Matt, Henry, and I are on vacation in Bloomington, Indiana, where Matt's family lives. This past weekend, Matt's family volunteered to watch Henry and treated us to a two-day solo-vacation on the coast of lake Michigan.
I feel like I'm doing well in terms of processing the miscarriage emotionally. Your support via the comments section and the personal e-mails meant so much to me. I apologize to each and every one of you that I wasn't able to respond individually; it was simply too painful. But I appreciated your words, kindness, and logistical recommendations so much.
I still dwell in moments of sadness sometimes--like when I realized that having a miscarriage is like giving birth to death. But I'm getting to a place where I can look ahead and think about the cycle of healing my body and preparing to try and nurture life again.
My biggest worry has been about the actual process of miscarriage and my choice to try and let it happen naturally, despite the recommendations of my good friends who have been in this place before me.
A week ago, the midwife said it would likely happen in the next two weeks, but I didn't understand how she could say that with any certainty. The baby stopped developing approximately seven weeks ago. Why would the miscarriage happen now?
Any time I feel anything at all in my body, I try to take in a deep breath and slowly let it out as I assure myself that it's time to let the baby go. When I read this post about miscarriage, I was able to put words to my choice to try and let the miscarriage happen naturally. My baby was already taken from me; I don't want to take it from my body. I want to give my body the space and time it needs to let the baby go.
I woke up yesterday in the pale hours of the morning. I had the overwhelming urge to pee. I tried to roll over and go back to sleep, but I finally decided I would sleep better if I went to the bathroom. It was then that I realized the spotting had started. When I lay back in bed, I couldn't sleep. Instead, I watched the sunrise. The clouds kept shifting into new images. First, I saw the face of a man. I cried for the person our baby never had the chance to become. Then the clouds shifted into a chubby-cheeked baby staring into the horizon. Finally, I saw a seahorse. It didn't have any meaning to me, but it made me realize that I wasn't imagining the man or the baby. The shapes were what they were.
I still need to plant succulents in our new vase to give life to and commemorate our love for our lost baby, and I also need to write the baby a letter.
I cry when I need to, but other than that, I face forward. I think about running another Purposeful Conception course soon to connect with others who are thinking about preparing their minds, bodies, and lives for pregnancy. I also spend a lot of time collaborating with Kylie and Angie on our book which is coming out any! day! I'm also busy getting ready for school. Professional development for teachers starts on July 23, and school starts on August 6--this is for my job as the Director of Operations and Compliance for a new charter school opening in Austin, not the Montessori school I'm trying to start.
Now that my bleeding has started, I need to get a shot of Rhogam. My blood type is A-negative. If the baby happens to be A-positive and its blood mixes with mine, then my body would produce antibodies that would be detrimental to any future baby that was A-positive.
One day at a time.