Grief – Ur doin it rong

I spent this morning writing letters to family and friends, thanking them for their excited and congratulatory cards and explaining that, sorry, but they could take the congratulations and excitement back now.

I also let some other people I hang out with elsewhere online know. I’ve been friends with some of them for six or seven years now. I’ve even gone mad and met some of them in person. So, you know, need to know. And a few of them were beginning to wonder where the hell I was. Especially as I’ve only shared this blog with a couple of them. Not everyone needs to know about my EWCM.

And I finally got an email back from my tutor, who simply had been out of the office for a long weekend (what, tutors are allowed holidays? The idea). He sorry to hear about it, and offered sympathy, and left it up to me to tell him when I felt I could get on with my coursework. See? Perfect email from tutor to troubled student. Kindness makes troubled student cry, so it’s just as well she’s tucked up at home watching the rain fall and eating chocolate ice-cream.

So. Got through quite a few tissues today.

My mother called me last night, to ask if I wanted to go to the opera tomorrow. Umm. Really? The opera? Just a few hours after an ERPC/ D&C? Umm. No. She also told me that I ‘sounded much better’. Ah. Do I. Fine.

I think I must be doing the Five Stages of Grief back to front. MsPrufrock mentioned them (and made me laugh, yay!), and I looked into it because, what the hell, and yes, I am doing them wrong. They are supposed to go Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression and finally Acceptance. I started with Acceptance, was sad but very calm for a couple of days, my Mum came over and unwittingly tipped me into not only Angry but Fucking Furious, and since then I have been dicking about between Depression and back to really really quite cross. Denial and Bargaining both seem to be utterly pointless. Deny what? My body is in denial – ow my tits – but bargaining? Hah. What for. And I keep trying to swim back to Acceptance. I don’t know why. It’s only been a week since I’ve known for sure this pregnancy was so over. Why I expect myself to be able to process, accept, and sail on, I do not know. This sucks. It is going to suck for a while. It is going to suck, occasionally, until I die. And yet I waste precious sobbing time trying to chivy myself into doing the washing-up and just generally getting a grip.

I sound fucked up to me too, you know.

To all the commentators (and Mel, for the mention) – Thank you so much for your kindness and support. And you are all saying the right things. And I love you for it. And thanks to you, my stats are now saying my ‘busiest’ day (bless WordPress for changing that from ‘best’) is now the 3rd of June, and not Black Tuesday last week. This is a wonderful thing.

Tomorrow, back to the EPU (hah! EPU! HAH! Hah and arse) for that final what-the-hey-is-going-on-in-there scan, followed, probably, by a trip to theatre (see, Mum, that’s why I can’t go to the opera. Am going to the theatre! Heheheh!). If I don’t post for a few days, it’s probably because I have anaesthesia hangover.

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19 responses to “Grief – Ur doin it rong

  • Hairy Farmer Family

    Oh May, you poor girl. I’m just so sad for you, I really am. I will be thinking of you tomorrow in particular. Big Hugs.

    Now listen; bugger the washing up: you have both husband and mother; therefore do not try and bark yourself. (Have been trying to think of some ghastly pun involving swimming Denial, but have decided I’ll only embarrass myself in front of your other, more sophisticated commenters. So I won’t mention it at all.)

    I very much admire your secret-keeping ability. The only reason I haven’t divulged my blog to many friends is that it’s too new and I obviously haven’t been pissed enough yet. It’ll come.

    If you fancy a trip to the soggy midlands when this sad, crappy episode is over, then we’ll try our level best to show you a mediocre time. I know that good times just cannot be had post baby-loss, but days of lessened misery are achievable.

    Again, thinking good thoughts for you tomorrow.

  • Amy

    I don’t have anything witty to say (sorry) but I just want to let you know that you’re in my thoughts. This just sucks so much, but you’re not alone. (visiting from NCLM)

  • Rebecca

    I’ll be thinking about you tomorrow. Let us know how you are.

  • Robyn

    Thinking of you and your theatre date today. (And your mum…opera? Would it be rude of me to call that clueless?) This is a tough thing you’re going through. Sod the washing up and housework, take care of each other instead. So much more rewarding.

    And blogging on serious drugs? Sounds fun to me.

  • Katie

    I am so sorry. I wish there was more that I could say or do, but miscarrying sucks arse and there is not much to make it better.

    But perhaps knowing that a complete stranger is crying for you and your lost baby might help. A bit?

    In any case, thinking of you. And I am really sorry.

  • Sharon LaMothe

    Hi there…NCLM but even if it weren’t I would want to pop in and say you are a hero…just the fact that you can move forward…and no matter what the books say…or the psychologists spout or what your mother thinks…. what YOU ARE DOING is moving forward…to what? That is the question. But my guess is toward a better day, a better place, and on to finding a new found strength!

    Hang in there…you have invisible friends routing for YOU!

    BIG BIG HUGS
    Sharon

  • deanna

    Thinking of you, and sending every kind thought your way.
    *hugs*

  • Rita

    Hey – I need to seriously look at those stages of Grief – I think I’ve been stuck in one for a long time

  • geohde

    I wouldn’t do it in order either, May. I’d also invest some serious time in Bloody Furious before considering acceptance.

    If you do end up in theatre, firstly I am sorry, it’s a sucky thing to go through. Secondly, make sure the anaesthetist gives you an antiemetic before you wake, I’ve done it both ways and non-puking is decidedly better. Oh, and if they’re like they are here they’ll given you pethidine all you want/need in recovery but chuck you out the door with nary but a couple of paracetamol.

    J

  • megan

    I’m so sorry you have to go through this, May. There’s nothing to say. It sucks beyond belief. I’ll be virtually holding your other hand (the one H isn’t holding!) all day tomorrow.

  • DC

    I’m so sorry you’re going through this. I hope the theater proves to be a welcome distraction.

  • DC

    BTW . . . I just added you to my blogroll. Hope you don’t mind.

  • JuliaS

    Wishing you better.

    NCLM

  • Solnushka

    I’ll be thinking of you (and S) today, May. *hug*

  • katie

    Only advice I have is take the codeine, and ask for it separately to the paracetemol, as then you can take it more often if necessary.

  • MsPrufrock

    I’m glad to see you are getting the readership you deserve. For months on end I’ve been devising ways to pimp your blog because of your fabulousness, so I’m glad NCLM has done that for me.

    I’ll be thinking of you tomorrow. You could write a nonsense sentence or ten under the influence of anaesthesia and I would beg to read it.

  • seriously?

    I am so sorry for your loss. Do something kind for youself in the next few days.

  • Andie

    I am so very very sorry for all you are going through. I don’t know that there’s a ‘right’ way to grieve anyway. But I will be thinking of you and wishing there were some way for this not to be happening.

  • Jackie

    Hey there, May, I’m thinking of you and grieving your loss. I’m so sorry you have to go through all of this and hope the physical part gets itself straightened out quickly. I know the other part will take time and we’re all here for you with that bit. Much love.

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