If the road to recovery is a thing than physically I am finally on it. A week after the Methotrexate shot from hell (holy cramping, pain in my belly, achey ouch), my levels are finally falling. They are down about 50% so that’s good. 2,000-ish if you’re counting. Hopefully the second 50% drops quickly cause I’m sick of this…. sort of. There is something to be said for going through a bunch of crap to become “unpregnant”. The chaos mirrors, to some extent, the chaos in my brain and in my body that is so invisible to so many people around me. It’s like “see! This is tough. It’s hard on my body! I have a right to be sad and angry!” Many of the people who know that I miscarried don’t know that a miscarriage doesn’t happen in a day. For some, the physical act might happen in a day and for others it might take months. In both situations it’s in the past to the average bystander. Life keeps moving forward and all I want to do is stand still and have everyone see the shatters of my life around me. To know that I am dealing with stuff. To know what to say and what to do and to remember. To note the chaos, to feel the chaos with me and to understand, to empathize, that it’s o.k. that this pain isn’t going away. But they can’t. My husband, my family, my friends, my co-workers, they can’t because for them, this happened a long time ago. For them, this happened nearly a month ago when I had surgery. They have dealt with the shock and the pain and the sadness for our sadness (as I would have for them) but there’s someone who hasn’t dealt with it. Me. I go through life and think about what we’ve been through and I feel myself physically shake my head. Disbelief. I am not connecting, in my brain, that this happened. Is it possible to still be in denial and in shock after all the physical pain I have felt?
I can’t make sense of the way I am feeling. Some days I want to flee. Like literally pack a bag, hop a bus and head off to a commune in Sedona or something. Leave my life. Leave my husband, my job, my home behind and start over. Reset the expectation I have for the way I see my life unfolding. Reset the expectation for those around me for the way I assume they see my life unfolding. I would never do it. I cried the day I moved 35 miles away from my parents. I talk to someone in my family ever day. I feel like there are days when I physically need the presence of my husband. That his energy makes my heart beat and my lungs breathe. So no, I won’t flee even on those days that I want to escape everything including my skin and my hair and my finger nails. It feels so strange and yet so familiar because I’ve felt this before. I felt this last time. Last time I even went so far as to find a new job! I didn’t take it but I searched and I interviewed and I got an offer but my gut told me no. I drive my car to my job and come home to my house and my husband but I feel like there’s this other life being lived inside of me that outsiders looking in can’t see.
To the people who I know in real life who read this blog, and the numbers are intentionally few, do not feel bad. You can’t know my internal struggle because you’re not me and you have your own life to live and battle and embrace each day. I am not feeling alone and unsupported. I know that all I have to do is say when and you are there. For that I am eternally grateful.
To all the people who I don’t know in real life who read this blog (and whose blogs I read in turn), and particularly those who comment… thank you. Because of you, I am reminded that while this road can be long and bumpy, there are better days ahead. That this crazy doesn’t last and that my life won’t be defined it. You restore my ability to hope when it feels hopeless. I can’t wait to meet you all someday.