"I just want to be happy" is what I hear myself telling my husband and my friends.
Grief. It is real. It is raw. It sucks.
Everything is healing and everything is a trigger at the same time. Walking on eggshells of my own regarding myself. I do not know how I will respond to any stimuli. I want to be okay. I want to be more than okay. I want to heal.
Walking through grief is something that I saw others going through, wished them well, prayed for them, and thought "what would I do in their shoes?" I had no idea how I would respond. I had no idea what grief for me would look like. But I thought about it.
In class we are leaning about unrealistic optimism where people generally think that they are better off then just about everyone else around them and when compared to others, they will not experience the same negative outcome in life that other's around them face. To some degree I have thought about this. To some degree I have wondered what my reaction to loss would be.
The first three days after learning that our baby Nolan Edward did not have a heartbeat were such a roller coaster. The first 24 hours were filled with such sorrow and uncertainty. After the initial shock subsided, I began pleading with God that this was all just a mistake. That another scan would be done to reveal that our baby did indeed have a heartbeat. But then day three left me going to be physically feeling the start of what was inevitably my future. By day four I was in so much physical pain I was praying that it would be over soon. I was praying that I could make it to the hospital for surgery because I had been through this physical process before and I was not willing to endure it again.
The third day following surgery I was felling amazing. I was able to get around without much help, I could taper off the pain medicine, I was overall feeling like I was in a better place. Within 16-18 hours that feel-good-feeling was gone and the pain was quickly spiraling out of control. No over the counter pain meds were touching the pain I was experiencing. I ended up calling the on-call OB and she sent in requests for antibiotics, a prescription pain medicine as well as for tests to be run immediately the following morning, but if the pain intensified, to go to the ER. She had to find a pharmacy that was open 24 hours since it was now late at night and by the time she called me back to tell me which pharmacy it was at, I was already keeled over in so much pain I opted to head straightaway to ER.
ER did not give the answers that I so desperately wanted. Two ultrasounds, pain pills, and a couple of swabs and samples were done. "The start of an infection; take these antibiotics and call your doctor if you have any other concerns or the pain worsens."
Three days later ... I am calling the OB office because I am still in pain. I am at work and taking round the clock over the counter pain pills that are doing nothing. Maybe a second infection they think. Come in first thing tomorrow morning.
Still an infection. The antibiotics from Sunday have done nothing. Now try stronger antibiotics. Come back in a week.
And within three days I am feeling so much better. Still not 100% pain free but I can physically function.
Which then leads right into the emotional aspect of this whole process called grief.
I have certainly been trudging through the murky waters of grief since that awful afternoon of May 11. But it has been riddled with hope that my baby was still alive, the agony of physical pain and just wanting to miscarry already so the pain would be over, to going through surgery and recovery, to an even more painful infection ... that finally 15 days after learning my baby had died, I could allow the lid to come off from the intensely building emotions and feel what I wish I would have been able to feel from day 1.
Grief. It has certainly not been anything close to a walk in the park. The sorrow that overtakes me is unbearable at times. The tears that flow, the emotions that fluctuate, the hormones that are trying to regulate. It has been absolute torture.
The learning how to navigate these new waters has been scary. Often I feel like I am in a canoe by myself trying to propel and steer at the same time. Spinning in circles. Spiraling out of control. Hitting every rock along the way. Getting sucked downstream further .. and further .. and further.
My husband has been amazing through this process. He definitely processes differently than myself, but his strong and steady emotions have been extremely healing for my weary soul.
I have been working through devotional plans everyday on loss, grief, miscarriage, and longing to be a mother. Often I do more than one devotion a day just because I need to be re-grounded in scripture and truth. Without God I cannot imagine trying to process this grief.
Others have reached out to us sharing their story, sharing their daughter's story, sharing their wife's story. Knowing we are not the first to walk this lonely journey has been healing. Talking about my babies has been the most healing. Knowing that others want to hear about the journey brings me great joy and gives me permission to grieve in the way that brings me the most healing.
I have jumped right back into normal life the best I could. I went back to work after a week off. I only missed one class period of summer classes. Staying in this place of unknown scares me greatly.
Only though time and the good grace of God will I come out stronger on the other side. Only though this experience will I be able to relate to other women who have gone through this and who will go through it. I pray that no one else has to experience this grief and heartache yet I understand that we live in a broken world and that so much of this heartache is inevitable.
Working through grief sucks. This whole experience of losing my babies sucks. It is awful.
I am thankful for the grace and patience of my husband and my family and friends. Grieving the loss of Nolan Edward has been so much harder than losing baby June Rose. Everything has been magnified a thousand times. The pain, the endurance, the time ...
Healing is happening. Slowly. But healing is happening. I will be restored. I will embrace my new normal. I will take time to feel the feels and process the emotions. It will not be perfect, but it will be mine.
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