The Rut

I’m sitting here at my window watching the rainfall and I’m wondering if that rain can fill this void. … This hurt. I’ve talked to a few girlfriends about how I just want to move on but I just can’t seem to get back to my old self. They all say the same thing — give it time. If there’s one thing I’m not good at is patience.

My mind spins at the thought of time. How much time? What is going to happen in that time? Because I can tell you from the inside looking out my family and I cannot handle much more time. I think I’ll need to buy new jeans because my waistline is expanding. I’ll need to hire a maid service because I don’t think I’ve been caught up on laundry in a month. Somehow we are all getting fed but frankly I’m not sure what we’re eating. I see the dirty dishes piling up but I don’t remember putting them there or watching anyone else eat. The kids are getting bathed but I’m not sure how good of a job they are doing… I’m not diligently following up like I had been. And I just realized that I haven’t changed my bed sheets in a month. Fantastic. Add that to the list.

I’m a process-oriented person. In order for me to get to whatever goal is in front of me there may be some steps or two and I gladly take them. This is why following a fitness program was good for me. This is why training for any kind of race is good for me. This is why I like the job that I do. This is why dealing with grief is so damn difficult.

I wrote about the miscarriage here, thinking it would help me get closure. I’ve cried. I ‘ve cried A LOT. Frankly, there are some days I don’t know where the tears came from because I would think I was fresh out of tears. I’ve reached out. I’ve clammed up. I’ve over shared. I’ve under shared. I’ve been more affectionate with my husband. There were times I’ve pushed him away. I’ve started enjoying vodka again. First only a drink here and there, followed by a night of endless vodka and I swear (again) never to touch the devil’s poison.

To me what is so frustrating about all of this is that it was a surprise pregnancy to begin with. It took me a few days to even come to grips with the fact that I was going to have another baby. Followed by nothing but stress management and complete trust in God. Followed by the miscarriage.

There are two things that I just cannot bring myself to do just yet. The first is opening the Bible. I just can’t. I found such peace and refuge in it when I wanted to believe that the baby would be okay that I just feel ultimate betrayal. I can’t go to it right now, which is sad. There’s really only one way to hear God’s voice and that’s in the Bible. Meh… if he wants to talk to me he’ll let his voice be heard. The second thing I cannot do is go to church, for almost the same reasons. I’m afraid if I went there I would just lose it. As much as I can cry a river in front of my family and friends, it’s not something I like to do in public, especially by myself. Also, if I don’t want to read the Bible, why would I want to go listen to someone else do it for me? Not now. Maybe later.

A few days ago I had to go to the doctor as a follow up to the miscarriage. I was hoping that I would have an ultrasound to make sure the miscarriage was complete but apparently they don’t always do that. Instead, they did blood work to make sure my hormone levels are coming down. The day before the miscarriage my HCG was at 10,000 or something (it doubles every 48-72 hours when you get pregnant). Last Thursday it was 1.5. Two weeks after a miscarriage they like it to be under 5. Well, I’m under 5 but still bleeding so a D&C may still be on the menu. The fun just keeps coming.

If I didn’t have a husband and family I would honestly just hole myself up in my house only to emerge when the time felt right. One of my favorite movies is Practical Magic. The husband of Sandra Bullock’s character dies. Her response is just to lie in bed. You don’t really know the time frame but her aunts take over the care of her daughters until she’s ready. And just like that, one day she throws the covers off of her body and the sun is shining and she’s happy to be alive. I’m waiting for that day. That’s not real life though. This character doesn’t work full time. She doesn’t do laundry. They don’t show her doing anything. I mean, that’s ideal and might be what I need. My healing is just being interrupted with kids and clothes and chores and dishes.

Without a doubt Men are from Mars and women are from a place far, far away from Mars. However, in times like these I couldn’t ask for a more loving and caring husband. Yes, he has his faults. He is far from perfect. However, he’s there for the snuggles, broad shoulders for my tears and simple words for my heart. He told me that I’m going to have my good days and bad days. Some day I’ll have a longer string of good days than the bad and before I know it I’ll have a months worth of good days. Truth be told, he’s still suffering too. He won’t fess up how often he still gets emotional about it but I’ve seen him have his moments.

I guess just being me, I still feel like there ought to be something I can DO to help the process. Exercise. Not Exercise. Drink. Not drink. Pray. Not Pray. Cry. Not cry. Read. Not read. Write. Not write. There’s got to be something on the menu to move things along. If there’s one thing I’m not good at is sitting still, just letting life wash over me.