Miscarriage, Acceptance and Being Pissed at God
It’s Monday of what is shaping up to be a weird week. We were, and still are, doing aging this week but somewhere between last week’s theme of pregnancy and this week’s celebration of birthdays we took a hard turn into this week’s real theme of life, death and acceptance. After some thought and a little movie inspiration, we realized pregnancy week was not over yet but aging week started long ago. Yes we talked about all the wonderful things about being pregnant and having kids and how the kids adjusted to the new kids. However, we missed the most emotional experience we had when we were pregnant several years ago. That baby did not make it. We hate to start the week on a bummer but we promise if you read this all the way through, it will give even the saddest of you a little hope and that is what getting older is all about. Now, the miscarriage post.
Lee says: In December of 2004, we found out my brother and sister-in-law, were pregnant with their third baby. A week later on our anniversary in January, we found out we were pregnant again. We were elated. Sure, Bobby had just had his first birthday, but we weren’t getting any younger and the thought of Bobby being alone when Jeannie went off to college when he was only 7 was depressing. Paul had been less willing to have another child but the two blue lines changed his mind. And the added bonus was that my sister-in-law and I would basically be delivering almost at the same time.
Towards the end of January, my mother called me to tell me that Mari, my sister-in-law, was spotting. By the end of that day, she had miscarried. We were saddened by the loss. There was the typical questions of ‘what had gone wrong’ or ‘what did she do wrong’ which never help a situation. We chocked it up to fate who is a fickle bitch and hoped that the next time was the right time.
My first ultra-sound was scheduled for February 9th which also happened to be the anniversary of when I started walking. I realize that most people would not understand why this is significant but I promise it will make sense in the end. Paul and I were eagerly aniticpating seeing our little peanut for the first time. I had a feeling it was a girl but knew she would be too small to confirm the sex. The ultra-sound started like all others; dark room, nervous laughter and Paul cracking the inappropriate jokes. Within the first few minutes, the laughter died out and our hopes and expectations of a complete family were dashed. The baby had no heart beat. The technician brought in the radiologist who looked for a moment and came to the same conclusion. There were no condolences and what was left of the happy couple were two people in shock at the loss of a baby that was just in our imagination.
The subsequent OB visit for the D and C is a surrealistic mash up of sensations and images. What I recall is the cold. I remember holding a pillow and crying. I remember my sister, sister-in-law and Paul crying with me. My wonderful doctor, Dr. Randy Fink (if you live in Miami you have to look him up-he is the best), was the doctor I needed on that day. He reassured. He hugged me and told me he was sorry this happened.
I was feeling a pain that can only be described as hollow. I would imagine that this is what a broken heart feels like. I experienced a melancholy that, at the time, required gnashing of the teeth and wailing but all I could do was sit still while the tears ran down my face.
Meanwhile, Paul became angry. He decided that the culprit of all this pain was God. Our brother-in-law, the therapist, had Paul come in to do a hypnotherapy session to release these emotions. What resulted was an uncensored indictment of our Heavenly Father. Paul was very proud of how he told the Big Guy off. When hearing of his escapades, I quickly reprimanded my husband. I actually said to him, ‘If you get angry with God, He’ll punish us again!’
My pain transitioned into fear and before I knew it, Lee was lost and I was doomed machinations of everything she loved. I was afraid of everything. Every time Paul mentioned his feelings towards God I would cringe and wait for the lightening bolt. I was no longer the Lee who laughed at danger and sought out adventure. I was scared of everything.
Five months after the miscarriage, I started a new journey. I agreed to go to a weekend retreat where we would do some therapy and hypnosis. I could begin to see that I had lost myself in my fears and all of them were sown on the day I lost that baby. By the end of the year, I was participating in a monthly group that helped me dive deeper into the fear. Where was it from? Why now? But the answer was simple. I no longer trusted life and in turn had lost my trust in God. This revelation was like removing my blinders. I could see that my immature reaction’s to Paul’s anger towards God was really that I questioned His love.
As I began to experience a newfound hope in life and rebuilding my relationship with God, I lost my best friend. One day she was alive and kicking, the next day, gone. This should have sent me into a complete fear spiral again but this time, since I had a better foundation, I understood the loss. Don’t get me wrong. It hurt. A lot. But Suzy, my friend, taught me a great lesson of the beauty of the human spirit that I knew was another gift from the Big Guy himself.
Four months after Suzy passed, in Spring of 2006, I was given another gift. The two blue lines introduced me to the hope of a new life. I knew from the moment I saw them that it was a boy. I knew at that moment that everything I had gone through, the miscarriage and fear and subsequent enlightenment was needed to get me to this point. I was blessed with a miscarriage to appreciate my life and the lives of all my loved ones. That little baby gave me more in her tiny life than I could have ever imagined. I had learned to walk again and this time on a path to self improvement and acceptance. And with the two new blue lines, I was given another gift; a knowing that I was loved and embraced by the Universe itself.
Paul says: More to come.