Wednesday, July 25, 2007
When it was first happening, I decided I wasn't going to write about it. I didn't want to cheapen the experience, I didn't want the loss of my pregnancy to become blog fodder. But now it's over, really over - and I'm okay.
When we found out I was pregnant we were surprised, and sheepishly pleased. This baby would have been our closest space yet, 18 months apart from Zalman. We started thinking about juggling school tuition and midwifery payments. We calculated that we'd have our baby in February. We wondered if we could hack it, parenting five young children.
I called my midwife, who was surprised and happy for me. We scheduled our first appointment for a later time. I felt Yaakov and I had a secret with G-d, a warm little secret growing inside.
I was craving protein and started eating more. I began taking my pre-natals and extra iron. I'd cast furtive glances at the calendar, at the cryptically circled date for my first appointment. Even my calendar was in cahoots with me.
I started bleeding on a Friday morning. I sighed with a heavy heart and went back into the kitchen. Breakfast to make, lunches to prepare. I finally had a moment alone with Yaakov. "Oh no," he said, crestfallen. But I was too busy that day to grieve. I had challah to make, a million things to do for shabbos.
Yet at every moment I knew: My precious secret was bleeding out of me.
As the days passed, I wanted to tell everybody. I wanted to tell the Publix cashier. The UPS guy. It was weird that people were interacting with me like nothing was amiss. It was strange being nonchalant with the world.
I did make it to that appointment with my midwife, but it wasn't a prenatal visit. She was taking my blood, confirming the miscarriage was complete. She comforted me.
In retrospect, the miscarriage was a blessing. I was off the wall emotionally, my anxiety was through the roof. Though I'm sure the miscarriage exacerbated them, they're feelings I deal with all the time. After the miscarriage I finally decided to get help.
Perhaps a part of me had to die, so another part could ultimately live.
Love, Maven @ 
8 Comments:
At 5:34 PM,
Ezer K'negdo said…
These are big steps. I am glad you don't blow them off or minimize them. So many people do. You really seem to live in the moment. It's a good thing.
At 6:18 PM,
Anonymous said…
I have been reading your blog for awhile now. I don't always agree with what you post.
This post, however, really touched me. I applaud your honesty and courage, and pray only the best for you and your family.
At 11:13 PM,
Mrs Andy said…
Maven, I'm so sorry for your loss. Check your email for a more detailed message.
At 5:09 AM,
Stephanie said…
hugggs Miss Maven and Mr. Y. I can relate as i have suffered 2 misses in my life and I know the feeling. Life does go on all around you when tragedy hits..When my mom died I would look at people in publix shopping like nothing was wrong! But something was very wrong and that was when I broke. Anyway sweety...I wish you luck in getting help to get you on an even keel (if any of us ever really are) and I have full confidence everything you end up doing will be successful.
At 6:23 AM,
Wendy said…
This really got me. I think that is one of the more insightful things I've read in a long time. You seem to be on a good, healthy track...
At 10:03 AM,
Anonymous said…
I've been reading your blog for a while now. I'm keeping anonymous because the screen name I use is known by others who may be reading this blog. Just wanted to let you know, I'm there with you. I had a D & C for an empty sac a couple of weeks ago. I, too had calculated that I would be due in February & was getting so excited. I just thank Hashem that the children I have are happy & healthy. May we only have simchas from now on.
At 2:08 PM,
torontopearl said…
I'm in "the know" for what you've gone through-- no, it's not easy. A piece of yourself is also lost, along with the pregnancy, and you have to go on...for your husband, for your children, for yourself. But you must allow yourself to grieve, too.
Hashem should continue to give you the physical, mental and emotional strength to help heal.
A beautifully written piece, Maven. Thank you for sharing.
At 6:20 AM,
Philly Farmgirl said…
Maven, I am so sorry for your loss. I am also in the 'know'. It is a very surreal experience. It was so good that you were able to share and not minimize your loss. Truth is life continues and waits for no one, nonetheless, it is healthy, IMO, to take a moment to acknowledge and feel this. I think in acknowledging you can help others and then move forward, which you have.
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