No, not baby anymore

 

The first day I got ragingly drunk. I knew it was a bad idea.

 

I didn’t cry at first. After the sonographer left the room, Zac asked what she meant. "So she can’t find it?"

"No, it isn’t there. It didn’t make it."

He wanted to talk about it, to reassure me. I asked him to stop.

"Why? It’s hard not to."
"Because I don’t want to cry here."

It felt like hours passed before the doctor came in. She was so kind and so thorough. She wanted to do blood work to see where my HCG was. I just wanted to go home but I did it. I’ve been to that lab many times so I knew they were very quick. I don’t think I could have otherwise. I worked at that hospital so I kept praying that I wouldn’t see anyone I knew.

It was over quickly. We drove home. I still didn’t cry.

I’m great in high pressure situations. That’s a two sided talent. One it means I am good at keeping a level head and seeing a chaotic, emotional situation very logically. On the other it means that I’m adept at burying what I’m feeling so deeply that even I can’t get to it anymore. I can’t access it, even when I want to or need to.

I was genuinely afraid that I wouldn’t cry at any of my grandparents’ funerals. I’d buried it and every one was going to think I was a callous bitch because I couldn’t get to it then. I couldn’t grieve with my family because I’d spent so much time shoving that grief into my metaphorical closet so that I could get through work or whatever the days before.

 

That’s how the first day went. I didn’t cry. I leaked tears but there was no pain behind it. The hardest thing was telling people. I knew I had to call Mom. I couldn’t tell her that in a text. I needed to call Dad (I still haven’t been able to manage that.) 

I survived the call with Mom without crying. I kept getting "stuck" after. Zac would wander in a room and I’d realize I’d been sitting there staring into nothing and had no concept of how long I’d been there. Maybe I’d went in for a purpose. Maybe I’d walked into the bedroom to check a text message I heard come through, but afterward I just sat there. I couldn’t remember how to move, not physically, but mentally. I couldn’t remember how to make myself do things. I’d think "I need to go pee" or "I should eat something" but then I’d think about the steps to make that happen. You walk into the kitchen, open the fridge, pull out the leftovers……. But I just couldn’t do it. I’d just sit there or lay there.

When I did do things it felt mechanical, like it wasn’t making choices or pursing actions. They happened and I watched them. I watched myself drink a lot, a half a bottle of vodka. I made Zac finish off the last three shots because I knew I’d went too far. And then something surreal happened: I laughed. I joked. I didn’t feel like someone who had lost something. I didn’t feel empty. I was reminded how easily I could be an alcoholic. But the more it settled in the less euphoria there was. I got tired and then I found the sadness I’d been shoving away all day.

I cried and cried and cried. Zac’s comfort in this is knowing that there will be another one. Now we know the plumbing works, all it takes is one that sticks. There is comfort in that, after so long of not knowing whether or not the surgery would work. "But I wanted this one!" I wailed. There won’t be another baby due March 2013. Dad won’t be coming out in April, Mom won’t be coming out in March. The books and blankets and all the things we bought for this baby no longer have a purpose. It’s gone. It never was. And there is this emptiness that comes with that. It’s an emptiness that is nearly incomprehensible. It’s like losing a living, breathing relative. You keep thinking of things you need to tell them only to remember they aren’t there anymore.

I keep thinking of names I like and remembering that I don’t need them now.

—

Yesterday was more difficult than Wednesday. I woke up, hungover, and my first thought was "I’m not pregnant anymore". I fell back into mechanical mode. I found a protein bar and ate it. I drank a glass of water. I went to the bathroom to check for blood. None yet. Then laid back down and didn’t want to sleep. Sleeping meant waking up. Waking up mean realizing the emptiness all over again. Zac held me while I cried again.

I moved to the couch. Zac made lunch. I ate it. We watched movies. Zac made dinner. I refused it. He broke off a piece of a cheese stick and fed it to me. Then a bigger piece. Then half of one. He never criticized me, he just held food to my mouth till I took it. This morning when I wouldn’t get out of bed he grabbed my hand and pulled me up. Found a purpose for the day and led me through it. He lets me cry and grieve but he doesn’t let me wallow in it.

He bought me the Harry Potter box set earlier so I’d have something to watch. And the new Dave Matthews Band album. Nice distractions.

 

Little by little I feel better. The bleeding has been hard to deal with. I expected it to all be over in one fell swoop. I thought it would pass in the course of an afternoon. But it drags on, getting steadily worse. I’m afraid to go to the bathroom. I don’t want to see it. But it’s never as bad as I expect it to be. So far it hasn’t been any worse than a mild period. I know that won’t last but I’m glad to be easing into it. I appreciate the notes. Brandi, I haven’t had a chance to read those entries yet but I appreciate you opening them. I will soon. Right now I just want the world to go away for awhile. I haven’t been answering my phone. I let it go to voicemail. I text and talk to Zac and that’s the extent of my ability to interact with the world. But I know it will get easier.

Life goes on.

 

 "Broken Things"

Sometimes the road is crystal
And sometimes I feel like I’m losing my mind
Tell me what it is what you think you’re missing
And I will see what I can find

You want to be so sure of
Every step you take
You cant always know what’s coming
You cant always trust the twist of fate

Oh my love my heart is set on you, set on you
Oh my love my heart is set on you, set on you

Stars shine down from the black
And we’re picking though this broken glass
Well how could we know that our lives
Would be so full of beautifully broken things

Oh my love my heart is set on you, set on you
Oh my love my heart is set on you, set on you

War is the most vulgar madness
And winters can be so cruel
You can’t always change the way things are
Like I can’t change the way I think of you

Oh my love my heart is set on you, set on you
Oh my love my heart is set on you, set on you
Oh my, love my, love my love
Oh my love my heart is set on you, set on you

 

 

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