miscarriage-remeberance1 

Its been two years since  I was last pregnant, its been two years since I lay on the bed in my Dr’s office, having one of many LOVELY dildo cam scans, hearing him sigh and his shoulders droop and just knowing what was coming. Hearing him say: “The baby has stopped growing” and feeling myself turn ice cold. Two years since I walked out of his office in a total daze, having the full realization of what he just said hit me, having my legs buckle underneath me just as I got into the center of a packed waiting room. Hearing the whispers as I sobbed uncontrollably in a waiting room of infertile couples. Two years since the realization I was going to have to face my worst fear for the 6th time in 4 years

Its been two years since I learnt how much my “friends” could hurt me. When contacting my two pregnant best friends to tell them the news, having one of them, we’ll call her E, not even respond, she simply acted as if nothig had happened, as if I hadn’t just received the shattering news that my baby was dead. And my other friend, we’ll call her A, ask me if there wasn’t something the Dr’s could do? Um, well unless you have the potion to create and “undead” baby then I’m afraid there is nothing anybody can do.

Of all my miscarriages my 6th miscarriage was by far the most painful in every aspect. Not just because of what I’ve described above. But because shortly after those exchanges, my friend A would tell me that the world does not revolve around me and my miscarriage and that I should “get over myself” and then her and E wouldsystematically go about cutting both W and I from there lives. It was like I ceased to exist, like my pain never counted and that we’d never been part of their lives. Whenever somebody talks about painful experiences, this is the first thing that comes to my mind. Not my painful divorce from my abusive, cheating ex-husbandor the many hurtful situations with my brother or any of the other painful experiences I’ve had, this is the one that has scarred me forever.

Its this situation that caused my obsession with fertility treatments last year. Its this situation that made me push my husband, myself, my body and our finances to breaking point. It was this situation that made me, month after month, force my body through some kind of fertility treatment despite how sick I felt, despite how miserable my husband was, despite how broke we were, I did not care, I had one thought and one thought only: “I have got to be pregnant before their babies are born” (15 June & 25 June). It was the only thing I could think of, the only thing I felt that would get me through the trauma I knew lay ahead of me. The only way I felt I could cope with passing the due date (5 July) of the baby we’d lost. The only way I could feel that I was not a failure, that I was worthy of motherhood, that I was just as deserving as everyone else. But I was too learn a hard, expensive, painful lesson, sometimes, desire and work do not always equal success, that this thing was beyond my control and there was nothing I could do to change the outcomes. The outcomes were predetermined and they were NOT determined by me.

At the time of my last miscarriage, I thought I was going to die, the pain in my heart was so unbearable, my whole body ached, I didn’t want to face it, I didn’t want to get through it, I just wanted to curl up into a tiny ball and cry and cry and cry until every tiny cell that made up the whole of me would dissolve into nothingness. I remember phoning my psychologist I was seeing at the time and telling her I was going to off myself. She sent W home to come and keep an eye on me, they really thought I was going to do something to myself, to be honest, I don’t know how I didn’t, because I visualized it, I wanted to drive my car at high speed into a tree but I was afraid I’d land up not killing myself and land up spending the rest of my life in a vegetative state. I remember her saying sternly to me: “Sharon, its NOT your life you want to end, its your PAIN you want to end”.

Too true!!!