I do not consider myself to be a politically minded person, but I also love the values, the pursuit of achieving greatness, on which this country has been founded. I can remember regret at Clinton's first election victory in 1992. I can recall being disheartened for Obama's second election win in 2012. I will admit I am frustrated as a believer in Jesus I should feel shame for valuing principles that helped form the U.S. constitution. I am disgusted at the condition of pop-culture and the immorality that demands acceptance. I am exhausted at the relevance of the Well-Fare State continually declaring they are never receiving enough, never mind the fact food stamps (EBT), disability, and Medicaid recipients are at all time highs intentionally not looking for employment for fear of losing their benefits. And the healthcare system is a complete and total mess, not just because of Obamacare, but as a result of litigation (need for malpractice insurance), irresponsible private financial conduct, and ridiculous rates left to be delegated between practices and insurance companies.
All that to say, I have my concerns with the direction the country has been traveling. I am not interested in another Democratic, or even Socialist, president. However, I have not lost my senses screaming obscenities against other people. I watched a discussion composed of about 30 Republicans arguing why they were angry at America on FoxNews. It was scary to watch because no one could articulate why they were enraged, but they were mad and the government was to blame and no one could be trusted. A tar-and feathering smothered in paranoia.
I listened to another interview with Dr Robert Jeffress, a Baptist pastor in Texas, announce the evangelical voter does not care about morality or integrity. It is more important to win. Ronald Reagan was a Democratic Hollywood star with an astrology searching wife. But that was okay because Reagan returned America on track.
I will not impose my pick for the presidency, but I almost find it my personal conviction to charge protest against Donald Trump. As Trump's growing popularity increases among the Evangelicals (a political word I really do not like) I find it necessary to expose the many ways he panders. None of the Christian Believers I know unabashedly support Trump. Yet, I keep hearing about the growing support of the Evangelicals. Am I backwards or possibly un-Christian? Then I read this blog and it is a great expression on how I feel by Thomas McKenzie titled "This Isn't Funny Anymore". This is the best articulation that simulates my regard for Trump.
http://www.thomasmckenzie.com/blog/this-isnt-funny-anymore-why-im-voting-against-donald-trump
I can tell you Trump's claim to fame casinos in Atlantic City has fallen into bankruptcy leaving many contractors uncompensated for their services. I can tell you Trump owns strip clubs. I can tell you he has been divorced twice. I can tell the Trump "University" is essentially an overpriced sales pitch. I can tell you Trump is as much apart of the the Washington establishment as Jeb Bush with his dirty money buying politicians' votes. I can tell you Trump has always wanted to be president thinking Oprah would make a great Vice President. I can tell you though Trump is a "strong Christian" will never seek repentance from God.
I can make these arguments, but does it really matter? Does it matter Trump has flip-flopped on universal healthcare, immigration, and women's rights on abortion? Does it matter that Trump ejects whatever crudeness that comes to mind? Does it matter that Trump leads with mob rule bullying and insulting with false accusations? Does it matter that Trump deals by bargaining, bribing, and blackmailing? Does it matter that Trump is king of realty tv with scripted manipulated scenarios? Does it matter that Trump's biggest success is the name brand like the Kardashians or the Hiltons?
I once thought Trump would easily win the black vote with his "You're fired" suave. However, with the KKK support and the white supremacists now more than ever I am certain Trump is after the angry white man's vote. This is surprising considering Trumps's admiration for Oprah Winfrey and Michael Jackson. And I never considered Trump to be racist on his Apprentice show. Yet, just like his pandering to the Christian voters reciting non-understood scripture and claiming to be a target by the IRS because he is a Christian he is also pandering to the angry white voters who want enforced border control and immigration halted. The man who prides himself for being a Washington outsider boosts triumph when endorsed by establishment Republicans. Why is Trump's pandering and hypocrisy overlooked while other people with candor is described as lying?
I am exasperated at hearing we need Trump because he is like Reagan. The country is divided by rage and frustration and fear. Reagan rhetoric will not heal our country. I do not care if the Republican party falls. When the establishment no longer serves its people it must fail so the voices of the people can rebuild it. We are desperate for leaders like Washington and Lincoln who lead by integrity and honor even in the face of great adversity and impossibility. Men who united by the core of courageous belief (Christ Jesus) without compromising or tanting their faith. Trump is not the answer. He is the fuel for the fire. An unrighteous fire of loathing, self-serving, nihilistic fury. I implore you to do your research on how Trump has conducted his finances (four businesses have declared bankruptcy and there is always a lawsuit whether against him or devised by him) and himself (Who has Trump's friendship? Examine his wielding like he is in the WWF) in the last ten years.
As a very old knight instructed in the movie Indian Jones and the Last Crusades, "Choose wisely."
29.2.16
24.2.16
Parks are Fun
"No room for you, Mommy. You must sit on the rock."
"Queen of the rock. Roarrrrrr!"
Is that a flower you have there or are you just happy to see me?
14.2.16
Happy Valentines
Shout for joy to the Lord, all the earth.
Worship the Lord with gladness;
come before him with joyful songs.
Know that the Lord is God.
It is he who made us, and we are his[a];
we are his people, the sheep of his pasture.
Enter his gates with thanksgiving
and his courts with praise;
give thanks to him and praise his name.
For the Lord is good and his love endures forever;
his faithfulness continues through all generations.
Psalm 100
11.2.16
My Loss
For the weak constitution, I am very open about my experience. If unable to read please know I am now very well.
The week starts normal. Laundry, cleaning, playing with my daughter. We still make monthly visits to the physical therapist for Lucy. I visit an investment home my husband and I have to paint the bathroom. I continue my running. On a warmer day along the run Lucy and I stop at the playground so Lucy can explore and demonstrate her independence. We go to story hour at the library. We volunteer at the pregnancy center. A routine week for us.
Friday arrives and I decide to visit my parents in Nashville for my own personal reasons. I love shopping at Goodwill thrift store on Saturday where everything will be 50% off, but there are other purchases I would like to make to accommodate the changes of our family, but now it seems completely irrelevant.
Eight weeks pregnant I notice spotting (a perfectly normal phenomenon early in pregnancy) without cramping on Tuesday. The amount increased slightly showing a menstrual red, but disappears by Friday morning. My husband and I told no one waiting to reveal the news all at once between the three families. We want a second child, but I become pregnant sooner than planned. No difference. We will be thrilled no matter what. Except, though my mindset is ready to plan and prepare, I feel empty and tired. I do not have the delight and elation I experienced with my first pregnancy. During this pregnancy I have been faithful about resting when my daughter naps and exercising and eating well. But no joy.
My daughter is nearly two and has been practicing her tantrums and fussiness quite well. I think I have been discouraged by her stubborn outbursts questioning if I am truly equipped for a second child. I develop an eagerness to not only prepare myself and the house for a second child, but also a need to adjust my daughter. I should ween her from breastfeeding. We need to be more diligent about potty training because I do not want two kids in diapers. I should probably think about transitioning Lucy from a crib to a toddler bed. I have to make everything perfect if I am to survive a second child. Right?
Friday when I arrive at my parents' home everyone is at work so Lucy and I make ourselves at home playing with toys. My sister is the first to arrive, but only momentarily for she has movie plans with a friend. Lucy loves her Aunt Mo. Aunt Mo is probably her favorite person so as soon as she enters the room a beam of excitement fills my daughter's face as she exclaims, "Aunt Mo!" After Lucy has receives plenty of kisses and hugs Aunt Mo is out the door. While saying Good-bye my body suddenly sends a surprise rushing me up the stairs to the restroom.
By the time I reach the toilet my jeans are soaked in blood. The pad I wear just in case contains bloody tissue and the toilet bowl is chattered in blood. My body aches as I absorb the site of my loss. I feel drowned in fear as I digest this could be my lot in life. I am 36 and maybe too old. Sorrow sings a song, but becomes interrupted by a marching toddler unattended. Immediately, I start moving trying to compose myself for fear of her roaming a very non-child-proof home.
The bloody tissue I place in a film canister thinking it might be the fetus. My clothes I soak in the tub. I place on clean clothes then search for another menstrual pad. Without anyone arriving for a few hours I plan to take Lucy out for dinner, then abruptly my direction is altered for the closest toilet, now on the main floor. Nearly soaking through another pair of underwear the toilet explodes in red. And keeps coming.
When the bleeding slows I pad with old washcloths or hand towels (a stash my mother has under the sink as rags), try to clean my mess, then just as I am about to walk out the room another flood gate opens. The melancholy of my loss is forgotten. Trying to determine what I need to do and what to do for Lucy take precedent. Calling Lucy to the restroom, I ask her to bring Mommy's purse. With contemplation she remembers where to look and delivers the purse with pride. She never cries during mommy's distress. Unable to reach my husband (being two and half hours would help little) my next attempt is my mother. I call her at work and with my voice barely understandable I utter the words, "I was pregnant." Without further explanation she tells me she is on her way.
My mother returns home to her crumpled daughter in the restroom while her granddaughter eagerly greets her with hugs. I have no words to say but I am relieved Lucy now has someone watching over her. For three hours I bleed on the toilet starting to drop clots. I spend my time researching what is normal for a miscarriage, when to seek treatment, when is it necessary to visit the ER. While I text a friend for her recommendation my mother makes phone calls to the local hospital. Through our resources we both conclude I am bleeding too much and need to leave for the hospital.
Mom finds me a skirt and a pair of her underwear. I stuff the underwear with three washcloths folded. After standing up for a few minutes preparing to leave my body feels queer. I feel warm and dizzy. I can feel myself wanting to leave my body and I panic. My mother, who is an intensive care nurse, rushes for her blood pressure cuff. I keep demanding to leave for the hospital. 95/60 Not low. However, I am losing control overwhelmed by fear. Now I am crying for the ambulance. I can not lose consciousness. Who is going to take care of Lucy? My mother tells me to lay down. I immediately comply instantly gaining peace. Mom is standing over me talking to 911 describing my condition. I mutter I am feeling better. It occurs to me I am having a vasovagal response. In blood donation it is a common response with sudden loss of blood shocking the body. Essentially, the brain reboots requiring the blood volume to return to the brain by collapsing. Positioning the body so the legs are higher than the heart allows good blood flow returning the body to normal function. How many times have I witnessed a vasovagal reaction in blood donation. Yet, it is different when it is happening to you, especially slowly and very aware. In the meantime my father has come home from work reading Lucy a book in total oblivion.
After I convince my mother I am feeling better and after my mother convinces the 911 operator I am improving I rush to the car to lay down before feeling lightheaded. A short distance later my mother and I arrive to a very busy emergency room. I speak to the admitting nurse to explain I am there for excessive bleeding due to a miscarriage. The dizziness reoccurs and I look around asking if it is okay to lie on the floor while I wait. Instead the nurse takes me to a triage waiting area surrounded by a mourning family whose family matriarch suffered a stroke. I gather the woman has not died, but beyond help. I feel terrible interrupting their tears feeling my loss is not as great as theirs.
From there I am lead to an evaluation room explaining my visit and providing my medical history, then to the ultrasound room, then to my patient room leaving a trail of blood in all directions. The patient room is my final stop. I have lost several clots leaving my underwear and washcloths well soaked only to dispose in the biohazard waste bin. I give blood samples, receive a saline drip, and given a pelvic exam. The doctor explains the uterus still contains the gestational sac, but it appears empty and located near the cervix opening. He is uncertain a fetus ever developed. He assures me the miscarriage is not the fault of my own and I should not think I a future conception is impossible. If I continue to bleed through a pad an hour, feel faint, or have a fever return to the ER, and then he discharges me. Do not forget to follow-up with an OB/GYN in a few days. My mother and I who are starving search out food and incontinence protection for my weeping womb. By the time we return home it is 1 am.
The next morning feeling completely defeated and exhausted I grab my waking daughter and return to bed to breastfeed her. I feel more weary than after her birth, but I need to nurture. I need to hold her.
For two days my body continues to remove blood, mostly as clots. For two days I feel quarantined residing in the bathroom. The clots are usually golfball to baseball size and they come about every 30 minutes. Trying to wear normal clothes seems futile because I will only get blood on me. I constantly rinse off in the shower only to have more blood drip as I dress. My body is shaky and drained. It is like someone keeps me awake for days by relentlessly shaking me, yet when I sleep I sleep well. Because it is easier to sit on the toilet waiting for the clots to drop rather than clean a mess I spend hours on my phone passing time. I reading 10 to 20 percent of pregnancies end in miscarriages. 20% because some women probably did not know they were pregnant. 95% of miscarriages before 12 weeks gestation are most likely due to chromosomal abnormality and it is the body's way of terminating the dysfunction. Most women who miscarried can become pregnant after the first menstrual cycle or two months without worry of another false start.
Then I pan down through Instagram and Facebook photos of pregnant moms and new babies. That is no longer me, and heaviness draws down tears. I remind myself I am 36 and a high risk. I want to be sad for the precious child that is no more, but my body hurts and do I really want to start all over again just to fail? I never felt her. I never named her. I never touched her. I feel no love except my hormones are completely out of whack and I cry constantly.
Day three the blood has decreased considerably. I am able to make an appointment that day with the OB/GYN who advised the ER doctor. Though the bleeding has diminished my body keeps making changes. Headaches are constant. I have muscle shaking and weakness, shortness of breath, I can feel heart palpitations along with the pulsating in my head. My parents and sister have been offering my daughter supervision. Now I am starting to interact with her again, but feeling exhausted every time I pick her up. At my appointment the doctor is encouraging and reiterates everything I have read. With a physical exam of my pelvis the doctor assures me I am healing well and should not feel discouraged to try again.
After four days away from my husband I determine I am well enough to drive two and half hours home. It is good to be in his bed and hear him breath. I find myself much happier in his presence than when I was pregnant.
My pregnancy hormones (HCG) are still high and I will need to have the values re-checked, which means another blood draw. My most recent blood samples show a dramatic drop in my hemoglobin and hematocrit, which means I am on Iron supplements, which also explains why I am suffering from headaches, but it is controllable. Additionally, I think I have lost color looking very pale with icy lips. My olive tan is no more. I am regaining my strength and slowly my endurance though it may be another week before I start running again.
I am happy to embrace my husband and daughter as a family, but I still feel attacks of loss. I feel like I should talk about it to express my feelings, but no one knows about the pregnancy. When I do inform people of my condition I tend to blurt it out like calloused word vomit. Oh and I miscarried last Friday and uh... But people are always quick to show remorse. I am surprised to learn the number of woman who miscarry but do not talk about it. Whether there is too much sorrow or with the amount of abortions it seems inconsequential or it happens so early it has not felt viable. Sometimes I feel silly for my loss only after 8 weeks, but the trauma created on my body only makes the weight feel heavier. I know we will conceive again. I will probably have a stronger awareness for how I feel. I told the doctor I felt flat and empty with this pregnancy whereas with my daughter I had great excitement and joy. She has heard other mothers express the same attitude when their pregnancy terminated early. Perhaps even the hormones knew the pregnancy was faulty and I never formed a bond.
What do I take from this?
The nurse assigned to me at the ER was 22 weeks pregnant with fraternal twins. Two months before her conception she had a miscarriage with triplets. She is healthy and expected to be full-term. It is possible to start over successfully.
For whatever the reasons I have been struggling with my mother. Maybe I felt she needed me to be a certain way. Like she sees potential that I am not reaching and it is her job to help me obtain it, but it made me feel manipulated and troubled, like there was something wrong with me. I am extremely grateful the trauma occurred at my parents house because Lucy was always doted over and I was well cared for. Two things my mother is good at is nursing and serving. Lovingly she supported me the entire time without one words complaint as I made messes, piled laundry, and hid in rest. If for no other reason I am glad I understand my mother's love for loving me as I am no matter how beaten and hurting.
Then there is my daughter. I definitely have my struggles with her rants and raves, but she is here and she needs me now. She needs my love and my affection. I love her all the more because she is what I have and nothing could be better.
For this stage in my life I am resting on these words:
Psalm 139:13-17
You alone created my inner being.
You knitted me together inside my mother.
I will give thanks to you
because I have been so amazingly and miraculously made.
Your works are miraculous, and my soul is fully aware of this.
My bones were not hidden from you
when I was being made in secret,
when I was being skillfully woven in an underground workshop.
Your eyes saw me when I was still an unborn child.
Every day of my life was recorded in your book
before one of them had taken place.
How precious are your thoughts concerning me, O God!
The week starts normal. Laundry, cleaning, playing with my daughter. We still make monthly visits to the physical therapist for Lucy. I visit an investment home my husband and I have to paint the bathroom. I continue my running. On a warmer day along the run Lucy and I stop at the playground so Lucy can explore and demonstrate her independence. We go to story hour at the library. We volunteer at the pregnancy center. A routine week for us.
Friday arrives and I decide to visit my parents in Nashville for my own personal reasons. I love shopping at Goodwill thrift store on Saturday where everything will be 50% off, but there are other purchases I would like to make to accommodate the changes of our family, but now it seems completely irrelevant.
Eight weeks pregnant I notice spotting (a perfectly normal phenomenon early in pregnancy) without cramping on Tuesday. The amount increased slightly showing a menstrual red, but disappears by Friday morning. My husband and I told no one waiting to reveal the news all at once between the three families. We want a second child, but I become pregnant sooner than planned. No difference. We will be thrilled no matter what. Except, though my mindset is ready to plan and prepare, I feel empty and tired. I do not have the delight and elation I experienced with my first pregnancy. During this pregnancy I have been faithful about resting when my daughter naps and exercising and eating well. But no joy.
My daughter is nearly two and has been practicing her tantrums and fussiness quite well. I think I have been discouraged by her stubborn outbursts questioning if I am truly equipped for a second child. I develop an eagerness to not only prepare myself and the house for a second child, but also a need to adjust my daughter. I should ween her from breastfeeding. We need to be more diligent about potty training because I do not want two kids in diapers. I should probably think about transitioning Lucy from a crib to a toddler bed. I have to make everything perfect if I am to survive a second child. Right?
Friday when I arrive at my parents' home everyone is at work so Lucy and I make ourselves at home playing with toys. My sister is the first to arrive, but only momentarily for she has movie plans with a friend. Lucy loves her Aunt Mo. Aunt Mo is probably her favorite person so as soon as she enters the room a beam of excitement fills my daughter's face as she exclaims, "Aunt Mo!" After Lucy has receives plenty of kisses and hugs Aunt Mo is out the door. While saying Good-bye my body suddenly sends a surprise rushing me up the stairs to the restroom.
By the time I reach the toilet my jeans are soaked in blood. The pad I wear just in case contains bloody tissue and the toilet bowl is chattered in blood. My body aches as I absorb the site of my loss. I feel drowned in fear as I digest this could be my lot in life. I am 36 and maybe too old. Sorrow sings a song, but becomes interrupted by a marching toddler unattended. Immediately, I start moving trying to compose myself for fear of her roaming a very non-child-proof home.
The bloody tissue I place in a film canister thinking it might be the fetus. My clothes I soak in the tub. I place on clean clothes then search for another menstrual pad. Without anyone arriving for a few hours I plan to take Lucy out for dinner, then abruptly my direction is altered for the closest toilet, now on the main floor. Nearly soaking through another pair of underwear the toilet explodes in red. And keeps coming.
When the bleeding slows I pad with old washcloths or hand towels (a stash my mother has under the sink as rags), try to clean my mess, then just as I am about to walk out the room another flood gate opens. The melancholy of my loss is forgotten. Trying to determine what I need to do and what to do for Lucy take precedent. Calling Lucy to the restroom, I ask her to bring Mommy's purse. With contemplation she remembers where to look and delivers the purse with pride. She never cries during mommy's distress. Unable to reach my husband (being two and half hours would help little) my next attempt is my mother. I call her at work and with my voice barely understandable I utter the words, "I was pregnant." Without further explanation she tells me she is on her way.
My mother returns home to her crumpled daughter in the restroom while her granddaughter eagerly greets her with hugs. I have no words to say but I am relieved Lucy now has someone watching over her. For three hours I bleed on the toilet starting to drop clots. I spend my time researching what is normal for a miscarriage, when to seek treatment, when is it necessary to visit the ER. While I text a friend for her recommendation my mother makes phone calls to the local hospital. Through our resources we both conclude I am bleeding too much and need to leave for the hospital.
Mom finds me a skirt and a pair of her underwear. I stuff the underwear with three washcloths folded. After standing up for a few minutes preparing to leave my body feels queer. I feel warm and dizzy. I can feel myself wanting to leave my body and I panic. My mother, who is an intensive care nurse, rushes for her blood pressure cuff. I keep demanding to leave for the hospital. 95/60 Not low. However, I am losing control overwhelmed by fear. Now I am crying for the ambulance. I can not lose consciousness. Who is going to take care of Lucy? My mother tells me to lay down. I immediately comply instantly gaining peace. Mom is standing over me talking to 911 describing my condition. I mutter I am feeling better. It occurs to me I am having a vasovagal response. In blood donation it is a common response with sudden loss of blood shocking the body. Essentially, the brain reboots requiring the blood volume to return to the brain by collapsing. Positioning the body so the legs are higher than the heart allows good blood flow returning the body to normal function. How many times have I witnessed a vasovagal reaction in blood donation. Yet, it is different when it is happening to you, especially slowly and very aware. In the meantime my father has come home from work reading Lucy a book in total oblivion.
After I convince my mother I am feeling better and after my mother convinces the 911 operator I am improving I rush to the car to lay down before feeling lightheaded. A short distance later my mother and I arrive to a very busy emergency room. I speak to the admitting nurse to explain I am there for excessive bleeding due to a miscarriage. The dizziness reoccurs and I look around asking if it is okay to lie on the floor while I wait. Instead the nurse takes me to a triage waiting area surrounded by a mourning family whose family matriarch suffered a stroke. I gather the woman has not died, but beyond help. I feel terrible interrupting their tears feeling my loss is not as great as theirs.
From there I am lead to an evaluation room explaining my visit and providing my medical history, then to the ultrasound room, then to my patient room leaving a trail of blood in all directions. The patient room is my final stop. I have lost several clots leaving my underwear and washcloths well soaked only to dispose in the biohazard waste bin. I give blood samples, receive a saline drip, and given a pelvic exam. The doctor explains the uterus still contains the gestational sac, but it appears empty and located near the cervix opening. He is uncertain a fetus ever developed. He assures me the miscarriage is not the fault of my own and I should not think I a future conception is impossible. If I continue to bleed through a pad an hour, feel faint, or have a fever return to the ER, and then he discharges me. Do not forget to follow-up with an OB/GYN in a few days. My mother and I who are starving search out food and incontinence protection for my weeping womb. By the time we return home it is 1 am.
The next morning feeling completely defeated and exhausted I grab my waking daughter and return to bed to breastfeed her. I feel more weary than after her birth, but I need to nurture. I need to hold her.
For two days my body continues to remove blood, mostly as clots. For two days I feel quarantined residing in the bathroom. The clots are usually golfball to baseball size and they come about every 30 minutes. Trying to wear normal clothes seems futile because I will only get blood on me. I constantly rinse off in the shower only to have more blood drip as I dress. My body is shaky and drained. It is like someone keeps me awake for days by relentlessly shaking me, yet when I sleep I sleep well. Because it is easier to sit on the toilet waiting for the clots to drop rather than clean a mess I spend hours on my phone passing time. I reading 10 to 20 percent of pregnancies end in miscarriages. 20% because some women probably did not know they were pregnant. 95% of miscarriages before 12 weeks gestation are most likely due to chromosomal abnormality and it is the body's way of terminating the dysfunction. Most women who miscarried can become pregnant after the first menstrual cycle or two months without worry of another false start.
Then I pan down through Instagram and Facebook photos of pregnant moms and new babies. That is no longer me, and heaviness draws down tears. I remind myself I am 36 and a high risk. I want to be sad for the precious child that is no more, but my body hurts and do I really want to start all over again just to fail? I never felt her. I never named her. I never touched her. I feel no love except my hormones are completely out of whack and I cry constantly.
Day three the blood has decreased considerably. I am able to make an appointment that day with the OB/GYN who advised the ER doctor. Though the bleeding has diminished my body keeps making changes. Headaches are constant. I have muscle shaking and weakness, shortness of breath, I can feel heart palpitations along with the pulsating in my head. My parents and sister have been offering my daughter supervision. Now I am starting to interact with her again, but feeling exhausted every time I pick her up. At my appointment the doctor is encouraging and reiterates everything I have read. With a physical exam of my pelvis the doctor assures me I am healing well and should not feel discouraged to try again.
After four days away from my husband I determine I am well enough to drive two and half hours home. It is good to be in his bed and hear him breath. I find myself much happier in his presence than when I was pregnant.
My pregnancy hormones (HCG) are still high and I will need to have the values re-checked, which means another blood draw. My most recent blood samples show a dramatic drop in my hemoglobin and hematocrit, which means I am on Iron supplements, which also explains why I am suffering from headaches, but it is controllable. Additionally, I think I have lost color looking very pale with icy lips. My olive tan is no more. I am regaining my strength and slowly my endurance though it may be another week before I start running again.
I am happy to embrace my husband and daughter as a family, but I still feel attacks of loss. I feel like I should talk about it to express my feelings, but no one knows about the pregnancy. When I do inform people of my condition I tend to blurt it out like calloused word vomit. Oh and I miscarried last Friday and uh... But people are always quick to show remorse. I am surprised to learn the number of woman who miscarry but do not talk about it. Whether there is too much sorrow or with the amount of abortions it seems inconsequential or it happens so early it has not felt viable. Sometimes I feel silly for my loss only after 8 weeks, but the trauma created on my body only makes the weight feel heavier. I know we will conceive again. I will probably have a stronger awareness for how I feel. I told the doctor I felt flat and empty with this pregnancy whereas with my daughter I had great excitement and joy. She has heard other mothers express the same attitude when their pregnancy terminated early. Perhaps even the hormones knew the pregnancy was faulty and I never formed a bond.
What do I take from this?
The nurse assigned to me at the ER was 22 weeks pregnant with fraternal twins. Two months before her conception she had a miscarriage with triplets. She is healthy and expected to be full-term. It is possible to start over successfully.
For whatever the reasons I have been struggling with my mother. Maybe I felt she needed me to be a certain way. Like she sees potential that I am not reaching and it is her job to help me obtain it, but it made me feel manipulated and troubled, like there was something wrong with me. I am extremely grateful the trauma occurred at my parents house because Lucy was always doted over and I was well cared for. Two things my mother is good at is nursing and serving. Lovingly she supported me the entire time without one words complaint as I made messes, piled laundry, and hid in rest. If for no other reason I am glad I understand my mother's love for loving me as I am no matter how beaten and hurting.
Then there is my daughter. I definitely have my struggles with her rants and raves, but she is here and she needs me now. She needs my love and my affection. I love her all the more because she is what I have and nothing could be better.
For this stage in my life I am resting on these words:
Psalm 139:13-17
You alone created my inner being.
You knitted me together inside my mother.
I will give thanks to you
because I have been so amazingly and miraculously made.
Your works are miraculous, and my soul is fully aware of this.
My bones were not hidden from you
when I was being made in secret,
when I was being skillfully woven in an underground workshop.
Your eyes saw me when I was still an unborn child.
Every day of my life was recorded in your book
before one of them had taken place.
How precious are your thoughts concerning me, O God!
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