One of the sites I visit about baby loss, Glow in the Woods, has a semi-regular feature where a series of six questions are posed and the moderators of the blog share their answers to them. Here are mine:
1. How would you describe your relationship to fear before and after the loss of your baby?
Unfortunately, fear and I go way back. I was, until that fateful day when we got our diagnosis, very motivated by fear. Now, I'm certainly not any less so. I hope I can get to the point (through therapy and just the simple life wisdom that comes through living) where I don't put off doing something because of what might happen. I tend to think in "doom is going to happen so I better be prepared for every possible contingency" sort of way. Like when I was pregnant with DS, my first, my husband happened to be deployed for "homeland defense" after 9/11. (I found out I was expecting a week after he left.) I was convinced that my husband was going to be killed, so that I would be left to raise my child on my own. And my child, by the way, was going to have a handicap of some kind, and I would be poor.
This is how I think. Really.
Actually, a friend, in a tongue-in-cheek, making-fun-of-me sort of way said, "Gee! I'm surprised . . . you actually are getting better!" Perplexed, I asked her how she could come to that conclusion, to which she replied that at least I hadn't killed myself off, too, making my child an orphan.
And I worried about the second pregnancy; this time husband was deployed AFTER my daughter was born when she was two months old, so I was convinced (again) he was going to die and my daughter would never know her father, and we would be destitute and have to live in a seedy section of town. And I would have to find a way to tell my DS that his daddy was dead.
Every time my husband goes off for Army work that requires a plane flight, I worry that the plane might crash.
Ironically, though I worry about everything, I didn't worry about Michael or fear anything would go wrong in his pregnancy. I'd had two successful pregnancies. I was completely blindsided. I was caught unprepared.
See? So even though fear and I are uneasy acquaintances, to me, in my tainted mind, it pays to be fearful . . . because at least one's prepared. At least you can start thinking in advance how to cope, instead of wondering how you're going to make it through this bomb that's just been dropped on your life.
2. Is your lost baby present in your life? In what way?
Everyday -- every moment -- he's with me. Mostly it is just in my thoughts; sometimes it is a little more tangible because I look at the envelope that I put aside with all of his paperwork inside: his ultrasound pictures, the notes I took during consultations with doctors; the insurance paperwork we got in the mail; the stick that I peed on that told me I was pregnant with him. I wish I felt his physical, spiritual presence, but I don't -- or haven't -- yet. But I think about him many, many times each day. And today I talked about him with my in-laws. And I told him just now as I was writing this that I miss him.
3. Tell us about something said or done after your loss that left you feeling nurtured or supported?
I can't think of any one thing in particular . . . a few things: just that I love it when my husband cries with me when we talk about Michael. It makes me feel like I am not alone in this grief, and it makes me feel closer to him; how my doctor and the pediatric neurosurgeon we met with were so "undoctorly" and warm, and went above and beyond through our whole ordeal of testing and diagnosis and afterward; how my best girlhood friend said just the right thing when she heard about our news, instead of the usual, "You're still young," and "You can have more."
4. Tell us something said or done after your loss that left you feeling marginalized or misunderstood.
I got pro-life propaganda in the mail . . . Enough said.
5. What's taken you a long time to do again? How did it feel, if you have?
I don't know what I can say to this; it's still all so new. It hasn't even been three months. Some things haven't taken as long to do again as I thought they would: playing music loudly and enjoying singing along to the songs in the car (although later I felt guilty for feeling good and enjoying the music); sex with my husband (it was emotional the first time because sex is so closely tied with pregnancy and procreation, but I enjoy the physical closeness now); visiting amusements parks (Hmm . . . I'm in the happiest place on Earth, but I'm not really happy; I just look like I'm happy to all the rest of you I quickly make eye-contact with in line.)
6. How would you describe yourself as a partner before, and after?
Before, my husband would tell you I was irrational and emotional, and I was self-absorbed. I think I'm still emotional (but understandably so, lately) and I know he'd say he's proud of my walk through this ordeal. He'd say he thinks I'm very strong. I'm still self-absorbed: worried about MY work and all the things I have to do, but I have a whole different perspective on that now. Work is work, and people are going to complain, and there's going to be stress . . . but you know, I really know now that there are worse things that could happen. I'd like to think I'm a better partner now, but you'd have to ask my husband to be sure. It's more clear to me how different we are, and that that's okay. I'd like to think I'm doing a better job attending to him as a wife, really being present with him, rather than being there in the same room with him but in a separate plane of existence. I've been doing more of my fair share around the house, and I hope he notices that. There's an ulterior motive to that, though: the mindless work keeps me physically and mentally busy and prevents my mind from going back into sad, dark neighborhoods.
10 years ago
