Thursday, July 17, 2014

This week's lessons

It's been a week since I found out that my pregnancy had ended. Healing is happening, both on a physical and emotional level, although I couldn't have acknowledged that yesterday.  I wish the process was complete, but it's not, and I know that it's going to take time.

Today, I feel physically stronger, and I have a new understanding of my body.   The drug used to complete my miscarriage is one they use to start labor in a normal, if over due pregnancy.  It caused contractions and pain, but it also showed me how amazing the delivery process is a healthy pregnancy. All those hormones that make the pain hard to remember and the euphoria of holding your baby, as well as the endorphin released during nursing and cuddling are healing.  Magically so. I delivered both of my sons without any pain medication during delivery (mostly because there was no time), and I don't recall this level of pain. I know it hurt at the time, but I really, really can't remember what that pain felt like. I can remember the emotions, the work of pushing, the pressure, but I can't quite recall the pain. In contrast, I can remember vividly breaking my foot. That pain stuck in my head, and I can still remember the flash of fire when the first of three bones snapped as fell down the stairs.  Nature has created an ingenious and beautiful system for making extraordinary pain irrelevant after the fact. So I sit here a bit in awe of what I've done in the past without really appreciating how magical it was.

I'm also understanding that my body and mind, as often as I try to keep them separated, can't be. My physical pain has an effect on my emotional pain, and the emotional pain makes me more sensitive to physical pain. Being tired, body or mind causes the other to have a corresponding desire for rest.  This past week, I've slept a great deal, and often the emotional drain was the bigger trigger for a midday nap than the cramping.  Distracting myself from worry and fear and anger gave me more energy to get up and deal with everyday things and made my perception of my physical pain less.  Dwelling on the negative makes me feel pain more clearly, and it's up to me to break the cycle.

This experience, as with all others, has lessons in it. I'm trying to grasp those lessons through mediation and untangling my own thoughts. Some days, I need distractions and other days  I need distance. I don't have any idea what will come next, which is not my preferred mode of operation, but I'm feeling that I might be able to cope with it, given enough time and support (from family, friends, and the energies around me)

Monday, July 14, 2014

The process of healing

Thursday, my  obstetrician confirmed that my pregnancy was not viable. The fetus had no heart beat and had not grown in ten days, and it was time to let go.  I can't say the news was totally unexpected, but it was very sad.  Now, I am recovering, both physically and emotionally from the experience.

Physically, I am tired, hurting, and a bit weak.  The medication to finish the miscarriage process was quick, but it was also painful and exhausting.  I'm still on the pain killers, off and on, depending on my pain level.  My husband seems to think I'm almost healed, but I don't feel it, yet.

Emotionally, I am all over the place.  One minute I'm accepting and hopeful for the future, and the next I'm sorrowful and hopeless.  I'm angry some of the time, at my husband, at myself, at the world.  If pregnancy is an emotional roller coaster, this is a rocket launch and crash that repeats every few hours.

Healing, I know, is a process.  There will be good days and bad days. There will be moments when you can see how far you've come and others when all you can see is the pain of that moment. It is a process that highlights many aspects of your long term relationships, both the good and the bad.  It is also a process that illuminates our own inner workings. For some of us, we have to get and angry and sad before we can get better. We have to do it out loud in the light, while other people process everything where no one can see it. I sleep when I hurt, but my husband throws himself into manual labor. I need to talk, but he needs silence.

Healing can't be forced, and it is not the same process for any two people.  This will take time and energy, and I have no idea where or when the process will end and what I will look like when it's done. All I can hope for is that it is complete and quick and with as little pain as possible.