Reflection

I just reread my posts since I started my blog. Hmm.

I sound really bitter. I guess I knew that I was bitter, but it isn't until reading through my ramblings that I see it as the predominant emotion. I always thought that I was more sad, at times more angry, but really mostly just sad. I am learning from my blog already, which was the point. It was my therapist that recommended that I blog. I journal a LOT. I journaled during each pregnancy and I wrote down the aftermath from each loss in great detail.

But there is something about the quiet surrounding miscarriage that just irks me, perhaps the source of my bitterness. This blog is, albeit in a small way, my cry out to the public beyond. Not just for me, but for all of us out there that have gone through this. I don't want others to personally know my pain, but I would at least like their compassion while I go through it. And so many people have been so thoughtless, almost cruel in their ignorance.

And then.

So many people have been angels. During each of my miscarriages, there has always been an angel that has helped me through. Someone who, in my darkest hour, reached out to me and showed me the goodness still in the world. During our last miscarriage, my husband and I decided on a d&c so that we could get chromosomal analysis done on the fetal tissue. As usual, I had researched this online and found that the recommendation was to tell everyone that you come to during pre-op about your desires to have the tissue taken to pathology. I read horror stories about the OR nurse that didn't know and just tossed the remains away.

So, my husband and I made sure it was labeled on every piece of paper. I told each and every person that came by to talk to us in pre-op that we wanted chromosomal testing. I told them multiple times. Right before the surgery, when they had me walk into the operating room, I started to feel panicked. As I climbed onto the table, I clutched at my stomach and at the last few precious moments with my baby. I wanted to yell out, "STOP!" I did not want my little one snatched away from me. I was starting to cry and the anesthesiologist gave me something to relax me, but I still couldn't quite let go. I was so worried about where my baby would end up.

All of a sudden, a face hovered above me. One of the nurses that I had explained our wishes to was there. She put a hand on either side of my face and said, "Don't you worry, I am going to personally walk your baby down to pathology. This is too important and I won't forget."

And when I was in recovery, she went out of her way to come and see my husband and me. She let us know again that the baby had gotten to pathology and she even gave us a photocopy of the receipt. The medications have made her face fuzzy in my memory, but what I do remember is the feeling of caring and love. I treasure the recognition of our loss as a loss and not just a surgical procedure to evacuate the products of conception. Her name was Carolyn and she was our angel that day.

There are blessings in each of my losses and I am always grateful for the time, however brief, that I have had with each of my angels. I don't want to lose myself in this bitterness. I won't.