The good, the bad and the ugly.

(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.

Comments

[artemisia]

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.

[Coral]

I will think of you today.

xx

[paola]

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).

[merseydotes]

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.

[Anne]

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.

[projgen]

I just want to hold you tight until you say "stop it." I'm so sorry you're having to go through this.

[Max Kaizen]

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

[MiM]

Thinking of you, T.

Best, MiM