Parallel Universe

I have a hard time shutting my brain down.  Not only do I think about the actual event, but my mind does this thing where I actually picture an entirely different scenario.

When our doctor told us we lost Baby B, she repeated what seemed like 1,000 times, that there was no heartbeat.  Instead, I picture myself looking up at the screen and her saying “Everything looks great. Your baby has a very strong heartbeat.”  She then prints out our sonogram pictures, and my husband and I “ooh” and “aww” over them, and then we head out for a nice breakfast where we call all of our friends and family and tell them how adorable our baby looks.  That’s what happens in my parallel universe.  It’s honestly torture what I do to myself, but I find that I can’t help it.  If I could ask for one thing, besides the obvious, I’d ask if my brain could just shut off.  Just for a minute.

Everyone handles loss in their own way.  For myself, I NEED to talk about it.  Every day I have found the time to sit down with Brian or my Mom and tell them exactly how I’m feeling.  Some days are harder than others.  Some days I’m able to get out how I feel without crying, and other days, I’m a blubbering mess.  For Brian, he’s able to distract himself with work and hobbies.  I could be staring at the TV and not even see what’s going on, because my mind has wandered off.  I envy him for that.  Don’t stop communicating with your partner though.  He may feel the need to distract himself, but he feels your pain equally.

A lot of people will tell you “Once you’re able to get out, and start doing your normal routine, you’ll feel better.”  This may be true, but for someone who has a hard time keeping her mouth closed, I feel like the cashier at Publix could ask how my day was going and I would respond with “It’s not really good. I had a miscarriage two weeks ago, and everything sucks.”   Instead, I smile politely and tell her I’m great.  People don’t realize that when you were doing your “normal routine” before your miscarriage, you were carrying your baby with you every where you went.  That baby WAS the center of your normal routine.  Going to the grocery store wasn’t just about getting your food, it was about getting the food you were craving because of the baby.  I swear, the first time I went grocery shopping, I cried when I looked at a jar of pickles.

Speaking of what people might say to you, don’t be offended when someone hasn’t a clue how to respond to your miscarriage.  My favorite is “You can try again.”  The first thing I wanted to ask that person was “Did my husband and I lose a race?”  No, we lost our child.  People will tell you “Don’t worry, you’ll be a mom one day.”  You’ll want to say, “I am a mom.”  Don’t let anyone take that away from you.  You are a mom.  You’ll always be a mom.  You are a mom to an angel baby, forever watching over you and your family.

Coping is hard.  There is no right way to cope.  Right now I’m a mixture of sad and angry.  I’m okay with that.  The one thing that helps is looking towards the future.  I’m holding on to the future right now, in hopes of our rainbow baby.

 

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