The aftermath

My head is so jumbled right now. I am sitting here trying to figure out what to say and I can’t organize my thoughts in my head. I have been avoiding writing this, even though I know I have to. I am sure that no one will probably ever read this, but at some point I have to sit down and face all this. Well, first off, I went through with it. It’s been 4 weeks today. What surprised me the most is how o.k. I have been. I have only almost lost it once. (And my mom was here, so that doesn’t count. Moms always make you lose it) I really haven’t thought about it much. It pops in and out of my thoughts, but I don’t dwell on it. I don’t sit and wonder what if. Maybe part of its denial, I have been waiting for the complete melt down, but so far that hasn’t happened. Part of me doesn’t want to talk about it, I don’t want people to bring it up, and I don’t want to think about it. But at the same time I want people to be sympathetic when I am having a bad day. It’s a strange dichotomy, because most of the people I feel this way towards don’t even know about it. This therefore means I want to tell them. I am tempted on daily basis to just spill my guts to random people. Not such a good thing. I guess I want to point out how insensitive they are. It’s amazing how often the topic of pregnancy is brought up in daily conversation. C’mon people don’t we have better things to talk about than procreation. I have learned that this is a sensitive topic for more women than we realize. I probably want to shake them and make them realize what they are doing because I was one of them 4 months ago. Some how in my head that means to spill my guts, because they will only understand once they understand my anguish. When the truth is they will only understand once they have faced their own anguish.

When I embarked on this adventure I begin to read blogs and internet sites. I stumbled onto the women dealing with infertility. I didn’t know why I was drawn to these women at first, but I am beginning to understand. They are in this ultimate struggle to realize a dream. They want to be a mother with every fiber of their being. They want to feel the a baby kick inside them, they want to look at a baby and fall in love with immediately, but more importantly for me, they want to build a nursery, pick out schools, and make a good life for their child. And for all intense and purpose neither of us can. With every fiber of my being I wish I could have provided a life like that life for my child. It’s kind of strange that I identify with these women in some strange and different way. I can understand their struggle and their hopes and dreams. I am sure it would offend them that I am saying that, but it’s true. I have been reading one blog called Chez Miscarriage. Along with being hysterically funny, Getupgrrl articulates women’s thoughts so well. She had one blog on which team she belonged too or what group she identifies with now. (She is having a baby by a suraget (sp?) mother, so now that she will having child is she still labeled infertile?) It got me thinking about how I identify myself. I can’t label it though. I can’t think or say the words and I am not sure why…..

I was pregnant

I had an abortion

I guess I feel like these statements should define me in some way. That I should identify with them that those statements are now who I am. They’re not. I am still the same girl as before just a little wiser and with a little, well a lot more baggage. Obviously this has affected me, but hasn’t changed who I am. It’s just become a part of me. The act and the baby are a part of every movement I make, every breath I take. She hasn’t left me, she just become something a little harder to define. It does make me sad that I am the only one who will mourn her. I am the only one who will remember her. I am the only one who will miss her. My friends go on with their lives like it was a blimp on the radar for them and I feel that this is how they think I should be too. It doesn’t really bother me because I don’t want to talk to them about it any way. Just like everybody else there is just no way for them to understand. I let them believe what they want to about me. Apparently I am supposed to be a certain way, but I can’t explain what I am. Am I proud of what I did? Hell no. I don’t think women want to make this decision, we just do. Do I regret what I did? No, I felt and feel like there wasn’t another viable option. Can I sleep at night? Yes. Could I do it again? I hope to God I never have to find out.

Comments

[Katie]

I found your blog through your comments on another blog. I think you're brave and I can understand the thread between your blog and those dealing with IF.

I wish you the best of luck with everything.