Why is this happening?

Your comments have kept me afloat, exactly like a life raft in horrid waters. I say to you, rawly, that I need you, and you are there.

I’m going to reply to a lot of your comments this evening—so much to reply to, that I want to say.

I woke up at 4 a.m. and tried desperately to soothe myself back to sleep, but it seemed the more I tried, the more barbed and insistent the thoughts of loss were. I felt the extinguished little star inside me. I thought about my doctor’s appointment this evening, and how I will get that confirmed probably around exactly the same time that my brother’s wife is giving birth to their son. How I will most likely get a message with a photo of my brand new nephew around the time I get out of that appointment confirming that I have a dead baby inside me. About DH’s friend, who just had a beautiful baby girl with her husband—after having had an affair on him with a young dancer for three years. About my ex-husband recently married to a woman eleven years younger, and how I’m sure they are next. About my dreams for this holiday season—being able to tell DH’s parents that we are pregnant on Thanksgiving. About buying cute little baby clothes and things at Christmastime, and taking pictures of my baby-belly in front of the Christmas tree to send to my family. About getting to fully enjoy this fall, a season I love, as my baby grows, and to give birth in the perfect season for it, spring, around the time of Easter eggs—Easter eggs being, for reasons only you would understand, a source of pain for me for so long. My supervisor gave me a plastic Easter egg last year with a little bunny on it, and I tacked it by its string to my bulletin board as an act of faith that by the same time the following year, I would be a pregnant mama. Now…now I don’t know what…

I don’t know anything anymore.

I started hyperventilating and crying as the thoughts dug in at 4 a.m., and DH came to me. I tried to describe how difficult it is to find a place of peace. I can distract myself. Anesthetize myself in some way. Shut down. Go numb. But I can’t be fully present without sobbing. And when I wake up at 4 a.m., I am fully present and unguarded. I don’t have time to protect myself when my eyes flutter open and the thoughts come. So the reality hits, and it crushes me.

He did calm me. I lay in his arms and said to myself, “Here he is, here he is, here he is, just listen to his heartbeat, just breathe.”

WHY IS THIS HAPPENING?

Why? Over and over and over again?

My mind runs through crazy thoughts. Some of it comes from living in a predominantly Christian culture (even though I’m not Christian). Some of it comes from the yoga sutras, from Buddhism. Some of it from Byron Katie. Some of it from yoga teachers. Some of it from I don’t know where.

–An outside force is trying to show me something. Some outside force or thing or being is trying to show me something, again and again, until I get IT, but I don’t yet know what IT is.

–I am a saint or a martyr. I have been chosen to bear this suffering in the way of a saint of a martyr.

–I am supposed to teach others thorugh my suffering. I am to continue to suffer the same thing, over and over, in order to help and serve others, to show how to persevere and maintain integrity in the face of relentless torture.

I have created this. I have generated my own reality. I am stuck in samsara, in a wheel of suffering of my own making. No matter how much I think I am healing, being positive, and spreading good in the world, some sort of karma is being played out.

I have no control whatsoever. Things just happen. Byron Katie says that things just happen, we don’t make them happen; we don’t make choices, what happens is a manifestation of what is. What happens in life is simply a confluence of innumerable other things happening.

I am marked for failure. I am destined to be unhappy. The quiet, serious, pained life of endurance and contemplation is the one for me, not the life of light, delight, joy, and childhood, no matter how much I love children and they love me. No matter how much like a child I am in my capacity for love and joy and play. For some reason, I am not going to be allowed to fulfill that wonderful part of myself. I am destined to live in the dark and quiet, for reasons I will never know. 

I am unlucky, pathetic, and object of pity, diseased, something to be avoided. 

I am supposed to be figuring out how to be happy no matter what. For real. Real happiness, not partial happiness. Not happiness that depends on everything working out in the end, me with my baby. I am supposed to be learning how to thaw and live fully without any guarantees of that whatsoever. I am supposed to be able to be just as happy and connected and thriving childless as I would be with a child. Choosing to not suffer, choosing joy, is supposed to come naturally to me, no matter the torture—that is what I am going through this for, so that I can authentically and automatically choose the path of not-suffering. I am supposed to find enlightenment through this.

And so on.

The mind and the heart—they seek. They want to find a resting place. They want to find a story where they can just be. But I know the truth: There is no story. There is only the present moment. And me, a woman who is trying to live through this computer screen.

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18 Comments

  1. I pray for peace and strength for you to endure what may or may not come of your appointment today. I pray your heart is cared for and protected but not hardened. I’m not even religious so pray is more of my strongly meditate on or think about. A wish a hope. Your words are so relive my. I hear myself in them. I know the type of grief you are feeling but only you know the nature of the impact. I hate that this happens at all. None of this is fair or easy. Thinking about you all day girl. Hugs.

    Reply
    • Should say”your words are so relevant to me.”

      Reply
    • That is such an elegant way to put it—a cared-for and protected but not hardened heart. I think that is where I am at today. It feels so much better than hardened! I’m not religious either but I found myself saying Help me God Help me God, over and over. I’m so glad my words are relevant to you and that you get something out of reading my little blog! xoxo

      Reply
  2. I asked these questions so many times, why me? Why does my body seem unable to do what everyone else my age can do easily, multiple times over, often by accident?
    I’ve never come up with any answers. And finally getting what I wanted has not brought any clarity. I really don’t think there’s a deeper meaning to any of it. I know that sounds negative, but it’s just a fact for me. Biology is not fair, and all we can do is keep struggling to get what we want, as painful and hard as that is.
    I am sorry. I think of you often and feel such empathy. I don’t think you are marked for failure or destined to be unhappy, but I think this a hard time and you are going to be stronger on the other side.

    Reply
    • Yes, biology is the unfairest of them all, it’s true. Thank you for your words, no markings for failure unless I let myself be marked, right? xoxo

      Reply
  3. lisa

     /  October 10, 2013

    It has been heart wrenching to read your story. I believed that you and DH were on your way to having your child and I was really excited for you. Donor eggs, a “guaranteed program” and RBA sounded like a sure thing and now, loss and grief taking you to a lonely and scary place. I hope our words, and presence, have given you some comfort, because you sharing your story has brought me more understanding.
    As for trying to make sense of it all…sometimes that just complicates things. All that is certain…is that you want a child, so use every option you still have to make that happen. I know you will, you are a warrior. And one day, when your child asks where they came from, you will have one amazing story to tell.

    Reply
    • I know you’re right. Trying to make sense out of randomness is a crazy-making enterprise. It really did seem like this was “my time” didn’t it? I was convinced. So many of you all were convinced. It all goes to show that we really have absolutely no control over what happens, do we? We can only try to guide things in certain directions and hope for the best. I love that the last line of your comment—I think of that sometimes. My kids hearing about all of this, perhaps reading this blog, minds totally blown. What a thing. xoxo

      Reply
  4. I am at work so don’t have the time to truly read through your incredibly important post but glanced quickly enough to remember one very important thing. If you are indeed miscarrying, then the most self-respecting thing you can do is try NOT to analyze anything. I know much easier said than done. Your body has become a vessel where a torrential hormonal thunderstorm is playing out. This ABSOLUTELY CLOUDS the ability to “see” anything as it should be or otherwise. LITERALLY, pull out a calendar and start chalking up the days. It may be a FULL THREE months before the mental clouds part fully. Not like you won’t have great days. But just try very hard not to analyze anything. It’s literally like being on a bad drug trip where reality is distorted. Haven’t been on a drug trip, but assume. For me, personally, coming off progesterone is where shit falls off the rails. It may be the same for you. Just wanted you to see yourself in a larger picture. Loss is horrible. No doubt. But you can’t quite appreciate when you are in the thunderstorm the extent to which hormones are buffeting your system. Eat well. When you feel better try to walk. Anything that helps your liver process the hormones as efficiently as possible. Sending you much love.

    Reply
    • Yeah, I hear you. I guess part of this blog for me is documenting the play by play—getting it all down, the thought process, the emotional changes, the questions, having it all in black and white, whatever it is, whatever thoughts arise, whatever questions existential or otherwise, helps me tremendously. So what I’m thinking about today may not be what I’m thinking about tomorrow. But I appreciate your concern! And I know that I can’t figure it all out now, or ever, really. xoxo

      Reply
  5. Lifting you up today. It’s okay to fall apart and just make it through moment by moment. I’m so sorry dear friend. Lifting you up with all of these other lovely ladies who care about you. That’s all we can do is lift each other up when we think we can’t do it ourselves. Love you my friend. XOXO

    Reply
    • Love you too, sweet, sweet person! I feel your love and caring and lifting up. It was amazing to read this when I felt so crazy. Feeling better now, in no small part because of you. XOXO

      Reply
  6. Kali

     /  October 10, 2013

    I wrote to you a couple of days ago, and have been following your posts. After heartbreak with my own eggs, I endured a traumatic DE m/c earlier this year, as I described in detail in my response to you a couple of days ago.

    Every single thing you wrote in this post, from being the recipient of an elusive message, to being flawed, I have thought.

    And I conclude–there is no story. There is this moment. Moments come together to build a story. Where some people see obstinacy in the face of repeated “messages”, others see perseverance to overcome obstacles.

    I’m choosing the second in continuing to try.

    For now, where you are, I wish you only rapid healing in both body and mind. I haven’t found it myself but your blog has given voice to my pain. So I hope that you heal quickly, and through watching you do it, I find the courage to do the same.

    I will follow you until the end of your journey. You are helping me, more than I can say.

    Reply
    • I’m humbled, honored to give voice. I conclude the same thing—just this moment, yes. I’m with you on choosing perseverance!! Warriors. It is the best choice. I am sending you power-vibes and receiving yours in kind. Let’s do this! You are helping me just as much.

      Reply
  7. Nina

     /  October 10, 2013

    I know that you will reach your little star finally. Just don’t give up. I am following your blog for a year and you have helped me so often with you writings. Be careful that you take care of yourself and your husband because in th end the little star would be your cherry on the cake … But what is very important is your health and having a very good partner. So try to focus on this positive side of your life which is very important. I send you my heart with the most positives vibes from one of the tiniest countries of the world. Many hugs.

    Reply
    • Oh, one of the tiniest countries—I see you there, on my stat page! How amazing is that! I’m floored that so many from all over have found this little blog. You are absolutely right, and I am doing just that—focusing on, stroking, kissing, hugging this amazing boy of mine. If I ever feel unlucky, all I have to do is look at his face. Getting caught up in this quest for a baby can steam-roll over other parts of life. I spent a year stopping that steam-roller—I sure as hell am not inviting the steam-roller back in after all of the effort it took to get it out of here.

      Reply
  8. Anxiously awaiting word…hoping and hoping.

    Reply
  9. Tess

     /  October 10, 2013

    Waiting to hear is going to be the hardest part. I think the most difficult part of tragedy is that there is no “why” most of the time. You didn’t cause the tragedy and you most certainly don’t deserve it because of karma. It’s particularly hard when there is no one to blame for tragedies, and there is something comforting about blaming oneself. Because how absurd is it if there is no one to blame? But it is and it is a tragedy.

    Hold on, just hold on and get through this time. Hope is still out there — the miscarriage could be a fluke, or you could decide to go with a surrogate — this is going to work out for you one way or another.

    Reply
    • I hate waiting so much that I bought this book, Pema Chodron’s Living Beautifully with Uncertainty and Change.http://www.amazon.com/Living-Beautifully-Uncertainty-Pema-Chodron/dp/1590309634. I think if I am looking for a why in the future, I just need to remember that I am learning allllll about living beautifully with uncertainty. The hardest life lesson of all, and one I’ve resisted since I was small. Thank you for saying I don’t deserve it because of karma—it’s hard not to swirl there sometimes. I mean I haven’t exactly led an angelic life—not an immoral one, but I’ve made mistakes, and it’s hard sometimes not to go there. But for the most part, I don’t. I keep faith in the integrity of myself. xo

      Reply

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