Healing, in Time

Whew, has this past week ever been the most intense hormonal ride that this relatively even-keeled girl been strapped into. I’ve had considerably more downs than ups, a lot of hugs, a decent amount of alcoholic drinks, a few more cookies than likely recommended, many good, honest conversations, and a number of repressed emotions while at work. Only yesterday did I feel I had just hopped off the ride and was regaining some sense of levelheadedness.

A couple days ago I had what I can only lazily describe as the craziest PMS of my life, as I was ultrasensitive about everything. My sweet, dear husband has been taking care of so much around the house during not only the last week but also through the previous weeks when early pregnancy fatigue whipped my ass at the end of each day. I felt such guilt about it. To the point that after I went to bed early (my solution to having too many emotions), I asked him from across the room, while buried underneath the covers, “DO YOU RESENT ME???!!” When he understandably responded with an incredulous, “What?! No. Steph, come on, go to sleep,” my (thankfully) inner voice responded with, “I’M NOT CRAZY!” while a smaller, more sane, inner voice responded with, “Steph, chill the fuck out.” Yikes.

After overcoming those delightful moments and finally feeling closer to my normally cheery self, i had my first follow-up doctor’s appointment this morning. It was originally scheduled to be my first official prenatal visit, so when I checked in the girl at the front desk tried to confirm it was that appointment. I didn’t blink but only awkwardly said, “Uh, no, not… anymore…?” Luckily, she immediately understood.

When I went into the doctor’s office, we exchanged mild pleasantries as she waited for her computer to load my files. “How are you feeling?” she asked. “Oh, I’m okay. I’m still spotting a bit though. I assume that’s normal?” She was quick to reply that yes, during the first trimester spotting here and there was common and it would go away near the beginning of my second. I just stared, absolutely dumbfounded.

She totally forgot I was in here last week.

Granted we’ve only met twice, and when I came in during/after the miscarriage I spent most of my time with the ultrasound doctor, but still. Ouch.

“I… I miscarried last week,” I managed to stammer out before abruptly bursting into tears. Despite everything, despite the depth and breadth of emotions I had felt over the week, I still had not cried. But the realization that someone with whom I’m supposed to confide completely forgot this event that was so recent and so huge in my life (thus far), and that she alluded to this pregnant future that we’re not having (just yet), that caused sobbing.

The doctor immediately and clearly regretted her words, and the apprentice that was shadowing her that day squirmed awkwardly in her seat on the other side of the room. The doctor’s sympathetic face only made mine crumple more and I had to look away to try and regain composure.

The rest of the appointment was fine, concluding with the confirmation that we can try to get pregnant again soon and are doing everything right, but man. That swiftly kicked my ass out of my all-too brief “over it” reverie. I need to be at peace with the fact that this, like everything good and worthwhile, takes time.


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