Various pinches

Item – Pain a lot better, but still bleeding merrily scarlet. Not heavily, just merrily. It’s the only merry thing about me.

Item – Given that Cute Ute is being merely content (for the moment, touch wood) with working her way through all my leftover sanitary towels, I have time and attention to devote to my feet and calves. Which went into huge almighty cramp on Wednesday (no, no idea why, really. Too much lying down glaring miserably at things? Not enough grotesque nonsense in my life?), and which I am still crippled by. I can’t really walk very well, and one ankle is downright bruised. The hell, the fuck, the what the crikey? And why both feet? And why? *looks disconsolate, rubs foot again*.

Item – I finally cried today. I had been limiting myself to having my eyes fill with tears when a nurse tells me she’s so very sorry for our loss. Poor H burst into tears and wept in my arms as soon as we got back from the clinic. I just gaze glumly, or angrily, at the middle distance, depending, and occasionally shout at particularly obtuse people on the radio or telly. But today I lay flat on my back on the bed, with tears running into my ears, sobbing because I come from a long line of revoltingly fertile women on both sides, all popping out babies by the half-dozen with not a single bloody loss between them, and yet here I am.

Item – I feel I have merely skimmed an inch or so of tears off the top of the pan to stop it boiling over. Heigh ho.

Item – Things to do this week: Go to the GP and sort out sick leave and letter to work. Sort out prescription for weaning self off Prednisolone. Phone maternity services and cancel all scans and booking appointments. Call Riverside’s counselling service for a chat – this at H’s insistence, because he can’t exactly share his own counsellor with me, and I am clearly freaked out and havering about the whole trying-again/not-trying-EVER-again/FET/fresh IVF mind-chess, coupled with the ‘You can’t seriously expect me to hang about menstruating for months for no reason’ PTSD horseshitaria (and apparently no, I can’t go on the Pill back to back while we sort it out. 38, fat, migraines with aura in presence of oestrogen). Buy shoes.

Item – My darling Gentle Readers and Lovely Twitterers, what on earth would I be doing without you?

Item – Some of my friends and family are busily ignoring me, of course, and because they are, I can’t tell if they are just extremely busy and preoccupied themselves, or, having sent me a card already a few times this past decade, are thinking: ‘To lose one baby, Ms May, can be regarded as a misfortune; to lose ten looks like carelessness.’ This last item is very whiny, I know. But this is part of loss and disaster – the friends who run out of patience, the family who are too self-conscious and awkward to want to deal with it, the huge unspoken cloud of ‘Again? Seriously? But I sympathised with all this shit already! You want more sympathy? Well, I’m sorry, but I have school uniforms to buy and the gerbil just died and don’t you know the triplets are teething and I haven’t been on a date night since 2012 and my spouse is job-hunting? Only the first three miscarriages count! After that, I’m sorry, but it’s all too fucking weird and anyway you must be used to it by now so why are you crying, FREAK?’ Or at least, that’s what Bitter McTwisted tells me. The Positive Thinking Fairy reminds me they’re very very very busy and no doubt thinking of me very warmly indeed and/or too busy to check my blog or emails or talk to other family members or ask after me or wonder why I am so sad and silent these days…


23 responses to “Various pinches

  • sheila

    Great big hugs. And G&B butterscotch chocolate. And proper pizza. And advance screenings of the new Dr Who before anyone else….

    I found talking to a counsellor really helpful – I ended up there myself too (not at Riverside) and it really helped, despite my deep initial reservations towards the process.

  • QoB

    Speaking purely from personal experience, sometimes I feel awkward about contacting someone who has recently experienced a Bad Sad Thing. I feel like I’m inserting myself where it isn’t needed, when the person has more important things to occupy themselves with, like organising a funeral, or just trying to keep breathing and conscious. But I usually do anyway, because if my friends who have suffered BSTs agree on anything it’s that you remember the people who show up, and who contact you, even if you’re not capable of a response just then. Which is a roundabout way of saying I sympathise with your friends and family but they should (wo)man up.

    I hope you find some *fabulous* ass-kicking shoes next week.

  • chickenpig

    I just hate that feeling that if I start crying I will never stop. And in my humble opiinion, multiple losses should equal compound sympathy to the 10th power…not less. You have all of mine.

  • pers

    Hugs. And a big glass of an alcoholic beverage that doesn’t cause stomach upset. And see the counseling people. I particularly recommend ones that are at least somewhat connected to the clinic, because they are less likely to stick foot in mouth on sensitive issues.

  • kylie

    not sure if comment actually went through. so big hugs and see the counseling people. It helps to have neutral person who doesn’t/can’t run away when the tears start.

  • Robyn

    Tears are good. It’s the way our body excretes cortisol…that nasty little stress steroid. I remind myself of this fact whenever I find Little Miss Perfectionist trying to take over and keep me all stiff upper lipped. So…let the rivers of salt-borne cortisol flow. They will stop eventually. But you have every reason…ten of them in fact, to wail and whine until you’re spent.

    And like QoB, it is often hard to know just whether it’s the right time to call, or if you are losing your marbles due to age like me, you tell yourself all day to make the call when you get home, get sucked into the dinner prep vortex and subsequent collapse into chair, remembering the call you were going to make only when it is far too late to be calling anyone but a very close blood relative. And only then, in a dire emergency. Repeat for days at a time. But yes, SHAPE UP!!!, May and H’s family.

    And yes, try the counselling. Can’t hurt, might very well help. Love and light, as ever,dear May and H.

  • sharah

    May, I just finally got on a computer to comment – and I am so, so sorry that you have to deal with this. Giant hugs to you and H wile you’re going through this.

  • Anonymous

    I recently developed the migraine with aura and my docs told me that it was OK to take the progesterone-only pills–just not the ones with estrogen. So, for what little that’s worth…

    And I know just what you mean about the crying. I hate crying even when it feels like it might really help.

    My guess is those who’ve neglected you don’t know, or don’t know what to say–or rather are afraid of screwing up somehow in saying it, as others have noted–time or content or method or whatever. It’s really mortifying when I put my foot in my mouth and I feel like I so often do, so when the stakes are higher it’s even scarier to say something.

    And many people are particularly bad about death, grief, and loss; we have some instinctive emotional belief that if we mention these things we’ll cause pain to the person who’s experienced the loss, as if we’re reminding them of something they’d otherwise forget. Almost any griever would rather talk about the one who’s been lost but somehow that’s not what penetrates to the animal hindbrain of the would-be consolers.

    I’m still sorry. I wish I could help and make it better, and I know I can’t, and then I get hung up not knowing what else to say.

  • Melissa

    Massive Massive hugs! I’m sorry you aren’t receiving the support you should from your friends and family. I just don’t understand that really. But you have scads of support from all over the world! That doesn’t take the place of it, of course.

  • Sara

    This is why God created internet friends. Because they can care when your family doesn’t appear to. You don’t know me from Adam (or Eve), but if my sympathy typed over a keyboard helps, you have it.

  • Amy

    I hope you find your counselor to be very helpful in sorting through all of these nightmarish items. I waited far too long to see out talk therapy, but I can say that it did help, some, in time, if only in that it is remarkably freeing to let all these thoughts and feelings out to a person without a personal connection to you. To be told by a completely neutral party that your reactions are actually completely normal and your grief is incredibly valid is so, so important. Massive, massive hugs to you and to H.

  • Twangy

    Poor feet. So sorry for this misery you are living through, May. I am glad you have this safe place in which to speak.

    (Also, fwiw, if anything, I remember some advice Thalia gave me, when I was in the throes, to set myself a given amount of time to grieve, then get up and do something, like make some tea. I was touched by the practical nature of that piece of advice – the sort of thing people shy away from saying, just when you feel most at sea – and it always stayed with me. I found the structure and also the allowing of the grief could be reassuring. Like I say, fwiw.)

    Many hugs.

  • A

    You have every right to be sad. How could it feel better the more times you lose a baby. (I know you know that I meant the people around you.)
    I quit my blog since a swedish reader found it and I thought I would not be anonymous any more. Stupid I know.
    I got a call from my mother in law today. She heard I was back at work today.
    -Good, so now everything is back to normal again!
    Felt like a hit with an ax between my eyes.

  • Anonymous

    All of your faithful internets mourn with you today May. So many of us are so very, very sorry for your loss. And how kind of you to bolster us with your expressions of gratitude for our presence! It is good to know we might have helped during this difficult time. This is not enough, however, and I hope that your immediate friends and family can find ways to be with you in ways that you feel are supportive. But even this will likely not be enough comfort in the face of your tremendous loss. It was wise of H to recommend counseling for you, and I do hope you are able to connect with someone at Riverside Clinic soon. Since you have found their in-house staff to be excellent, overall, you might find that you resonate with one of their preferred counselors as well. Twittering in the ether might well bring some temporary relief to suffering, but you deserve more attention, May. Professional counseling over an extended period of time might bring you space to grieve and consider the appropriate next steps for you and H, and tools to cope with chronic pain. I, for one, am holding out hope that a future IVF cycle that occurs without the presence of the fertility drugs that jackhammered Satsuma might lead to a babe in your arms someday. But only you and H know what’s right for you.

  • bionicbrooklynite

    I can’t think of anything even clever, let alone smart or wise, to say, but I do send my love, as always.

  • Shannon

    If I can kindly, respectfully echo QoB’s comment? I am here, very much, and would love nothing more than to hover. Only having been on he receiving end of the miscarriage smack down myself, I know people have different needs. Me, I wanted not to discuss it with anyone bar anonymous bloggers. Ever. Others do need and want to talk about it, but I never want to pry. Not ever. My statement is simply and honestly this: I am so sorry, lovely, and if you or H ever want to talk I’d love to be there. In the meantime, I hover.

  • a

    Thinking of you – it’s miserable and sad.

    I hope your family think of the right things to say, unlikely as it may be.

    Yes. Buy shoes.

  • blackbirdofpeace

    I continue to send you good wishes and cyber hugs. Horrible slough you are slogging through. There is no justice.

  • Teuchter

    I’ve been thinking of you both – but then you don’t know that because I stupidly haven’t told you.
    It’s hard to know what to say in the face of such pain and loss. We wanted this so much for you.
    Much love.

  • Jennifer

    Dear May,

    I have been reading your blog for years, but have always been too shy to comment before now. I just want to tell you that I am so sorry for the loss of 6AA. It’s so very, very not fair or right that you and H have to suffer like this. Again. Ever.

    You are in my thoughts.

  • Lilian

    Your poor feet. I hope you find some lovely, comfortable shoes. Yes, definitely try the counselling. Thinking of you and H.

  • newtoivf

    so unfair, so shit, so horrible xxx

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