM
Posted by: MiM | 26 March 2007 at 07:54 PM