Remembering nameless baby, from long ago.
Remembering Chickadee, loved you so.
Remembering that little one that never really was meant to be.
Remembering Gabriel, my heart and soul.
I loved you all, babies, my spirit children.
* * * * *
The link below was given at a Canadian event, Walking to Remember, by Kate who writes at www.sweetsalty.com and is a contributor/founder of www.glowinthewoods.com (where many of you recommended I go and where I have found great solace and companionship, and I thank you). There is so much in this that I have nodded at and tossed around in my heart and head that I had to link to it and share. Read it if you have a few moments, it's well worth it.
http://www.sweetsalty.com/sweetsalty/2009/10/5/walking-to-remember.html
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Still Here
I know it's been awhile since I've posted anything. A lot of reasons for that really - not much new to say, not much different to say, feeling a lot that I wasn't ready to put out there, being swamped at work and feeling very tired (but a different kind of tired) at home.
To give a general update:
-I have not yet made an appointment with a therapist/psychologist/psychiatrist but I hope to do so tomorrow or Monday. I definitely am in a place where I feel ready to talk to someone, ready to explore some stuff, ready to make that move and am approaching a place where it is becoming necessary. So I won't delay long.
-I've been taking the anti-depressants for a little over a week now. Few side effects fortunately - a little nausea that seems to be better already, some dizziness that hasn't bothered me at all the past two days. I'm sleeping much better already and the difference that has made is tremendous. My focus is much better, and just in the nick of time. The pharmacist told me I could take Vitex with the ad's and so I started that back up in again in hopes it will help down the road. I don't feel like they've made a huge difference, but we'll see - the doc said they generally take a month to fully take effect/work properly. I am comfortable with where I am at right now, and hope that weaning off won't be too difficult. I prefer not to be on anything when we start trying again.
-Work has been a whirlwind. A lot has been happening, not all of it great for me. I don't care to get into details, because it's too complicated. I was not recommended for a promotion, which was fine by me as I did not want that position. But of course, that isn't a good thing. My supervisor changed, which freaked me out at first but ultimately isn't really anything different at all - just a formalization of what was already taking place in practice. Things have actually been a lot better since that happened. I've been working my ass off and it's paying dividends. My new boss told me today that she couldn't be more pleased about how I've stepped up and helped out and been doing things these past few weeks and that if it weren't for my performance she would be ripping her hair out and screaming obscenities with everything that is on our plates right now. The biggest knock on my previous performance appears to be prioritization and time management and I'm knocking that out of the park right now. The biggest difference is that I have a goal in mind - moving to a department that I expect will be open in a few months - and I need to prove that I can handle it. So far, plan seems to be working.
It helps my confidence, certainly, but also helps to have some kind of goal to work towards. And I come home every day feeling very tired. But the good kind of tired - the tired of a long, productive day in which I have Accomplished Something. Not the bone-numbing weariness and exhaustion and sadness I was trying (failing) to cope with before.
-Gabriel. Whew. Well, I'm not sure what else to say. I'm still working through it, slowly. I still miss him terribly. I still tear up at odd things with no notice. But, it's getting better. It hurts, in an odd way, to say that, but it's a good thing. I remarked to my husband that I think at least as much about another pregnancy and trying to conceive again (without total paralyzing fear or panic - yet)as I do about Gabriel, if not more. I have found myself saying a few times over the past few days that 'Yes, I do have a child. A son, Gabriel. But he passed away shortly after his birth. He was born very prematurely.' . . .
. . . and it's ok. It feels good to mention him, it feels right to say. I can smile gently and accept the conventional declarations of sorrow for what they are and what they are not. I find myself looking forward to the births of the children due in the upcoming months (my friend Blair gave birth to her son Harrison this week, my friend Tam is likely to be delivered soon and Dawn is due as well). No pangs, no anger at fate. Just a wish for safety and health and a curiousity to see who these new little people are.
Sometimes I think I feel him near me, just for a moment. A comforting presence, an infant smile and a peacefulness. I think I am coming closer to believing that he is ok wherever he is, that he isn't gone forever. Just for now. Which makes me sad, but doesn't nearly destroy me like it did a few weeks ago.
To give a general update:
-I have not yet made an appointment with a therapist/psychologist/psychiatrist but I hope to do so tomorrow or Monday. I definitely am in a place where I feel ready to talk to someone, ready to explore some stuff, ready to make that move and am approaching a place where it is becoming necessary. So I won't delay long.
-I've been taking the anti-depressants for a little over a week now. Few side effects fortunately - a little nausea that seems to be better already, some dizziness that hasn't bothered me at all the past two days. I'm sleeping much better already and the difference that has made is tremendous. My focus is much better, and just in the nick of time. The pharmacist told me I could take Vitex with the ad's and so I started that back up in again in hopes it will help down the road. I don't feel like they've made a huge difference, but we'll see - the doc said they generally take a month to fully take effect/work properly. I am comfortable with where I am at right now, and hope that weaning off won't be too difficult. I prefer not to be on anything when we start trying again.
-Work has been a whirlwind. A lot has been happening, not all of it great for me. I don't care to get into details, because it's too complicated. I was not recommended for a promotion, which was fine by me as I did not want that position. But of course, that isn't a good thing. My supervisor changed, which freaked me out at first but ultimately isn't really anything different at all - just a formalization of what was already taking place in practice. Things have actually been a lot better since that happened. I've been working my ass off and it's paying dividends. My new boss told me today that she couldn't be more pleased about how I've stepped up and helped out and been doing things these past few weeks and that if it weren't for my performance she would be ripping her hair out and screaming obscenities with everything that is on our plates right now. The biggest knock on my previous performance appears to be prioritization and time management and I'm knocking that out of the park right now. The biggest difference is that I have a goal in mind - moving to a department that I expect will be open in a few months - and I need to prove that I can handle it. So far, plan seems to be working.
It helps my confidence, certainly, but also helps to have some kind of goal to work towards. And I come home every day feeling very tired. But the good kind of tired - the tired of a long, productive day in which I have Accomplished Something. Not the bone-numbing weariness and exhaustion and sadness I was trying (failing) to cope with before.
-Gabriel. Whew. Well, I'm not sure what else to say. I'm still working through it, slowly. I still miss him terribly. I still tear up at odd things with no notice. But, it's getting better. It hurts, in an odd way, to say that, but it's a good thing. I remarked to my husband that I think at least as much about another pregnancy and trying to conceive again (without total paralyzing fear or panic - yet)as I do about Gabriel, if not more. I have found myself saying a few times over the past few days that 'Yes, I do have a child. A son, Gabriel. But he passed away shortly after his birth. He was born very prematurely.' . . .
. . . and it's ok. It feels good to mention him, it feels right to say. I can smile gently and accept the conventional declarations of sorrow for what they are and what they are not. I find myself looking forward to the births of the children due in the upcoming months (my friend Blair gave birth to her son Harrison this week, my friend Tam is likely to be delivered soon and Dawn is due as well). No pangs, no anger at fate. Just a wish for safety and health and a curiousity to see who these new little people are.
Sometimes I think I feel him near me, just for a moment. A comforting presence, an infant smile and a peacefulness. I think I am coming closer to believing that he is ok wherever he is, that he isn't gone forever. Just for now. Which makes me sad, but doesn't nearly destroy me like it did a few weeks ago.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Doctor's Appointment
So I went to the new doctor today for my 6 week post-partum visit.
It went surprisingly well. I'm feeling quite tired so I won't write it all up right this moment (which is good because I spelled three words incorrectly in this sentence - twice).
Suffice it to say that I feel very comfortable with this doctor. While she is not someone I would have chosen before, she seems to meet the level of care I need now and has offered a plan that is very reasonable to me.
I have a starter pack of an anti-depressant and a prescription for more and orders to find a psychologist or psychiatrist before our next appointment to continue the anti-depressants. She believes strongly that therapy is important to coping with depression, particularly in a case like mine, but also that I need more help than just therapy. I wasn't totally ready for that, but I'll do it as a condition to continue the anti-depressants, because getting control of the depression is a pre-requisite for trying to conceive again. And I know, I know, I know, that therapy is probably going to be necessary to cope with the anxiety of another pregnancy. Possibly continuing on anti-anxiety or anti-depressants as well, though both the doc and I prefer to be weaned off first.
Otherwise, she believes Gabriel's birth was brought about by a placental abruption. That there is not much chance of it recurring, that the three losses of the last year are not related - just a string of unbelievably bad luck. I can start trying to conceive in a couple of months, provided the depression is under control. I am so relieved that she did not make my weight an issue, just encouraged me to be healthy as possible. We are planning to schedule the saline infusion test whose actual name escapes me for Dec/Jan to make certain there is nothing in my uterus (scar tissue, septum, fibroid, etc) that could cause or contribute to placental malformation. The encouragement she gave and the treatment plan she's laid out are reassuring. She believes we will have a baby and wants to help us make that happen.
So. Yes. That is done and out of the way, and God, am I relieved. A cloud off the horizon, a doctor I can work with, at least for now, and some hope that I won't feel like this forever and that trying to conceive again is not necessarily a doomed prospect. I can't replace Gabriel and I can't have him back, but we may yet get to be parents to a living, breathing child, and that hope could not have come at a better time.
It went surprisingly well. I'm feeling quite tired so I won't write it all up right this moment (which is good because I spelled three words incorrectly in this sentence - twice).
Suffice it to say that I feel very comfortable with this doctor. While she is not someone I would have chosen before, she seems to meet the level of care I need now and has offered a plan that is very reasonable to me.
I have a starter pack of an anti-depressant and a prescription for more and orders to find a psychologist or psychiatrist before our next appointment to continue the anti-depressants. She believes strongly that therapy is important to coping with depression, particularly in a case like mine, but also that I need more help than just therapy. I wasn't totally ready for that, but I'll do it as a condition to continue the anti-depressants, because getting control of the depression is a pre-requisite for trying to conceive again. And I know, I know, I know, that therapy is probably going to be necessary to cope with the anxiety of another pregnancy. Possibly continuing on anti-anxiety or anti-depressants as well, though both the doc and I prefer to be weaned off first.
Otherwise, she believes Gabriel's birth was brought about by a placental abruption. That there is not much chance of it recurring, that the three losses of the last year are not related - just a string of unbelievably bad luck. I can start trying to conceive in a couple of months, provided the depression is under control. I am so relieved that she did not make my weight an issue, just encouraged me to be healthy as possible. We are planning to schedule the saline infusion test whose actual name escapes me for Dec/Jan to make certain there is nothing in my uterus (scar tissue, septum, fibroid, etc) that could cause or contribute to placental malformation. The encouragement she gave and the treatment plan she's laid out are reassuring. She believes we will have a baby and wants to help us make that happen.
So. Yes. That is done and out of the way, and God, am I relieved. A cloud off the horizon, a doctor I can work with, at least for now, and some hope that I won't feel like this forever and that trying to conceive again is not necessarily a doomed prospect. I can't replace Gabriel and I can't have him back, but we may yet get to be parents to a living, breathing child, and that hope could not have come at a better time.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
I give.
I'm going to just go ahead and admit it.
This is hard for me to do. But it's true.
I am depressed.
Not just sad, not just mourning, not just grieving. I am depressed.
You know those commercials for anti-depressants? Those with the wind-up toys or those that tell you depression is physical?
Well, yeah. That's me.
I knew that I was going to have to talk to the new doctor about things, and as I started to add it all up, well, it reads like a checklist.
-Not sleeping, not feeling rested after adequate sleep (check)
-Excessive fatigue (check)
-Listlessness, lack of focus (check)
-Difficulty concentrating (check)
-Physical stress, aches and pains (check)
-Feeling lost and/or hopeless (check)
-Prone to emotional outbursts (check)
You know what really sealed the deal for me though? It's stuff at work. Not even bad stuff necessarily. It's just that I'm starting to feel trapped there, hopeless about my job, I don't think I'm very good at it (and I can no longer look at it objectively to see if I'm an utter failure, good, getting better, or just not meeting my own high standards across the board), I don't know what else I can possibly do, and I'm starting to really dread going on. This, despite actually being really on top of things since I've been back and working hard to please everyone since I've been back (seems to be working). In other words, I'm working hard, and it appears to be showing, and yet, I am completely sick over work.
That's when it hit me that maybe, just maybe, it's not work - it's me. And I thought about everything right now. And I'm going to be honest. I'm coping. Sometimes I'm doing ok, other times I'm not. It's not a matter of not coping or bottling up grief or not dealing with it. It's that for whatever reason, hormones levelling out, DNA catching up with me, the stress of everything reacting chemically or physically . . . it's not just grief. I need help. I don't like how I feel most of the time, mostly how tired I feel. It's so all encompassing - tired physically, no energy, tired emotionally, just utterly knackered and wiped out. Maybe the other things would get easier if this were fixed. I'm hoping so - I'm hoping there is something that can be done.
It's other stuff too, like setting a small, achievable goal and being unable to get it done. Easy, like cleaning the toilet. I just can't summon the energy to do it or to care. But then I feel overwhelmed by the state my house is in and I feel overwhelmed by guilt and then I end up in the cycle again.
I know that it is not unusual to suffer depression, and I further know that I am genetically pre-disposed and situationally pre-disposed. And having had depression in the past and having people close to me suffer from it, I know it's a real issue. And yet, admitting it makes me feel ashamed, like I should try harder to pull myself together and get my shit worked out. Like I have failed in yet another arena of life. I just feel so beaten down right now. It's so tiring.
This is hard for me to do. But it's true.
I am depressed.
Not just sad, not just mourning, not just grieving. I am depressed.
You know those commercials for anti-depressants? Those with the wind-up toys or those that tell you depression is physical?
Well, yeah. That's me.
I knew that I was going to have to talk to the new doctor about things, and as I started to add it all up, well, it reads like a checklist.
-Not sleeping, not feeling rested after adequate sleep (check)
-Excessive fatigue (check)
-Listlessness, lack of focus (check)
-Difficulty concentrating (check)
-Physical stress, aches and pains (check)
-Feeling lost and/or hopeless (check)
-Prone to emotional outbursts (check)
You know what really sealed the deal for me though? It's stuff at work. Not even bad stuff necessarily. It's just that I'm starting to feel trapped there, hopeless about my job, I don't think I'm very good at it (and I can no longer look at it objectively to see if I'm an utter failure, good, getting better, or just not meeting my own high standards across the board), I don't know what else I can possibly do, and I'm starting to really dread going on. This, despite actually being really on top of things since I've been back and working hard to please everyone since I've been back (seems to be working). In other words, I'm working hard, and it appears to be showing, and yet, I am completely sick over work.
That's when it hit me that maybe, just maybe, it's not work - it's me. And I thought about everything right now. And I'm going to be honest. I'm coping. Sometimes I'm doing ok, other times I'm not. It's not a matter of not coping or bottling up grief or not dealing with it. It's that for whatever reason, hormones levelling out, DNA catching up with me, the stress of everything reacting chemically or physically . . . it's not just grief. I need help. I don't like how I feel most of the time, mostly how tired I feel. It's so all encompassing - tired physically, no energy, tired emotionally, just utterly knackered and wiped out. Maybe the other things would get easier if this were fixed. I'm hoping so - I'm hoping there is something that can be done.
It's other stuff too, like setting a small, achievable goal and being unable to get it done. Easy, like cleaning the toilet. I just can't summon the energy to do it or to care. But then I feel overwhelmed by the state my house is in and I feel overwhelmed by guilt and then I end up in the cycle again.
I know that it is not unusual to suffer depression, and I further know that I am genetically pre-disposed and situationally pre-disposed. And having had depression in the past and having people close to me suffer from it, I know it's a real issue. And yet, admitting it makes me feel ashamed, like I should try harder to pull myself together and get my shit worked out. Like I have failed in yet another arena of life. I just feel so beaten down right now. It's so tiring.
Monday, October 5, 2009
Blah
I tried to be all creative and come up with something to say. But honestly, I'm tired and today was a crap day (although I have hope that some changes at work - including a new supervisor - will ultimately be a good thing).
I may have started a period. I though I ovulated about two weeks ago, but who knows. All I know is that yesterday and today have been very heavy bleeding days. Heavy enough to alarm me a wee bit if it is a period and to alarm me a whole lot if it's not a period. Put it this way - despite the diva cup, I have emergency laundry because I bled completely through my underwear and my pants.
I am exhausted and only can hope that tomorrow doesn't suck. That's all I got right now. Sorry.
I may have started a period. I though I ovulated about two weeks ago, but who knows. All I know is that yesterday and today have been very heavy bleeding days. Heavy enough to alarm me a wee bit if it is a period and to alarm me a whole lot if it's not a period. Put it this way - despite the diva cup, I have emergency laundry because I bled completely through my underwear and my pants.
I am exhausted and only can hope that tomorrow doesn't suck. That's all I got right now. Sorry.
Friday, October 2, 2009
Children, children everywhere.
Oy.
So I have already come to terms with some basic facts of life. Children exist. They are everywhere except fancy-shmancy restaurants that are too expensive for us to eat in and places we wouldn't go anyway, because honestly? I spill food on myself. A lot. I joke that it is one of the reasons I wear my hair long, to cover up the evidence of lunch.
So. Kids. Everywhere. They exist and I can't avoid them. Just like babies are a part of my universe and will be unless I want to cut off just about all my friends and become a hermit, because all of my friends either have children, are currently pregnant, or are trying to become pregnant. Seriously, I can think of maybe . . . two people? three? that aren't in those situations. Since I like my friends and want to continue those relationships, I realized really quickly that I needed to adjust to having kids around me or having them mentioned.
I can't say it is always ok. Because sometimes it hurts. Sometimes it hurts in ways I could not predict - like my friend Rachel telling a hilarious story about her son and his very normal fascination with his penis. I laughed and then oof! I realized that those experiences and those stories were no longer in my future and it stung. Frankly, I can't anticipate what will hurt and when. I was 100% genuinely pleased when a friend emailed me to let me know gently that she is expecting again. Not one moment of disappointment or pang of sadness. But that is not always the case.
It is awkward. I'm certain it is as awkward for my friends as for me. More toe-stepping as we navigate this minefield, I guess. I tend to take the approach that people need to live their lives and if today is a day that their lives overwhelm me, I take a step back and if today is a better day, I try to reach out. I prefer that people don't try to tiptoe or censor themselves, though I appreciate the compassion that people are extending.
The random encounters are rough too. I don't want to necessarily see children. I've been known to walk in another direction to avoid babies. So when we sat down at Benihana's for our dinner tonight, and were followed by a family of four with an infant boy and a toddler girl, Dh and I looked at each other with something akin to horror. The poor family probably thought we hated kids. Dh was more concerned for me than for himself, and I just shrugged and said, "Can't avoid them forever." There was a definite pang and pinch at my heart.
We tried to be friendly, but I'm sure the parents thought we were a little crazy. I could not tear my eyes away from the kids. The little boy was really fussy, except when he made eye contact with me and would smile and gurgle. The little girl was very cute. She watched us eat sushi and her mother prompted her to say hello. We returned her greeting and then she pointed at her mother and announced that she was her mom. I think our laughter scared her a little. The family ended up not staying long - the boy wouldn't stop fussing so they finally asked to have their food boxed up and said they would be back after they ran the kids home. DH and I were both relieved - but we both survived it too.
The thing is . . . they are everywhere. We can't avoid them, unless we never go out. We can either accept that there will be some pain sometimes and let that skin get battered into something harder and thicker and become accustomed to it, or we can try an exercise in futility and try to avoid the youth all around us and never adjust so that it hurts each and every time. Just like trying to choose not to be bitter, I will not always be perfect at it . . . but it seems like if life is going to go on, this is one more aspect to which we must adjust. Another piece of the dead baby puzzle that isn't quite right or quite fair, but has to be fitted in.
Onwards and upwards, eh?
So I have already come to terms with some basic facts of life. Children exist. They are everywhere except fancy-shmancy restaurants that are too expensive for us to eat in and places we wouldn't go anyway, because honestly? I spill food on myself. A lot. I joke that it is one of the reasons I wear my hair long, to cover up the evidence of lunch.
So. Kids. Everywhere. They exist and I can't avoid them. Just like babies are a part of my universe and will be unless I want to cut off just about all my friends and become a hermit, because all of my friends either have children, are currently pregnant, or are trying to become pregnant. Seriously, I can think of maybe . . . two people? three? that aren't in those situations. Since I like my friends and want to continue those relationships, I realized really quickly that I needed to adjust to having kids around me or having them mentioned.
I can't say it is always ok. Because sometimes it hurts. Sometimes it hurts in ways I could not predict - like my friend Rachel telling a hilarious story about her son and his very normal fascination with his penis. I laughed and then oof! I realized that those experiences and those stories were no longer in my future and it stung. Frankly, I can't anticipate what will hurt and when. I was 100% genuinely pleased when a friend emailed me to let me know gently that she is expecting again. Not one moment of disappointment or pang of sadness. But that is not always the case.
It is awkward. I'm certain it is as awkward for my friends as for me. More toe-stepping as we navigate this minefield, I guess. I tend to take the approach that people need to live their lives and if today is a day that their lives overwhelm me, I take a step back and if today is a better day, I try to reach out. I prefer that people don't try to tiptoe or censor themselves, though I appreciate the compassion that people are extending.
The random encounters are rough too. I don't want to necessarily see children. I've been known to walk in another direction to avoid babies. So when we sat down at Benihana's for our dinner tonight, and were followed by a family of four with an infant boy and a toddler girl, Dh and I looked at each other with something akin to horror. The poor family probably thought we hated kids. Dh was more concerned for me than for himself, and I just shrugged and said, "Can't avoid them forever." There was a definite pang and pinch at my heart.
We tried to be friendly, but I'm sure the parents thought we were a little crazy. I could not tear my eyes away from the kids. The little boy was really fussy, except when he made eye contact with me and would smile and gurgle. The little girl was very cute. She watched us eat sushi and her mother prompted her to say hello. We returned her greeting and then she pointed at her mother and announced that she was her mom. I think our laughter scared her a little. The family ended up not staying long - the boy wouldn't stop fussing so they finally asked to have their food boxed up and said they would be back after they ran the kids home. DH and I were both relieved - but we both survived it too.
The thing is . . . they are everywhere. We can't avoid them, unless we never go out. We can either accept that there will be some pain sometimes and let that skin get battered into something harder and thicker and become accustomed to it, or we can try an exercise in futility and try to avoid the youth all around us and never adjust so that it hurts each and every time. Just like trying to choose not to be bitter, I will not always be perfect at it . . . but it seems like if life is going to go on, this is one more aspect to which we must adjust. Another piece of the dead baby puzzle that isn't quite right or quite fair, but has to be fitted in.
Onwards and upwards, eh?
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Happy Anniversary
Dh and I got married four years ago today.
Today feels less like a celebration and more like a moment to breathe. After all, this past year has been the worst year of my life. I mean, fuck all, it has sucked.
A year ago, we were happily expecting a baby from our first planned pregnancy - in fact, I was five weeks along; that baby was already gone. I'd go through the following month feeling off and paranoid, but then finding out on Halloween that my fears weren't groundless.
That was followed by the mess that was the cervical ectopic pregnancy.
And then Gabriel...
Christ, what a fucking awful year.
I will try and focus on the positive - my marriage is as strong, maybe stronger than a year ago. Certainly, I'm not sure things could get much worse in the coming year. Right now, I feel less loving and in partnership and in friendship with my husband than I did on our wedding day or other anniversaries. I feel much more in survival mode, like we've been pinned down together in a bunker and are just clinging to each other, waiting for the shelling to stop. I am grateful for my husband, for the man he is, being better than I could ever have dreamed when I married him four years ago.
We have no big plans to celebrate. The past few years we've taken a trip to the same b&b where we spent our honeymoon. This year, we didn't because we figured we had mounting baby expenses. Instead we have hospital expenses. Sigh. We planned to take off work and at least spend the day together . . . until DH informed me last night that due to the number of people out with the flu, he had to work. We were supposed to go out for dinner, but . . . yeah. I think that's going to be pushed off.
It's funny. Four years ago, I never would have predicted this for our future. I thought what we had already gone through as a couple (the troubles with Dh's family, the depression and his suicide attempt) were pretty bad and I never thought it could ever be worse. I never thought - though I suppose when you are dressed up in your wedding gown, hair and makeup done, clutching flowers and floating down the aisle, that you never think this way - that things could ever be so bad, that life could hurt so much. I never thought about just how important those parts of our vows would end up being.
We are lucky, I suppose. We have each other and we love each other and are holding each other. I doubt many couples could have made it through the year we've just survived. We aren't unscathed, but we are still here, we still love each other and want to be here with each other.
So, whenever it is that we actually do go out to share dinner and toast to us, I think we will be toasting our survival and hoping this next year of our marriage finds us sharing peace and, God willing, some joy.
Today feels less like a celebration and more like a moment to breathe. After all, this past year has been the worst year of my life. I mean, fuck all, it has sucked.
A year ago, we were happily expecting a baby from our first planned pregnancy - in fact, I was five weeks along; that baby was already gone. I'd go through the following month feeling off and paranoid, but then finding out on Halloween that my fears weren't groundless.
That was followed by the mess that was the cervical ectopic pregnancy.
And then Gabriel...
Christ, what a fucking awful year.
I will try and focus on the positive - my marriage is as strong, maybe stronger than a year ago. Certainly, I'm not sure things could get much worse in the coming year. Right now, I feel less loving and in partnership and in friendship with my husband than I did on our wedding day or other anniversaries. I feel much more in survival mode, like we've been pinned down together in a bunker and are just clinging to each other, waiting for the shelling to stop. I am grateful for my husband, for the man he is, being better than I could ever have dreamed when I married him four years ago.
We have no big plans to celebrate. The past few years we've taken a trip to the same b&b where we spent our honeymoon. This year, we didn't because we figured we had mounting baby expenses. Instead we have hospital expenses. Sigh. We planned to take off work and at least spend the day together . . . until DH informed me last night that due to the number of people out with the flu, he had to work. We were supposed to go out for dinner, but . . . yeah. I think that's going to be pushed off.
It's funny. Four years ago, I never would have predicted this for our future. I thought what we had already gone through as a couple (the troubles with Dh's family, the depression and his suicide attempt) were pretty bad and I never thought it could ever be worse. I never thought - though I suppose when you are dressed up in your wedding gown, hair and makeup done, clutching flowers and floating down the aisle, that you never think this way - that things could ever be so bad, that life could hurt so much. I never thought about just how important those parts of our vows would end up being.
We are lucky, I suppose. We have each other and we love each other and are holding each other. I doubt many couples could have made it through the year we've just survived. We aren't unscathed, but we are still here, we still love each other and want to be here with each other.
So, whenever it is that we actually do go out to share dinner and toast to us, I think we will be toasting our survival and hoping this next year of our marriage finds us sharing peace and, God willing, some joy.
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