Notes on recovery

I’ve even left the house a few times.

I know, big hairy deal.

Except, actually, it is a bit of a big deal. The one thing I can’t shake is this endless sense of exhaustion. I stopped spotting altogether a week ago, so it’s not continuous bleeding. I finished the whole course of antibiotics on Thursday, so my bowel function (sorry, but antibiotics play hob with said function) is returning to normal, and I am eating sensible healthy meals and taking my vitamins and iron supplements. I’m even sleeping quite well. What more can I do? I have been signed off work until next week, so this is in no way a vital or pressing question. I am just. So. Fucking. Tired. So I am very proud that I went out, walked about, and came back. Especially so as I got to meet Womb for Improvement for hot chocolate (squeeeeeee!)

Last time I miscarried, I was very emotional. Devastated. Heart-broken. Raging and inconsolable. This time I feel, chiefly, tired and bitter. So far at any rate. We shall see what spectacular outbreaks I come up with as time goes by. Because, oh, yes, H and I got into a deeply, deeply pointless fight last night, based on the sort of infinitesimal misunderstanding we’d normally clear up in seventeen placid seconds. It then occurred to me that we went through this sort of stupid blow-up and resultant disproportionate fury from last time. It’s like misery-induced paranoia, as if there was no possible way anything could be meant in all innocence. The universe is, after all, a heap of shite, right?

I personally attribute the lack of immediate devastation to:

  • a) Denial. It’ll smack me upside the head at some point. Heigh ho.
  • b) I’ve already lost my miscarriage virginity. The first time, I knew intellectually that shit happens, but, in my innocence, thought getting pregnant was the hard part, and that I had, therefore, paid my ‘hard part’ dues. This time? Feh. I am comfortably tucked into the box marked ‘shit happens’.
  • c) By the time I knew I was pregnant, I had already been cramping and spotting. I knew it was doomed. I had no chance whatsoever of getting attached, or invested, or whatever. Actually, I suspect that this will be the part of this loss that will come back to haunt me most. Me, watching the second pink line coming up on the pee-stick, and thinking not: ‘hurrah, I’m pregnant!’ but ‘oh God. This isn’t a wonky period. This is a miscarriage. Oh, please, no. Not again.’

H also seems more resigned. He is also more communicative (yay for counselling!), and we both seem to find the fact that we’re being taken very seriously and sent off to specialists reassuring. Last time, we were adrift on a vast ocean of confusion and loss, and nobody in the least bit interested in hauling us in to shore. Contrary to popular (medical) belief, there is nothing in the least bit reassuring or comforting about the diagnosis ‘It’s just bad luck, it almost certainly won’t happen again.’ Statistics may say this is so. We, the couple sitting before you, are not statistics. Statistically, any given couple should get happily, innocently pregnant in one year of banging away. We have already flicked the V at statistics. We can’t possibly feel that statistics apply to us any more. The unreasoning, meaningless diagnosis ‘bad luck’ is also the unreasoning, meaningless diagnosis ‘there’s fuck all we can/will do for you. Now bugger off.’

*Momentary pause while I feel some sympathy for doctors saddled with having to give the diagnosis ‘bad luck’, and the powerlessness they get to ‘enjoy’ too.*

And now all is onwards and upwards. Take more blood. Do more tests. Test both of us. Find a cause. Treat it. We may turn out to be in a shitty-bad place, but at least we won’t be lost in the dark anymore.

At least, I hope so.


6 responses to “Notes on recovery

  • Ben Warsop

    Well, of course you’re tired you daft wench. Bad emotions are exhausting. You can’t side-step the buggers; the only way out is through. It sucks.

    It does however sound as if you are being kinder to yourself, and you are both being kinder to each other, rows included.

  • Womb For Improvement

    Lovely, lovely to see you yesterday. (Although feel ridiculously guilty that I made you meet so early).

    I really hope the doctor hauls you onto the beach and uses flood lights and gets to the roots of this.

  • jodie38

    You’re doing beautifully, May. It’s a huge deal to get out – and you’ll probably be exhausted for a while. You’ve gone thru a physically and emotionally painful experience, it takes time to bounce back. And it takes as long as it takes, but you’ll get through. I saw a statistic somewhere that couples going through infertility are under as much stress as someone who’s been told they have cancer. Having worked in cancer facilities (pediatric and adult) and being infertile, I believe it. Both can be a very long haul, and the uncertainty, fear,anger etc. exacts a large toll. Out here at the edge, it’s all statistics. And you learn to protect yourself as best you can, you have to. I remember being so grateful that the tests found something wrong with me because it was something to point a finger at. FINALLY. And if I hadn’t miscarried, they wouldn’t have known. There’s (sort of) a cosmic apology in all that (for me, anyway). I truly, deeply hope for you that your docs can give you answers that you and H so richly deserve….

    K – I’m done yapping….. sorry to rant, I just identify so much with where you are right now…

  • thalia

    What a lot of suckitude your last few weeks have been. I’m glad at least some of the miasma is starting to clear and some of that trenchant sense of humour is returning, albeit patchily! Lots of love to you and H, and I am heroically refraining from quoting any stats at you!

  • Hairy Farmer Family

    VERY big hairy deal. And I know ALL about those. Being, you know, Hairy Farmer Wifey and everything.
    Will be back when not typing-tired-at-midnight, but just wanted to offer lots of hugs, and express wild envy at hot-chocolate drinking!
    A xxx

  • Korechronicles

    Hoping your energy levels are restored over the coming week. As for the rest can only send virtual tea and sympathy. Plenty of it.

    Wishing both of you some peace and some answers.


%d bloggers like this: