Goof-off Goose: Coffee, wine, and post-miscarriage mayhem

For the past week or so I have been on a cycle of coffee in the morning and wine at night, not too much of either—about 2 cups of coffee and 1 glass of wine, on average. Over the weekend I had 2 glasses of wine on Friday, a glass of wine and a beer on Saturday, and 3 glasses of wine on Sunday (with a dear friend and her very cute dogs and cats all around). Last night I had a shot of vodka in grapefruit juice with my pizza. Now I’m drinking strong black coffee as I type. I don’t feel that anything is out of control, but I am recognizing that I have boarded the Caffeine-Alcohol Train and am whizzing down the track.

I admit freely that these substances are giving me comfort right now. They somehow provide structure to my day—coffee is a reason to get out of bed, and thinking about having a drink while eating dinner and watching television with DH relaxes me during my stressful workday. But I am old and experienced enough to know that the Caffeine-Alcohol Train is only comforting for a limited amount of time. After a while, it runs you down and ages you. Eventually I will need to jump train, switch to decaf (before eliminating altogether), start doing yoga again, maybe start running again or at least using the exercise bike, lift some light weights.

Maybe by mid-week. Or maybe next week. You know who I’ve been thinking of lately, clear out of the blue? Goof-off Goose!

Here she is:

Over the weekend, she came to my mind. A character from the Sweet Pickles series. These books were my life-blood when I was a little girl. I learned some of the most important very first lessons from these books, with the assistance of my mom.

I hadn’t thought of the goose in probably years. But this weekend, my house looked like a tornado had swept in and destroyed all order. Mountains of clothes. Bed = chaos. Shoes everywhere. Dishes piled up. My stuff strewn everywhere. My car was even filled with old food, bags, cups, garbage. I am a very organized person who keeps a nice home and car, but this is my usual post-miscarriage mayhem…

I have been bleeding for over two weeks! But now it is not “active” bleeding. It is brown. So they say I’m fine. I have an appointment with OB Thursday. Had an appointment with RE Saturday. I’m being looked at.

I lost my mind this weekend several times, scream-cried a lot, and basically wanted to die—but I did bounce back, as I knew I would all along. Because I’ve been here before. I am in that post-miscarriage phase when the hormones come crashing and spinning down rapidly, and I’ve lost a shit-ton of blood, and feel physically weak, sometimes even faint. It’s great!

So that is why I have had zero energy to pick up after myself, and why I crash in my garbage-car at lunchtime.

But I am amazed that on Saturday I finally did manage to clean. I picked everything up and did a very nice job. While drinking.

And while I was cleaning, really wanting to procrastinate, to put off cleaning until the next day, Goof-off Goose sprang to mind. It seemed cruel. I said to my mind, Mind, why are you tormenting me with a character from a beloved book series from childhood right now? One I would want to share with my children?

Please, please tell me I can share Sweet Pickles with my kids some day. These memories can’t be for torment only. Can they? Please, no! What kind of world would this be?

Leave a comment


  1. I call what you’re experiencing “functional chaos”–it’s a term I coined because this is exactly what I do/how I act when I get stressed out, and although you’re not at your best right now it works–you are coping. If you are determined to be a Mom (with no boundaries) then you will be. XO

    • Thank you for that. Functional chaos—I like that term. I like what you say about how no matter—it works! That’s good to remember. It works. So just go with it for now. Look forward to reading your blog.

  2. This describes me during/after a miscarriage to a T. The combination of nausea, fatigue, and depression beforehand and then the lack of motivation afterwards lead to my life becoming a complete and total mess. It sucks because the mess just adds to the lack of motivation and depression. Also, yep to the drinking and coffee. I do this after each BFN too, I go on a mini-spree for a weekend or so to get it out of my system.

  3. Kali

     /  November 5, 2013

    Oh my dear. I tried so hard to be strong after my miscarriages, but you’re helping me see that my feelings were normal. We’re weak, our hormones are crashing, but the doctors told me I could be at work two days after the D&C. WRONG!!! I worked at home but then tried to go in a week later and almost fainted.

    I was coming here hoping to find inspiration that this is worth continuing. I didn’t have such thoughts in the beginning of the journey. Every cycle would possibly bring my baby (as a single woman, everything was at the doctor, IUIs at first, then IVF). Now it’s just more rage that all this could and probably will end in nothing. If the odds are supposed to be so low, and the miscarriage risk low, then WHY. DID. IT. HAPPEN. TO. ME. And why is it taking so long to get to my transfer on this second donor–my clinic is the reason and I’m working on changing that, though they can’t seem to find the record of the saline sonogram that RBA wants. . . ((((sigh))). I’ve been chasing it down for weeks, my nurse told me it wasn’t her job, the management finally bumped it back to her because it’s not in my records and her note to me was “I can appreciate your wanting complete records but I can’t drop my workload today. . . ” Dufus–I’m planning to leave your clinic. Get me my records and you’ll get to stop dealing with me! Seriously, does she think I’d be chasing down one test for my own edification?

    Then I found out RBA wants my social work consult to have been within one year (because somethinga about using a donor egg has changed for me?)–another $250.

    It’s all too much, and my due date from my m/c was yesterday, still not even a transfer in those many months, so I’m not doing well holding it together.

    Thank you for being here and inspiring me to go on.

    • Agh what a racket. I hate this part of the process so much—tracking down records, dealing with the administrative awfulness. I think that dealing with uncooperative clinics, doctors or nurses, and the ever-uncooperative insurance companies, and the difficult-to-reach pharmacies—all of that stuff has sent me into apoplectic rages that took years off my heart’s life I bet. They can be so unhelpful, to put it mildly!

      The thing I keep coming back to is this idea of slow time. I don’t know why it is helping me, but it is. I am—and you are—inside slow time. We have been for a long time. A kind of vortex. But it won’t—it can’t—last forever. If we can slow ourselves way, way down, to the maddeningly slow pace of moment by moment, then we can get in synch with slow time and it won’t torture us so much while we have to be in it. Does that make sense?

      I have deep resentment of the slowness with which this is all happening in my life…but what I try to do when I feel the resentment is remind myself that the resentment hurts only me. Then I realize that I am being my own torturer. Then I try to stop.

      It doesn’t always work. It rarely works. But sometimes it does work, and that’s what I’m going for. Just little reprieves, at this point.

      It is so difficult to not ask that question “Why me?” It comes up naturally, again and again. When I am feeling sane and healthy, I don’t ask it. When I am feeling insane, in pain and chaos, I can’t help but ask it.

      Just know that the answer to “Why me?” is not “because you deserve it.” There are a bazillion little factors leading up to each and every thing that happens to us, a bazillion causes and effects.

      I am holding out hope that my “why” will be answered with—a random genetic fluke in this one egg of the donor’s, nothing more.

      If I don’t get that answer, I’ll say fuck you to the universe for a couple of weeks, and then I’l have to get back to the business of living and figuring out what to do next.

      One thing is certain: We are not victims. We are warriors. Even when we feel like victims, we are warriors all the way.

      I wish you peace!

  4. Tess

     /  November 6, 2013

    Espresso in the morning and a glass of wine or two at night — it doesn’t sound out of control to me. It sounds like you live in Italy! Or France!

  5. After my last one I found it REALLY hard to get back on the good train. I was all about junk food, caffeine, sugar. The only thing I was always too scared of was the booze but that’s only because booze+miscarriage+me = jail or divorce or lights out. I think it’s only natural to blow off the steam like you are. The scream-crying? All part of it. Treat yourself right, however you do it. Thinking of you xx

    • You are funny. Let’s go to jail together! I’m surprised I haven’t been handcuffed at work. (: Speaking of the good train, I am supposed to be going to yoga right now but am typing and drinking coffee instead. Oh dear, oh dear…thank you for normalizing my procrastination. xoxo

  6. Elizabeth

     /  November 24, 2013

    After my MC in June I really went off the beam. I’m talking 2 bottles of wine in a day. Luckily, I came to my senses after a few months – realizing the damage I was doing to myself and future chances. But, damn, as you say it’s hard as hell to cope after losing a longed for baby. Best if luck to you and thank you for posting the CCRM protocol. I’ll be starting it tomorrow.

    • The best of luck to you at CCRM, I’m very glad my postings helped you out. I’ve scaled back quite a bit because the wine was exacerbating depression. ): Sigh.x


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