Perspective I’d Rather Have Foregone

I’ve run the full spectrum of emotions in the last couple of weeks, due, yet again, to an unplanned pregnancy – and inevitable miscarriage. I am cursed with being insanely sensitive to hormonal changes while at the same time being overly fertile. I’m on just about the best birth control science can come up with short of surgical intervention, or good old abstinence. And yet, again and again, my eggs get fertilized, implant, and detach. This one made it a week longer than usual. So I’d gone through all the “am I pregnant?”s, and the “surely not!”s to “damn. yup.” – and then “not anymore”.

What really sucks is that along with the physical discomforts and rollercoaster doubt-certainty cycle comes all the psychological baggage. The fear of having another pregnancy. The fear of not. The god-awful relief of getting my normal brain chemistry back. The torture of why it’s back. The guilt of even being relieved. The rage of having such a screwed up brain that five weeks of perfectly normal hormonal upheaval, survived by every mother under the sun, is enough to make me abruptly face, once again, that I may never be able to have another child. Not because my body can’t, or my energy can’t, or my finances can’t, or my marriage can’t, or just because I plain old choose not to, but simply, purely, because my disease can’t. I’m broken.

We’re all broken, I know. Each in our own ways, hobbling along together. But the thing about depression that just kills, is that you forget. You just forget. As easily as forgetting the grocery list on the fridge. And then you get the wind knocked out of you and you remember, with only enough time for your lips to shape a four-letter word.

This is my fifth miscarriage – of an unplanned pregnancy. Not accidental. Not incidental. Not unwanted. I’m starting to get used to the landscape. It’s full of sharp edges and bright colours, volcanoes of wishes and reservoirs of tears.

I’ve been here before, and found my way back home – more or less. More and less. I will again. But son-of-a-goddamn-gun, it could have been better freakin’ timing.


2 comments so far

  1. Lynn on

    I’m so sorry to hear this…sounds like a very hard week. It must take some real inner strength to get through all this…hang in there!

  2. moosilaneous on

    There is no good timing.

    Sorry to hear of your pain.

    But, oh, how well I can relate to the sentence:

    “But the thing about depression that just kills, is that you forget.”

    Then something bites you in the butt. Usually in the form, for me, of “why can’t I…(insert normal activity here – like: stay up past 10, or keep to a regular routine)???”
    Yep, you forget. You wander in a daze of normalacy, then are snaped back out of it, vividly aware again of limitations.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: