As some of you know, I hurt my arm a few weeks ago, and am on the slow road to recovery from repetitive strain/stress injuries that have me on prescription anti-inflammatory and muscle relaxing drugs as well as occupational therapy. And to answer Holly’s question on the last post, it is a work related injury (I spend a lot of time on the computer). That’s why I have over 300 unread posts in Google Reader and have been so out of touch with my friends on Facebook, BabyCenter, and Twitter. I think I’m starting to heal, but it will be awhile until I am all fixed.
Last week, in addition to the running around and tests for my arm issues, I also had an appointment with a nurse practitioner at Kaiser. I scheduled it over a month ago, because I wanted to talk to my caregiver about transferring my medical information from UCSF and give her a head’s up about everything that happened to me and losing my two babies. It was difficult being in the obgyn department and having to lay on the exam table in the dressing gown. The NP told me I looked sad, and I explained that it was hard being back in a hospital and that their due dates were so close. Her response was one of the best things anyone could have said to me: I would have heartache, too. On my way out, as I was waiting to schedule an appointment with a counselor, I watched a newly pregnant couple as they were told, We’ll schedule your 18-week ultrasound. Congratulations!
These past few week’s have been challenging for me. And that may be an understatement.
I feel like my body is breaking down, and I feel lost about my career goals and what I really want to do. Most of all, I just feel so heartbroken – especially tonight. It’s August 3rd, and I know what could have been. I was going to write should have been, but I know that in the greater scheme of God’s plan, everything *is* as it should be. Knowing that, however, doesn’t make it hurt any less right now, and it doesn’t stop my heart from feeling like I should have a baby in my arms and a toddler clambering into my lap.There is no “either Calvin or Rainbow.” We could have had them both.
I’ve been told that grief comes in waves, and today, I was overcome by a big one.
It was/is the sobbing, whimpering kind of grief. The kind with lots of tears and a runny nose that turns stuffy and makes it hard to breath. The kind that leaves you feeling breathless. That makes you feel both heavy and empty at the same time.
I wish I knew what it was like to have a pregnancy that ends with a living child. I wish I knew what it was like to raise two children almost exactly a year apart, to hold them both in my arms and be oblivious to the world of baby loss. But that isn’t my life – not yet, not in this world.
So I’ll just continue to bow my head in thankfulness for this aching love and cradle my babies in my heart.