I'm at work and I'm alive.
That's the update.
I'm drained and exhausted, and I'm very sad, and still reeling, but somehow I'm also feeling better.
This is the kind of hurt I never expected to experience in my life.
But at the moment, looking back on the two miscarriages I had this year, I see them as a difficult blessing. The question of babies or not, at the moment, is answered with a whole-hearted "Thank God not!" At least for the time being.
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
Vitals
The past 74 hours
sleep total: 8 hours
food intake: 2/5ths orange, 1/2 cracker, 1/3 cup unsweetened yogurt, water and unsweetened herbal tea
nausea factor: ranges from bad to not as bad
Activities
talking to friends and family. (You are all amazing, by the way.)
checking email, and blog for traffic and comments (It matters. It helps.)
researching divorce law and my rights, first steps toward finding a lawyer.
8-hour not-all-horrible conversation with A~ when he came by (at my insistence) to fetch more of his stuff.
Chances of reconciliation
slim slim slim.
sleep total: 8 hours
food intake: 2/5ths orange, 1/2 cracker, 1/3 cup unsweetened yogurt, water and unsweetened herbal tea
nausea factor: ranges from bad to not as bad
Activities
talking to friends and family. (You are all amazing, by the way.)
checking email, and blog for traffic and comments (It matters. It helps.)
researching divorce law and my rights, first steps toward finding a lawyer.
8-hour not-all-horrible conversation with A~ when he came by (at my insistence) to fetch more of his stuff.
Chances of reconciliation
slim slim slim.
Monday, January 09, 2006
Plot Twist
I've slept less than six hours in the last sixty-two. In that time I've:
• run 5 miles
• walked 10 miles
• counseled I don't know how many pre-abortion patients
• cleaned my apartment in anticipation of A~'s return from a business trip
• cooked in same anticipation
• received my husband at his return, noted an unfamiliar smell on his clothing
• watched him eat dinner
• listened to him tell me he had sex with his co-worker and wants to continue to be with her
• listen to him admit, in less coherent terms, that he's stayed with me for twelve years, married and agreed to have children, without ever being sure that he wanted to. Because he was afraid to leave, to be alone.
• watched him cry about hurting me, and wondered if I was going to throw up.
• kicked him out of the house. (He's at her place now.)
• been nauseous ever since.
• begun planning the divorce
I guess figuring out how to have a good life, babies or not is not the point anymore. Now its babies and husband or not. It hurts like hell. I'm in shock. I'm every cliche in the book.
• run 5 miles
• walked 10 miles
• counseled I don't know how many pre-abortion patients
• cleaned my apartment in anticipation of A~'s return from a business trip
• cooked in same anticipation
• received my husband at his return, noted an unfamiliar smell on his clothing
• watched him eat dinner
• listened to him tell me he had sex with his co-worker and wants to continue to be with her
• listen to him admit, in less coherent terms, that he's stayed with me for twelve years, married and agreed to have children, without ever being sure that he wanted to. Because he was afraid to leave, to be alone.
• watched him cry about hurting me, and wondered if I was going to throw up.
• kicked him out of the house. (He's at her place now.)
• been nauseous ever since.
• begun planning the divorce
I guess figuring out how to have a good life, babies or not is not the point anymore. Now its babies and husband or not. It hurts like hell. I'm in shock. I'm every cliche in the book.
Thursday, January 05, 2006
Jimmy and Jesus Don't Get "It"
Time to put an end to this month's drama: I got my period. On one hand, of course, I'm disappointed. I want to be pregnant. On the other, I'm relieved. I don't want another miscarriage, and I've been told to wait at least another month before trying again.
Time also to take a stab at articulating this month's thought on reproductive rights:
I heard Jimmy Carter interviewed on NPR recently, about his position on abortion and his thoughts about it while president. "I tried to think what would Jesus do," he said, or something along those lines. Of course he was thinking about what Jesus would do if he found himself president. Not if he found himself pregnant, say, in his sophomore year of college with no money and no reliable partner and a desire to grow professionally beyond check-out girl at the concession stand so that he(she) might one day have children he(she) might properly provide and care for.
It occurs to me that all our god-figures are male. All our presidents are male. But women posess the ultimate power of denying or bringing forth life. It's a huge responsibility, and a huge burden, either way. And it makes us girls awfully vulnerable, because we need help and support to make those difficult decisions, to do the hard work, and to not lose our identities, not to mention our lives, in the process.
In the clinic, I hear all the time from women who struggled with their decision to have an abortion because until they were pregnant themselves, they were steadfastly against "it." These are women who have trouble saying the word abortion in a first-person affirmative sentence. That is, until they face the crossroads themselves and realize that they'd be completely unsupported either way. The pregnancy itself brands them as bad, and once knocked off the moral pedestal, their thinking becomes a hell of a lot more practical.
Even more often then the converted pro-lifers, I meet women who have not told the "FOP" (Father of Pregnancy) that "P" existed in the first place. There must be an awful lot of men out there who remain solid in their anti-abortion stance, spared from the guilt and pedestal-crushing decision they didn't have to be part of, or the financial and emotional burden of fatherhood before they were ready or able to bear it, spared even any memory at all of that drunken fling after the frat party, or the time the diaphram slipped or condom fell off or the pill wasn't reliable thanks to the flu or her new, unfortunately not-right perscription.
A medical student in training (male, by the way) who once tagged along in a counseling session with me, later asked, what did I do when the woman reported that she hadn't told the FOP. "Do you feel some ethical responsibility there?" He was earnestly leaning forward as he said this, and I had to stifle a snort of surprise. I was shocked to realize this could even be an issue in today's day and age. It went without saying for me that though a man is still responsible for the actions of his sperm once they leave his penis, he loses claim to decisions regarding the fate of the life they spark whie still dependant on another person's womb.
Skirting the issue entirely in my response, I said that if a woman tells me she hasn't told the FOP, my concern is for her. I wonder if she's in an abusive relationship, or if she was raped and is ashamed to admit it, or if she will suffer from self-punishment, cutting herself off from potential emotional support. My attention goes to these possibilities, and providing guidance as necessary.
Of course I realize now that I was naive. The man's right-to-know issue isn't so black and white, and certainly not so well-resolved in the minds of others as it is in my own. They even explored it on my obsession of a show, Sex in the City, which shies away from few difficult topics but makes no conclusive statement about right and wrong on this one. "It seems like the guy gets the short end of the stick," one of the male characters said, in discussing a secret pregnancy that the FOP would have wanted to keep. I had to laugh when I heard this, because it seems to me a pretty good bargain to be spared from such a painful experience. The woman, it seems to me, gets a pretty short stick!
But then again, I started to get the point.
Men get an awful lot of long ends of the stick, but when it comes to having babies, they have very little power. They can say no by withholding sperm, but ultimately, it is always up to the woman to say yes (that is, unless we make "it", and you know what I mean by "it", illegal). Then again, men also have very little responsibility. No wonder they were the hunters and women were the gatherers, and no wonder there's never been a woman president, and no wonder we're so hard-pressed to visualize a female god beyond "mother nature," who, let's face it, is so very blue collar, the mindless goddess of (re)production.
Isn't this what it comes down to anyway, the whole woman's rights and equality of the sexes thing? The fact that we're not equal? In some very important ways men have the upper hand. Religion and politics can change most of these. But in a single, very major way, they don't. Religion and politics can threaten hell and jail and head-to-toe bhurkas, but even so, can do nothing about it. Women will always have the wombs, the Broadway/Park Place ultimate human life real estate. And because of this, whatever Jesus or Jimmy would have done, unfortunately, because they both seem like pretty smart and peaceful guys, is a moot point.
Time also to take a stab at articulating this month's thought on reproductive rights:
I heard Jimmy Carter interviewed on NPR recently, about his position on abortion and his thoughts about it while president. "I tried to think what would Jesus do," he said, or something along those lines. Of course he was thinking about what Jesus would do if he found himself president. Not if he found himself pregnant, say, in his sophomore year of college with no money and no reliable partner and a desire to grow professionally beyond check-out girl at the concession stand so that he(she) might one day have children he(she) might properly provide and care for.
It occurs to me that all our god-figures are male. All our presidents are male. But women posess the ultimate power of denying or bringing forth life. It's a huge responsibility, and a huge burden, either way. And it makes us girls awfully vulnerable, because we need help and support to make those difficult decisions, to do the hard work, and to not lose our identities, not to mention our lives, in the process.
In the clinic, I hear all the time from women who struggled with their decision to have an abortion because until they were pregnant themselves, they were steadfastly against "it." These are women who have trouble saying the word abortion in a first-person affirmative sentence. That is, until they face the crossroads themselves and realize that they'd be completely unsupported either way. The pregnancy itself brands them as bad, and once knocked off the moral pedestal, their thinking becomes a hell of a lot more practical.
Even more often then the converted pro-lifers, I meet women who have not told the "FOP" (Father of Pregnancy) that "P" existed in the first place. There must be an awful lot of men out there who remain solid in their anti-abortion stance, spared from the guilt and pedestal-crushing decision they didn't have to be part of, or the financial and emotional burden of fatherhood before they were ready or able to bear it, spared even any memory at all of that drunken fling after the frat party, or the time the diaphram slipped or condom fell off or the pill wasn't reliable thanks to the flu or her new, unfortunately not-right perscription.
A medical student in training (male, by the way) who once tagged along in a counseling session with me, later asked, what did I do when the woman reported that she hadn't told the FOP. "Do you feel some ethical responsibility there?" He was earnestly leaning forward as he said this, and I had to stifle a snort of surprise. I was shocked to realize this could even be an issue in today's day and age. It went without saying for me that though a man is still responsible for the actions of his sperm once they leave his penis, he loses claim to decisions regarding the fate of the life they spark whie still dependant on another person's womb.
Skirting the issue entirely in my response, I said that if a woman tells me she hasn't told the FOP, my concern is for her. I wonder if she's in an abusive relationship, or if she was raped and is ashamed to admit it, or if she will suffer from self-punishment, cutting herself off from potential emotional support. My attention goes to these possibilities, and providing guidance as necessary.
Of course I realize now that I was naive. The man's right-to-know issue isn't so black and white, and certainly not so well-resolved in the minds of others as it is in my own. They even explored it on my obsession of a show, Sex in the City, which shies away from few difficult topics but makes no conclusive statement about right and wrong on this one. "It seems like the guy gets the short end of the stick," one of the male characters said, in discussing a secret pregnancy that the FOP would have wanted to keep. I had to laugh when I heard this, because it seems to me a pretty good bargain to be spared from such a painful experience. The woman, it seems to me, gets a pretty short stick!
But then again, I started to get the point.
Men get an awful lot of long ends of the stick, but when it comes to having babies, they have very little power. They can say no by withholding sperm, but ultimately, it is always up to the woman to say yes (that is, unless we make "it", and you know what I mean by "it", illegal). Then again, men also have very little responsibility. No wonder they were the hunters and women were the gatherers, and no wonder there's never been a woman president, and no wonder we're so hard-pressed to visualize a female god beyond "mother nature," who, let's face it, is so very blue collar, the mindless goddess of (re)production.
Isn't this what it comes down to anyway, the whole woman's rights and equality of the sexes thing? The fact that we're not equal? In some very important ways men have the upper hand. Religion and politics can change most of these. But in a single, very major way, they don't. Religion and politics can threaten hell and jail and head-to-toe bhurkas, but even so, can do nothing about it. Women will always have the wombs, the Broadway/Park Place ultimate human life real estate. And because of this, whatever Jesus or Jimmy would have done, unfortunately, because they both seem like pretty smart and peaceful guys, is a moot point.
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
Not Yet
For Christmas this year, A~ gave me an extravagant, impractical gift, the first of this kind I've ever received from him: the complete six-season box set DVD of the HBO series Sex and the City
. "I thought you deserved something fun," he said, and I promptly started to cry. It's been a rough year. Or haven't I mentioned that?
Through the past week of crap weather and flu-recovery, I've been plowing through those just-for-fun DVDs with a vengeance. The thing is, I've gotten to the part where Miranda has her baby, and I'm a crying wreck. Ah well, it's probably just PMS.
Yup. No period yet.
. "I thought you deserved something fun," he said, and I promptly started to cry. It's been a rough year. Or haven't I mentioned that?Through the past week of crap weather and flu-recovery, I've been plowing through those just-for-fun DVDs with a vengeance. The thing is, I've gotten to the part where Miranda has her baby, and I'm a crying wreck. Ah well, it's probably just PMS.
Yup. No period yet.
Tuesday, January 03, 2006
It's Like a Drug
I have a confession to make.
I know I should get my period tomorrow, and I never doubted I would, because we didn't even try this month. In fact, we tried NOT to get pregnant, just to give me a little more time to recover from the miscarriage. But when the acupuncturist I spoke to on the phone asked if I might be pregnant now (and I told her it's highly doubtful) she didn't flinch. "You never know," she chirped. I insisted that it was really REALLY highly doubtful, but she would not be moved.
So now I keep thinking about it. Though there are no symptoms to reinforce the dream, and I've got that heavy-gut feeling I always get before I start to bleed, I keep imagining that I'm pregnant.
Of course, I know I'm not. I couldn't be.
Could I?
That's the thing about trying to conceive. It doesn't take much to get caught up in the hype.
I know I should get my period tomorrow, and I never doubted I would, because we didn't even try this month. In fact, we tried NOT to get pregnant, just to give me a little more time to recover from the miscarriage. But when the acupuncturist I spoke to on the phone asked if I might be pregnant now (and I told her it's highly doubtful) she didn't flinch. "You never know," she chirped. I insisted that it was really REALLY highly doubtful, but she would not be moved.
So now I keep thinking about it. Though there are no symptoms to reinforce the dream, and I've got that heavy-gut feeling I always get before I start to bleed, I keep imagining that I'm pregnant.
Of course, I know I'm not. I couldn't be.
Could I?
That's the thing about trying to conceive. It doesn't take much to get caught up in the hype.
Sunday, January 01, 2006
New Year, New Hope?
After a late night of celebrating New Year's Eve, I slept in and woke to this first day of the first month at exactly 11:11 a.m. It was pleasing to see all these ones, because it felt like a sign of a new start. And I could really use a new start right now. Also, it was nice to recognize the silver lining of childlessness in the same well-rested moment: with a baby in the picture, I wouldn't be opening my eyes for the first time at such a late hour. Just goes to show: There's always a silver lining, though sometimes it's pretty darn thin.
By the way, it's also a new moon. I like that too.
One woman brought art supplies to the party last night, and shared her tradition of making drawings about the past year, in all its hardship and glory, which are then shared with the group (visually and verbally, if so desired) and then thrown into the fire. I sat with my blank page for a long time trying to think of things to draw before accepting that this was truly a year of a singlular obsession. So I drew a great big abstract empty womb. Around the edges I made symbols for the ocean and the woods, which were positive influences, and the people who've touched my life this year, for better and for worse. It felt good to recognize and appreciate some people. Others felt good to burn. And speaking of burn, while many drawings curled, flames progressing evenly from one end to the other, and one just lay over the logs toasting like an anorexic marshmallow, never burning at all until another drawing acted as catalyst, mine went up in a brisk, bright, glorious blaze. Everyone exclaimed at this, and I felt hopeful tears rising behind my eyes.
I've finished my ten days of sour forest-floor flavored Chinese teas, I'm getting close to done with my Christmas chest cold, and tomorrow A~ hits the road for another week of work, this time in Texas. My second period since miscarriage number two is due in a few days. I've made an appointment with an acupuncturist for later in the month, and am considering making the ultimate splurge: an appointment with a massage therapist, as well. The Christmas candy is just about gone. And tomorrow, if I'm feeling up to it (not still coughing too much) I'll drag my sorry holiday/flu-addled ass to the gym.
I don't know what the future will hold, if my two miscarriages this year will be just the earliest steps on an increasingly sad road, a turning point in a changing life path, or just a sad chapter in an otherwise happy tale. But I'm okay with it, whatever IT may be.
Goodbye 2005. It was nice, and sometimes hard, knowing you, but you've transported me safely to the new year, and for that I'm eternally grateful.
By the way, it's also a new moon. I like that too.
One woman brought art supplies to the party last night, and shared her tradition of making drawings about the past year, in all its hardship and glory, which are then shared with the group (visually and verbally, if so desired) and then thrown into the fire. I sat with my blank page for a long time trying to think of things to draw before accepting that this was truly a year of a singlular obsession. So I drew a great big abstract empty womb. Around the edges I made symbols for the ocean and the woods, which were positive influences, and the people who've touched my life this year, for better and for worse. It felt good to recognize and appreciate some people. Others felt good to burn. And speaking of burn, while many drawings curled, flames progressing evenly from one end to the other, and one just lay over the logs toasting like an anorexic marshmallow, never burning at all until another drawing acted as catalyst, mine went up in a brisk, bright, glorious blaze. Everyone exclaimed at this, and I felt hopeful tears rising behind my eyes.
I've finished my ten days of sour forest-floor flavored Chinese teas, I'm getting close to done with my Christmas chest cold, and tomorrow A~ hits the road for another week of work, this time in Texas. My second period since miscarriage number two is due in a few days. I've made an appointment with an acupuncturist for later in the month, and am considering making the ultimate splurge: an appointment with a massage therapist, as well. The Christmas candy is just about gone. And tomorrow, if I'm feeling up to it (not still coughing too much) I'll drag my sorry holiday/flu-addled ass to the gym.
I don't know what the future will hold, if my two miscarriages this year will be just the earliest steps on an increasingly sad road, a turning point in a changing life path, or just a sad chapter in an otherwise happy tale. But I'm okay with it, whatever IT may be.
Goodbye 2005. It was nice, and sometimes hard, knowing you, but you've transported me safely to the new year, and for that I'm eternally grateful.
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