09 May 2009

thunder

I feel such immense gratitude to you amazing people.
Thank you to my internet friends who have asked for folks to come by to offer support- and to all of you I do not know who took the time to say hello and send you sweet wishes for healing- Thank you so.

I hate how many of you have suffered losses, and OH how I celebrate those of you for whom this whole crazy thing has somehow worked or is working. And how I love those stories most. It gives me such hope.


Yes, yesterday sucked ass. It just did. It started badly with a horrible time before I inserted the magical cervical opening drugs- feeling to the very core of my being that I was destroying something precious. And it took all I had to just do it anyway.

The morning passed with emotions coming and going, and cramping starting up slowly, slowly strengthening. But nothing awful or unbearable except the knowledge of what was happening, what had happened, what needed to happen that day.

The ride to the hospital. Opening the door to surgery. The waiting. God how hard. And then, finally they called my name. The weigh in, the questions, the gown, the clothes you put in a bag knowing you will not be the same person that you were next time you put them on, the net panties, the monster pad, the IV, the anesthesiologist, the wonderful doctor, the time passing so slowly...
finally it was time, and by then I just needed to have it over with.

And I had asked for the kind of anesthetic that would make sure I would not remember anything. And I don't. Except the crazy weird compound lights on the ceiling of the procedure room that reminded me of insect eyes, and the piles of stuff in there like a storage closet but bigger, then waking to intense cramps and the relative bliss of fentanyl. 
I slept in 5 minute intervals for a half hour, maybe more, and finally they let my darlin in to be with me. I cannot imagine his purgatory of waiting.

I got home last night and slept for over an hour, passed out on a book on the bed, not moving. Then I had some food, then slept again- got up 5 times in the night to pee (thanks to that amazing IV hydration I am sure).

Woke today not dreading the day- since the worst in some ways has happened. I did not find out today, I did not have to have a D&C today. Today I did not need to lose any dreams or have anything bad happen to my body. Today I just needed to make it through moment by moment. 

I called my mom and visited with her which was blissful. She is wonderful company to me always, and today was no different. We hugged, and even laughed some, and talked and talked and talked and had quiet thoughtful times. She said that when she was having kids, a doctor once told her that if a pregnancy was going to work, there was almost nothing you could reasonably do to mess it up. But if it wasn't going to work, there was nothing you could do to change that either.

I was afraid I would feel physically empty after the procedure, or when I woke today- but I just simply ended up feeling less full. A subtle but critical difference for me. The side that feels bad is really my heart. 

I know this will take time and have horrible fits and starts-- I really do. As I said, I am familiar with grief. We have met before. 
But what scares me most right now is that we may not be able to get pregnant again. And I can imagine myself drowning in that if I am not careful.

There are beautiful things happening right now- there are. The sound of rain hammering on the roof. The scent of lilacs that my mom gave me. Right now it is thundering the first thunder of the season, the low grumbling rolling kind, that moves in circles against the hills.

6 comments:

NoodleGirl said...

I am so sorry for your loss. You write about it beautifully. I also had a loss at 9w, thought the heartbeat had ceased at 7w. At the D&E, I was the crazy lady who whimpered for one final ultrasound - while I was already on the OR table - to make sure something miraculous had not happened, though I had already had two u/s prior, confirming no heartbeat. The doctors and nurse were wonderful and understanding. And things slowly got better as the days passed. I hope you keep your wonderful spirit and continue healing in the weeks to come.

IVF 40+ said...

I agree, you write wonderfully it makes me feel like I am lucky enough to be your friend even though we have never actually met.
The ebb and flow is familiar to me - i am sad to say - but you are right. This moment has passed and now we are in 'new'. We will never be the same but we will always be more.
There for you Kate.
EB

meinsideout said...

((HUGS))

alyssa ettinger said...

Lovelovelove you kate, as always. i know you know this, but i wanted you to see the words and be reminded.

i know this is little comfort, but you handle with grace the most wretched situations. i know, i know, better not to have the awfulness in the first place. but your resilience and your courage are what make you who are you are: the crying girl i met at 15, the pretty girl i who grew into a woman, the amazingly strong woman who can smile through anything.

your braveness awes me, your spirit reminds me often that i need a kick in the pants just to keep going because i'm feeling sorry for myself.

no wonder so many people have been visiting here and commenting, you are amazing. you are my dearest friend and i hate that you're going through this. but i love your courage even more.
xxx-alyssa

Nic said...

You have an amazing outlook in life. Take as much time as you need to grieve. If you have bad days, you know where we are. x

Michele said...

Sending you warm, healing thoughts...