Random thoughts

I took a week off from work after the D&C. It was originally going to be just a day or two, but I just didn't feel like going back yet.

I wish my workplace had a "cry room". I feel like I'm suffering in silence. I have invisible pain and scars that don't heal. I don't have a bandage that I can point to or a picture of a deceased loved one....oh, I have pictures. Buried in the closet are tiny black & white photos from the 2 previous sonograms. They don't look like much. The one sonogram picture that actually looked like a baby was the one that didn't get printed out because it was a picture of a baby that no longer had a heartbeat. We sat there in the room staring at that picture that the technician had accidentally left on the screen. After several minutes of silence, my husband got up and turned the screen off. Later, I would comment that I'm a little sorry that we didn't ask for that picture. "Why?!" he said. Because it was proof, the only proof, that there was a little person in there. That we weren't hurting for no reason.

I've noticed that there are miscarriage buzzwords like "don't minimize." I struggle with this.

I hated getting sympathy emails. I hated hearing other people's stories if their conclusions differed from mine. I was still angry, so I didn't want to hear about anyone who later had a successful pregnancy and decided that it happens for a reason. I think I just wanted to be mad for awhile.

As I filled out my time sheet for the week I took off, I suddenly wondered if this would fall under "bereavement." I called our HR chick and she said, "Well, that is the first time this question has come up, but I don't see why it wouldn't count." Gee, thanks. I'm happy to be blazing new trails here.

From my journal: "My mood changes hourly. I did really well today, but tonight I'm a basketcase again.

Simple things set me off. Like looking at my calendar and noticing that we had a special appointment scheduled for this Friday. It was originally supposed to be the 3 month marker. I felt a fluttery sensation that might have been a kick, but obviously, it wasn't.

Biggest annoyance: the guy who tells EVERYONE about his pregnancies the day after he finds out because "miscarriage" doesn't even occur to him. It isn't his fault, of course, but it still hurts.

I keep thinking of metaphors that showcase how stupid I was to get comfortable with this pregnancy: "Fool me once..." and Charlie Brown with the football.