A Tale of Two Thanksgivings; or, When Feelings Become Farts

#1

The date: Thanksgiving Day, 2009
The place: 'Round the dinner table at the Sloper's familial home
The event: The annual recitation of "What are we thankful for this year," in order from youngest to oldest.

I knew I would cry. I did cry. My sisters cried. My mom cried. My husband stroked my back. My sister's fiance told me how sorry he was. I mentioned my gratitude for health insurance. We all laughed and cried at the same time, wiped our tears with our napkins, and ate some good food.

Conclusion: Crying's not so bad.

#2

The date: Day after Thanksgiving, 2009
The place: 'Round the table at Mr. Lawyer's father's familial home.
The event: People just eatin' some lasagna in a traditional product-of-divorce, making-the-best-of-a-split-holiday kind of way.

I knew I would cry. I felt like crying every time I saw my sister-in-law's tiny baby bump (though no one mentioned the pregnancy at all that night, thank God). I was close to tears all evening. And then Mr. Lawyer made some innocuous comment about, "Yeah, it's a real trial taking care of her" (it was a joke and in the context of a conversation). And then I thought about all he's had to see me go through the last two weeks, and all the support he's given even while hurting himself. And I burst into tears.

Silence. Complete, utter silence from every person at the table. Even the 22-month-old niece was silent. It could not have been more silent if I had just let loose the loudest, smelliest fart ever heard or smelled. I got myself under control and took off for the bathroom for about five minutes of nose blowing and pep talking.

Conclusion: Crying sucks major balls.

Thankfulness; or, Counting Blessings

I am thankful this weekend for so many things:

For my family, for the fact that we can all be together tomorrow, that we love each other and are always a stable force in each others' lives, even when we fight. And for my in-laws, who show me the love and kindness they would give to a daughter of their own.

For my friends, who have been so supportive these last two weeks. So many people have shown me how much they care about me, how sad they feel with me, and how hopeful they are for me.

For my education, that I'm paid to study a subject I love, and that I have the opportunity to introduce students to books they may not choose to read, but that they will (I hope) remember for all their lives.

For my home. It's comfortable and big enough for us and our dog and in a neighborhood we love. We have plans to fix up a few things and money to afford the improvements and we're not in danger of losing our place to live.

For our health and (maybe even more important!) our health insurance. I'm so grateful that all of the ultrasounds, doctors' visits, test and procedures were covered by insurance. I'm grateful that I was able to be proactive about seeing my physicians during my pregnancy, about testing to try to find out what went wrong, and that I can trust I'll be in good hands going forward. And I'm grateful to have mental health coverage and a therapist who is helping me through these struggles.

For my husband's job, which is secure (as secure as things can be right now) and allows me to pursue my academic dream instead of working in a better paying industry.

For the pregnancy. Even though it was short and even though I'm sadder than I ever imagined being, I loved my baby for the four weeks I knew I was pregnant. I'm grateful the baby had those seven weeks to live. And if there was something irreparably wrong, I'm grateful the baby felt no pain during its short time alive.

For the moments of hope and optimism, when I feel confident that we'll conceive another child and that we'll have the family we dream of.

Most of all, I'm grateful for my husband. He is my partner, and I couldn't survive any of this without him. I've never felt as loved and supported as I have these last two weeks, and I thank God every day that he is the man I married and the man with whom I will one day have children.

Happy Thanksgiving

Back to School; or, Back to Life

I'm up at 6:45 am because I'm going back to teaching for the first time in two weeks. I keep thinking about the fact that at the last class I taught, I thought I was still carrying a healthy pregnancy. I was puking between my courses. I scarfed down two slices of pizza at a staff meeting. I drove home and puked some more.

And then the next morning everything changed.

I really don't want to go back. I want to curl up in a ball in my bed and drink tea and hold my hot water bottle and watch bad tv. But my students have missed out on a week-and-a-half of their course. And while they wouldn't mind never coming back in again, I'm sure, I can't let them down like that.

Only three weeks left. I can make it.

I guess that's what being a grown-up is about.

Tennyson; or, Break, Break, Break

I like to read poetry when I'm sad. I like it when I'm happy too (there's a Christina Rossetti poem I was memorizing for the occasion of the m&m's never-to-be birth), but I especially like it when I'm sad. Tennyson is one of my favorite poets.

Break, break, break
On thy cold grey stones, O Sea!
And I would that my tongue could utter
The thoughts that arise in me.

O well for the fisherman's boy,
That he shouts with his sister at play!
O well for the sailor lad,
That he sings in his boat on the bay!

And the stately ships go on
To their haven under the hill;
But O for the touch of a vanish'd hand,
And the sound of a voice that is still!

Break, break, break
At the foot of thy crags, O Sea!
But the tender grace of a day that is dead
Will never come back to me.

- Alfred Lord Tennyson

Odds and Ends; or, Collecting Thoughts

I forgot to relate a little event that happened at the d&c. Before anything began, I had a stack of medical and other forms to fill out. Slipped in among them, they had accidentally put the consent form for termination of pregnancy.

I'm Catholic and have huge moral problems with abortion. (Which, I want to clarify, doesn't mean that I think people who have had them are evil or bad or immoral. One of my closest sources of support during this process has been my friend who aborted a first trimester pregnancy with a d&c two years ago, and I understand her reasons for making her choice. (The political aspects of the issue are a whole other kettle of fish. I'll just say that I tend to vote Democrat)).

Anyway, seeing this legal consent form intended for a woman voluntarily ending her pregnancy just made me flip out. I started sobbing. And weirdly, the first thing that popped into my head was that if I ever decided to run for political office people would think I had an abortion if I signed these forms.

I didn't sign them, and they cleared up the mistake and gave me the right ones. But my husband found my reaction a little bizarre--simply because he knows running for political office sounds like hell to me!

* * *
Today we're going down to my parents' house for an engagement brunch in honor of my sister directly below me in age. We're going to meet her fiance's parents, sister, and brother-in-law. I've been really looking forward to this. But I woke up this morning at 4:30 crying. Emotionally this doesn't feel like a stable day. I'm going to have to get past that for my sister's sake.

* * *
Rapidly fading/fluctuating pregnancy hormones don't just mess with your emotions. They also fuck with your skin. The clear, smooth, slightly dry skin of my pregnancy is gone. I've got zits now in places I didn't know they could grow.

* * *
Finally, we're going on a cruise in January! I've never been on one before and usually like more personalized vacations. I pour over travel guides, search online for deals and tips, try to cram in as many sights (and sites) as I can in a short vacation time. But right now, paying someone to take me around to sunny islands while providing me with booze and unlimited food (and a gym) sounds pretty great. My husband is delighted I've come around to his planning-free mode of vacationing.

Anyone been on a cruise before and have any recommendations? We're planning to depart from NYC just to cut down on bother and expense, and the only cruises leaving from their in our time frame are the Queen Mary 2 (ha!), Norwegian, and Royal Caribbean.

Two Steps Back; or, Toddlerhood

I thought I was doing better the last two days. I felt so calm after the d&c, so capable. I can do this, I thought. I can get through this. I'm going to be fine. At least it's behind me.

Today I feel like crap. I woke up at 6 am and promptly started crying. I cried on my husband's shoulder after he woke up. I cried on the walk to breakfast with my mom, and I cried as she drove away to go back home. I'm lying here, completely exhausted. My eyes hurt. My chest hurts. Every part of me feels raw and alive with pain.

It's not fair! It's not fair! I'm like a three year old who wants to shout at her parents. It's not fair that my first pregnancy was a screwed-up one. It's not fair that all my friends have had such easy times conceiving and carrying their children. I want to stand on my roof deck and just scream that this isn't fair.

I know the answers to that: Life isn't fair. Everyone has his or her own challenges. Don't judge my struggles by what I can see of others'.

If the good days are just a phase, then so are the bad ones. But God, do they ever suck while you're riding them out.

D&C; or, Done

I'm not pregnant anymore. I guess, technically, I wasn't before. The baby died probably about a week and a half ago, so I hadn't had a living, healthy pregnancy since, I don't know, last Monday? Or Tuesday? But now, I'm really, truly not pregnant, with the empty, scraped-clean uterus to prove it.

The D&C was not fun, but the recovery has been better than I expected. They drew blood and gave me an IV to administer the sedative, and I panicked like I always do, but I got through it. And afterward I puked three times from the anesthesia (again, as expected, I'm super sensitive to it) and lay there moaning with the worst cramps of my life. But eventually the ty.lenol kicked in and I felt a little better and was able to go home.

We paid extra out-of-pocket for the "VIP" treatment, which meant a comfortable, private room with a bed in which to wait for and recover from the procedure and extra attention from the nurses. It was expensive, but worth it to be able to have time and privacy to recover without feeling like I was a cow in a cattle stall. We joked that this was my Christmas present.

The nurses were all lovely and kind, and the doctor was nice too. They all reassured me that this was just an accident and doesn't mean anything about my ability to have children. One of the nurses was alone with me in the OR for a little while before it started, and she told me how sorry she was for my loss. I started to cry for the first time that day and thanked her. She told me she had been where I was and she now had three children. That she miscarried her first, too, and that it had taken her a year to get pregnant the first time. A lot of people have told me those kinds of stories, or told my mother (they're mostly older women who are done bearing children). They do help. I try to hold on to them when I feel scared about the future.

I've been popping ty.lenol every 4 or 5 hours and that seems to keep the cramps at bay. I'm also using my trusty old hot-water bottle. I bought it 10 years ago at Bo.ots' pharmacy during my year living in England between high-school and college. I never knew it would get me through so many awful times, but it's been there for me through periods I didn't want to get (and, long ago, periods I desperately wanted to get) and now through this.

I seem to have moved into the anger phase of this process. I've been a cranky bitch these last two days to my mom, my husband, the voices inside my head. I snapped at Lawyer Guy last night for nothing! Because he was talking to his mom about being upset he'll have to miss his family's Thanksgiving this year for mine. I sniped "Screw you" and stomped off to the bedroom to sulk and cry for three hours and then try to make up. Is it hormones? Am I angry at him? He's been so wonderful.

I don't know what I'm feeling half the time. I don't cry all day any longer, but I don't feel like myself, either. I need my husband and family so much, but I also push them away.

Real life starts again next week. I think I'll be ready for it. I think I'll be ready to move forward.