A tidal wave of pelvic pain hit me today- out of nowhere. And I am still gingerly moving around....and my mind is spinning into place of worry that are not very productive.
AF is due momentarily- so cramping, run of the mill or even stronger than usual cramping wouldn't have surprised me. But this was double over, nauseating, make me delirious pain. In lower abdomen. I spent 40 minutes laying on the floor of a vacant office down the hall from my cubicle before I felt like I could stand up and go back to my desk.
Aside from the severity of it, it also concerned me that it didn't feel the same as menstrual cramps. So now it has me worried: Is something wrong? Will it happen again? Tomorrow? Next time AF comes?
I have always worried about endometriosis. My mother had it- so I've always worried. And yet oddly it has never been discusses with any of the umpteen Gynegolosits and REs I have seen. But tonight's episode has be reobessing about it- and also frustrated because from what I know- it is often hard to diagnose and harder to get pregnant with it.
Oh, yet something else related to my girly parts that baffles me and isn't in my control, that I don't understand.
Friday, October 29, 2010
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Time passes
October is here. October marks the next season of anniversaries for me. Anniversaries of due dates never realized. Our first pregnancy due date was Halloween 2008 and our second pregnancy due date was mid-October 2009.
And now it is 2010. There is a roller coaster of emotions- it is truly hard to comprehend at times, how this much time has passed. We are nearing the three year mark of starting to TTC. That fact makes my heart hurt at the core- heavy with desperation. Three years of TTC no doubt gives us not only the label of recurrent miscarriages but also infertile through and through.
3 years. I can't help but wonder how many more years will pass- empty.
So many what ifs.
So not how I thought this would be.
Trying so hard to be okay with what it is.
It is October once again.
And now it is 2010. There is a roller coaster of emotions- it is truly hard to comprehend at times, how this much time has passed. We are nearing the three year mark of starting to TTC. That fact makes my heart hurt at the core- heavy with desperation. Three years of TTC no doubt gives us not only the label of recurrent miscarriages but also infertile through and through.
3 years. I can't help but wonder how many more years will pass- empty.
So many what ifs.
So not how I thought this would be.
Trying so hard to be okay with what it is.
It is October once again.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
I bought a bookshelf.
I bought a bookshelf. It is such a simple statement, and yet this bookshelf purchase has seemed really significant to me.
I'm not sure why this particular act is carrying so much symbolic meaning. My hunch is that my father-in-law's recent death has our household in an introspective space, that opens us up to see meaning beyond the surface.
So my craigslist purchase this week of a white Ik.ea bookshelf for dirt cheap, has me hopeful, and feeling like I am opening up after a long dark winter.
I researched it, measured and remeasured, spent 5 days arranging a time to go see it, figured out my husband and I's crazy schedules in order to go pick it up together, we loaded it in to the garage awaiting an opportunity to put some finishing touches on it- it has been a labor of love....
Like I said- it is silly given it is just a bookshelf. But is has our household hopeful.
The bookshelf is the perfect height, width, and measurements to fit in our guest bedroom closet. The goal has always been to make that closet as useable as possible, and this bookshelf was just perfect.
This bookshelf is part of a larger project the husband and I have been working on to organize and clean up and- here is the most significant part- to create more space in our condo....and in our life. This bookshelf feels like a significant next step to preparing that space and readying it for a child.
And that's where the tidal wave of fear starts to creep in. The fear whispers and screams at me at the same time "WHY DO YOU CONTINUE TO HOPE WHEN HOPING ONLY LEADS TO DESPAIR." And I will admit- Oh, It is scary to embrace the hopefullness. Sometimes, if I really give it thought, it seems absolutely absurd to allow myself to hope. It seems like self-inflicted punishment to prepare a room, or even think about preparing a room, for a child I have NO idea if it will ever come to be. Hoping can feel ridiculous.
And yet this damn bookshelf has my husband and I a bit on the giddy side of what it could mean. He will stop me in the middle of the garage while getting the groceries out of the car, and he will motion towards the bookshelf standing off to the side, and he will hug me and tell me how perfect it will be with cute little baskets and books for our bambino someday. And he tells me how ready we are and how badly he wants all that that bookshelf stands for.
And I can't help but hope....and it brings me to my knees humbling begging for the strength to walk with hope and not fear what is on the other side.
I'm not sure why this particular act is carrying so much symbolic meaning. My hunch is that my father-in-law's recent death has our household in an introspective space, that opens us up to see meaning beyond the surface.
So my craigslist purchase this week of a white Ik.ea bookshelf for dirt cheap, has me hopeful, and feeling like I am opening up after a long dark winter.
I researched it, measured and remeasured, spent 5 days arranging a time to go see it, figured out my husband and I's crazy schedules in order to go pick it up together, we loaded it in to the garage awaiting an opportunity to put some finishing touches on it- it has been a labor of love....
Like I said- it is silly given it is just a bookshelf. But is has our household hopeful.
The bookshelf is the perfect height, width, and measurements to fit in our guest bedroom closet. The goal has always been to make that closet as useable as possible, and this bookshelf was just perfect.
This bookshelf is part of a larger project the husband and I have been working on to organize and clean up and- here is the most significant part- to create more space in our condo....and in our life. This bookshelf feels like a significant next step to preparing that space and readying it for a child.
And that's where the tidal wave of fear starts to creep in. The fear whispers and screams at me at the same time "WHY DO YOU CONTINUE TO HOPE WHEN HOPING ONLY LEADS TO DESPAIR." And I will admit- Oh, It is scary to embrace the hopefullness. Sometimes, if I really give it thought, it seems absolutely absurd to allow myself to hope. It seems like self-inflicted punishment to prepare a room, or even think about preparing a room, for a child I have NO idea if it will ever come to be. Hoping can feel ridiculous.
And yet this damn bookshelf has my husband and I a bit on the giddy side of what it could mean. He will stop me in the middle of the garage while getting the groceries out of the car, and he will motion towards the bookshelf standing off to the side, and he will hug me and tell me how perfect it will be with cute little baskets and books for our bambino someday. And he tells me how ready we are and how badly he wants all that that bookshelf stands for.
And I can't help but hope....and it brings me to my knees humbling begging for the strength to walk with hope and not fear what is on the other side.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
The capacity to hope
I am, in some ways, dumbstruck by the depth of grief that takes hold following recurrent pregnancy loss. I never saw a heartbeat, never even saw fetal growth, only only empty sacs. And yet the wound it left deep within has rocked me to the core. It has been 2 1/2 years since our first miscarriage and 1 1/2 years since our second. And there is still a real rawness to the grief. I am certain that rawness has been stoked, by not only the two losses themselves, but the loss that is experienced month after month of now not being able to even get pregnant. It makes those momentary losses, perpetual losses.
But even as I find myself shocked at the grief that I carry with me, what is even more astonishing to me is the heart, the soul's, ability to hope. Spontaneous, unbridled hope.
There is no predictability for me as to what will be triggered in me at the sight of a round belly or a newborn infant. Sometimes it is a wave of hurt, envy, bitterness. But there are times in which I am overcome by wave of pure hope. That comes out of no where. There is no glimmer of grief. No envy. And in that moment, no doubt what so ever. Only hope.
A co-worker of mine came in to my office today with her 4 week old son. I didn't know she was coming to visit. I didn't have any opportunity to mentally prepare myself. I walked around the corner, and there she and he was. She stayed and visited for an hour, and we oohed and aahed at her little tiny boy. And the wave came- the wave that runs through me that says "I want that more than anything, and I will keep up the good fight..." There is no doubt, only hope.
The capacity to hope really astonishes me. There are no odds or statistics in my story that tell me that it makes sense to hope. The odds are against us and the longer we get into this journey, the less realistic it seems to have hope that we will ever bring home a child. And yet those waves of hope rush over me at times....
We are actively TTC again. It has been 6 months since our third and final IUI that failed. After that we decided to go it on our own for awhile and see what happened, save money for IVF or something, we didn't know. I (we) needed a break at first, and so weren't watching the calendar or tracking ovulation. But that mini-break turned in to 6 months of almost no sex anywhere near ovulation time. There was no one reason for that long break- but many reasons I guess- exhaustion, busy schedules, DH out of town, a tiredness in our relationship, etc. I feel like it was lost time, which is frustrating when I feel like the clock is always ticking. But I am trying to let it be what it is, and more on and recognize we probably really needed that time.
Life is back in sync, and we started actually trying again this month. DH is enthusiastically asking for me to tell him about my ovulation signs. It cracks me up that he is so interested, but I am also grateful that after all this time, even he can hope....
But even as I find myself shocked at the grief that I carry with me, what is even more astonishing to me is the heart, the soul's, ability to hope. Spontaneous, unbridled hope.
There is no predictability for me as to what will be triggered in me at the sight of a round belly or a newborn infant. Sometimes it is a wave of hurt, envy, bitterness. But there are times in which I am overcome by wave of pure hope. That comes out of no where. There is no glimmer of grief. No envy. And in that moment, no doubt what so ever. Only hope.
A co-worker of mine came in to my office today with her 4 week old son. I didn't know she was coming to visit. I didn't have any opportunity to mentally prepare myself. I walked around the corner, and there she and he was. She stayed and visited for an hour, and we oohed and aahed at her little tiny boy. And the wave came- the wave that runs through me that says "I want that more than anything, and I will keep up the good fight..." There is no doubt, only hope.
The capacity to hope really astonishes me. There are no odds or statistics in my story that tell me that it makes sense to hope. The odds are against us and the longer we get into this journey, the less realistic it seems to have hope that we will ever bring home a child. And yet those waves of hope rush over me at times....
We are actively TTC again. It has been 6 months since our third and final IUI that failed. After that we decided to go it on our own for awhile and see what happened, save money for IVF or something, we didn't know. I (we) needed a break at first, and so weren't watching the calendar or tracking ovulation. But that mini-break turned in to 6 months of almost no sex anywhere near ovulation time. There was no one reason for that long break- but many reasons I guess- exhaustion, busy schedules, DH out of town, a tiredness in our relationship, etc. I feel like it was lost time, which is frustrating when I feel like the clock is always ticking. But I am trying to let it be what it is, and more on and recognize we probably really needed that time.
Life is back in sync, and we started actually trying again this month. DH is enthusiastically asking for me to tell him about my ovulation signs. It cracks me up that he is so interested, but I am also grateful that after all this time, even he can hope....
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Our daughter has a middle name
It seems like my husband and I have been discussing names for as long as I can remember. We go in phases- sometimes we talk about it frequently, other times months or years go by between conversations. I'm not sure when exactly it started. But it seems like it has always been part of the fabric of our conversations, even long before TTC.
Through it all, there has been one boy name and one girl name that remain constant in our discussions. No matter how many ideas we come up with, how many combinations we play around with, these two names haven't changed. We feel like these are "the" names for the family we hope to have some day.
Amidst this certainty for first, names, try as we might, we haven't come anywhere close to middle names for a girl. We've talked and explored and gone in circles, only to end up back where we started.
Sure, there are plenty of names that we like, but we wanted a name that had some meaning, some significance. It just didn't seem right to select just any old middle name when our first name has so much meaning for us.
Nagging me, in the back of my mind, I really really wanted the middle name to have some family significance. But unfortunately, I had the bad luck to be born into a family that doesn't have that many agreeable names. We scoured our memory banks of aunts, great aunts, and other great greats, and never found anything that we could live with.
A couple of weeks ago, my favorite aunt flew out unexpectedly for a surprise weekend visit. My aunt is my dearest friend and was the most significant adult in my life growing up, besides my parents. I love her to pieces and so does my husband. I'm not sure how the conversation came to be, but we got to talking about middle names. And I realized that I didn't even know what my aunt's middle name was. As I heard myself ask the question, i knew in that instant, before the name was even on her lips, that the answer she was going to be giving me would have some significance in my life.
"Elizabeth. My middle name is Elizabeth."
My husband was on the other side of the living room, only semi-listening to the conversation. But he heard enough of the conversation to catch his attention. He made eye contact with me, and we both knew- that was it. A middle name for our daughter to-be.
Conversation changed topics, the weekend passed and my aunt flew back home. But several days later, I was still thinking about how much I loved that name. My curiosity took hold of me and I turned to the internet to look up the meaning.
Elizabeth means "My God is abundance"
My heart did a little beat-beat. That hard-to-describe inner hunch that comes when you just feel that something bigger than you can comprehend is at work.
It has been something I have held on to these past several weeks. There have been some low times again that have crept in, causing me to doubt that something beautiful will ever come to be from all this loss. But what has carried me through is hanging on to that hunch, those small moments surrounding something as simple and profound as the name "Elizabeth."
This past Sunday, all of this came together in yet another even more moving way. DH and I went to a new church that I have been attending this summer, but that he hasn't been to yet. My period was in full force, I had just learned of yet another friend that is pregnant. I had been in tears on the husband's shoulder just the night before, drowning in doubt.
But as the pastor spoke, I felt like she was tying my faith back together with the words of her sermon. She spoke about how often we are conned into believing in a God of scarcity- which leads to fear, self-doubt, and holding tightly to the finite. But God, she preached, is a God of abundance, not a God of scarcity. A faith in a God of abundance leads us to dance in all that is beautiful.
At times I it feels silly to believe that all of this means that some day I will hold a daughter in my arms whose middle name will be Elizabeth, and what is even sillier is that I feel like just be writing this, that I am jinxing myself and in deed none of it will ever come to be.
But amidst all of the doubt, I still can't help but hold on to the hunch, the hunch that calls me to trust, to believe in something unseen at work. That maybe, just maybe, a daughter whose middle name is Elizabeth, will some day come into our lives.
Or even more importantly, that maybe I will never forget that we worship a God of abundance.
Through it all, there has been one boy name and one girl name that remain constant in our discussions. No matter how many ideas we come up with, how many combinations we play around with, these two names haven't changed. We feel like these are "the" names for the family we hope to have some day.
Amidst this certainty for first, names, try as we might, we haven't come anywhere close to middle names for a girl. We've talked and explored and gone in circles, only to end up back where we started.
Sure, there are plenty of names that we like, but we wanted a name that had some meaning, some significance. It just didn't seem right to select just any old middle name when our first name has so much meaning for us.
Nagging me, in the back of my mind, I really really wanted the middle name to have some family significance. But unfortunately, I had the bad luck to be born into a family that doesn't have that many agreeable names. We scoured our memory banks of aunts, great aunts, and other great greats, and never found anything that we could live with.
A couple of weeks ago, my favorite aunt flew out unexpectedly for a surprise weekend visit. My aunt is my dearest friend and was the most significant adult in my life growing up, besides my parents. I love her to pieces and so does my husband. I'm not sure how the conversation came to be, but we got to talking about middle names. And I realized that I didn't even know what my aunt's middle name was. As I heard myself ask the question, i knew in that instant, before the name was even on her lips, that the answer she was going to be giving me would have some significance in my life.
"Elizabeth. My middle name is Elizabeth."
My husband was on the other side of the living room, only semi-listening to the conversation. But he heard enough of the conversation to catch his attention. He made eye contact with me, and we both knew- that was it. A middle name for our daughter to-be.
Conversation changed topics, the weekend passed and my aunt flew back home. But several days later, I was still thinking about how much I loved that name. My curiosity took hold of me and I turned to the internet to look up the meaning.
Elizabeth means "My God is abundance"
My heart did a little beat-beat. That hard-to-describe inner hunch that comes when you just feel that something bigger than you can comprehend is at work.
It has been something I have held on to these past several weeks. There have been some low times again that have crept in, causing me to doubt that something beautiful will ever come to be from all this loss. But what has carried me through is hanging on to that hunch, those small moments surrounding something as simple and profound as the name "Elizabeth."
This past Sunday, all of this came together in yet another even more moving way. DH and I went to a new church that I have been attending this summer, but that he hasn't been to yet. My period was in full force, I had just learned of yet another friend that is pregnant. I had been in tears on the husband's shoulder just the night before, drowning in doubt.
But as the pastor spoke, I felt like she was tying my faith back together with the words of her sermon. She spoke about how often we are conned into believing in a God of scarcity- which leads to fear, self-doubt, and holding tightly to the finite. But God, she preached, is a God of abundance, not a God of scarcity. A faith in a God of abundance leads us to dance in all that is beautiful.
At times I it feels silly to believe that all of this means that some day I will hold a daughter in my arms whose middle name will be Elizabeth, and what is even sillier is that I feel like just be writing this, that I am jinxing myself and in deed none of it will ever come to be.
But amidst all of the doubt, I still can't help but hold on to the hunch, the hunch that calls me to trust, to believe in something unseen at work. That maybe, just maybe, a daughter whose middle name is Elizabeth, will some day come into our lives.
Or even more importantly, that maybe I will never forget that we worship a God of abundance.
Monday, August 2, 2010
Something Beautiful
Hey now, this is my desire
Consume me like a fire, 'cause I just want something beautiful
To touch me, I know that I'm in reach
'Cause I am down on my knees.
I'm waiting for something beautiful
Oh, something beautiful
- Something Beautiful, Needtobreathe
It was a friend of a friend on FB that made a comment in passing about this band, , and so in my mindless internet surfing, I starting listening to this song. And I haven't been able to stop listening to it all summer.
This is my desire
Something beautiful
It really is that simple, isn't it? Life? the infertility journey? If I could truly learn to trust that there will be something beautiful that will come from all of this, wouldn't the burden be a little less to carry?
Even though it is hard at times being on "this side" to read blogs of those on the "other side" I still follow along with blogs of fellow IFers who have their miracles in their arms. And regardless of whether their child is 3 months or 3 years, I am struck by how time and time again, IF moms reflect back on the darkness of their IF years in contrast to the the peace and contentness they now have. And it is authentic they aren't sugar coating things or overlooking how motherhood brings on a new type of difficulties in life. But there is a sense of..of..perhaps healing? There is something beautiful about their spirit.
If I could pray, that would be my prayer. As simple as that- that some day there will be something beautiful that will consume my spirit. I don't even care at this point how it comes to be. Maybe I will never be pregnant, maybe I will never have children at all. Maybe it won't look how I think it will look-
I just pray it is something beautiful.
Consume me like a fire, 'cause I just want something beautiful
To touch me, I know that I'm in reach
'Cause I am down on my knees.
I'm waiting for something beautiful
Oh, something beautiful
- Something Beautiful, Needtobreathe
It was a friend of a friend on FB that made a comment in passing about this band, , and so in my mindless internet surfing, I starting listening to this song. And I haven't been able to stop listening to it all summer.
This is my desire
Something beautiful
It really is that simple, isn't it? Life? the infertility journey? If I could truly learn to trust that there will be something beautiful that will come from all of this, wouldn't the burden be a little less to carry?
Even though it is hard at times being on "this side" to read blogs of those on the "other side" I still follow along with blogs of fellow IFers who have their miracles in their arms. And regardless of whether their child is 3 months or 3 years, I am struck by how time and time again, IF moms reflect back on the darkness of their IF years in contrast to the the peace and contentness they now have. And it is authentic they aren't sugar coating things or overlooking how motherhood brings on a new type of difficulties in life. But there is a sense of..of..perhaps healing? There is something beautiful about their spirit.
If I could pray, that would be my prayer. As simple as that- that some day there will be something beautiful that will consume my spirit. I don't even care at this point how it comes to be. Maybe I will never be pregnant, maybe I will never have children at all. Maybe it won't look how I think it will look-
I just pray it is something beautiful.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Over and over and over and...
There are many reasons why I blog- for support, to vent, to grieve, to celebrate.
There is pretty much one reason why I stop bloggin'- when I am stuck- Emotionally stuck by something. As I have been slowly returning to bloggin' I have realized there were two icebergs that I haven't been able or willing to face, and those icebergs are what kept me from bloggin. Because when I blog, I process things, and I just wasn't willing or able to face the icebergs.
The icebergs are starting to thaw-
Iceberg 1-
I started seeing a counselor in November. I had been wanting to start seeing one for a while- actually right after grad school. In fact, just out of grad school, I started seeing a counselor, and quit after the fourth session. I don't think she was very good - but I felt like she also was trying to tell me to grow up and get over it which I wasn't ready to hear yet either. I hadn't even started TTC yet when I started seeing her. I had my first miscarriage during the time I was seeing her. I stopped going.
Fast forward two miscarriages, two failed IUIs and I finally found the inertia (or desperation!) to start seeing another counselor. I have been seeing her 2-4 times a month since November. I mostly like her (which is good enough for me), but more importantly I trust that she is very skilled at what she does.
So, we have done some of the traditional talk therapy. I can tell she has let me grieve and been gentle not pushing me too hard, which I appreciate. And then, sometime this spring, her approach started changing. She started picking up on my times of depression, particularly around the loss anniversaries, and some of the raw, open wounds that are still very close to the surface and not healing despite counseling.
She asked if she could do an assessment on me for PTSD, post traumatic stress disorder. I shrugged my shoulders figuring it couldn't hurt to answer a list of questions. Not thinking it would really tell us anything.
The answers said quite a bit- even to me. I could see light bulbs of understanding connecting in my counselors nods. I could tell that she felt like she had really touched on something significant.
I will be honest, I didn't know much about PTSD and still don't. I know it is commonly association with veterans returning from war. Or victims of rape, or other abuses. But miscarriages? I never made the connection. And interestingly enough, to this day, since she brought it up, I haven't even consulted Dr. google. In part, I decided I didn't want to label this, or create expectations. And I didn't trust at first that she really knew what she was doing. So, I humored her. And I went along with her plan.
The plan, you ask?
At every counseling session, she would have me do a few minutes of some calming breathing exercises, and close my eyes. And then, from the very beginning, tell the story of my 2nd miscarriage. Recalling every possible detail, in depth. And when I was done, and the Kleenexes were all used up, she would have me start all over again. Over and over and over.
For the past two months!
We don't ever talk, she just listens as I tell the same story over and over. And at times she has me pause, and she asks questions, she gets me to tap into the grief, and the woundedness and recall the raw emotion I felt at the time.
And it has not been pretty.
I have wanted to quit from the very beginning. I came home after the first and second session and I told my husband she was a lunatic, uncaring, and cruel. it felt plain cruel.
I didn't think I was going to be able to continue on. I started dreaming of making up excuses in my head to skip sessions, I would have to talk to myself to convince myself to pick up my purse, grab the keys, and drive to the session each week.
At one point I even told her that I didn't trust that this process was going to benefit me. I told her, and yet she had me start from the beginning of the story all over again and just keep telling it.
And this is part of why I haven't blogged. It truly was one of the most grueling counseling seasons of my life. I thought many times about wanting to talk about this process of "de-sensitization" and the research she talks about that shows how it helps people heal from trauma. I have wanted to share what a relief it was to feel validated finally that indeed my miscarriages were traumatic. They weren't just losses, they were traumas- physically, emotionally, and spiritually.
And I am breathing again. And the change hasn't been subtle. Daily, I catch myself noticing something is a bit different.
She says that the desensitization process, the retelling of the story, is a way to start to own the loss. Acknowledging that yes this happened, and yes this is a devastating loss(es) that has shaped and redefined me and my life, but it is not all consuming. And in retelling the story, she says I am able to acknowledge this as part of the fabric of my life, but be released by the all consuming grip of grief and fear.
And she has been right. And frankly there is a bit of inner strength that bubbles up in me when I to realized that I faced the story, and as I tell it now sitting in her office, there are far less moments of feeling like I am suffocating, there are far less moments in which I feel like I will be sucked into the couch if I really share ALL the details. Instead, there is a subtle knowing that this will always be a wound I will carry, but I can also carry forward and be okay.
We have come close to being done retelling the 2nd miscarriage story. When we started this process many weeks ago, she had asked me to list my three most traumatic occurrences during the last two years of infertility and loss. Of the three, the 2nd miscarriage I had said was the least traumatizing. Soon we will be moving on the 2nd hardest event, and then on to the first. This won't be a short process, and I imagine I will relive many of the same emotions again, but for now, I am holding my head up a bit higher, trusting the new breath that is coming.
Stay tuned for Iceberg #2 that is thawing- this is plenty for one post.
There is pretty much one reason why I stop bloggin'- when I am stuck- Emotionally stuck by something. As I have been slowly returning to bloggin' I have realized there were two icebergs that I haven't been able or willing to face, and those icebergs are what kept me from bloggin. Because when I blog, I process things, and I just wasn't willing or able to face the icebergs.
The icebergs are starting to thaw-
Iceberg 1-
I started seeing a counselor in November. I had been wanting to start seeing one for a while- actually right after grad school. In fact, just out of grad school, I started seeing a counselor, and quit after the fourth session. I don't think she was very good - but I felt like she also was trying to tell me to grow up and get over it which I wasn't ready to hear yet either. I hadn't even started TTC yet when I started seeing her. I had my first miscarriage during the time I was seeing her. I stopped going.
Fast forward two miscarriages, two failed IUIs and I finally found the inertia (or desperation!) to start seeing another counselor. I have been seeing her 2-4 times a month since November. I mostly like her (which is good enough for me), but more importantly I trust that she is very skilled at what she does.
So, we have done some of the traditional talk therapy. I can tell she has let me grieve and been gentle not pushing me too hard, which I appreciate. And then, sometime this spring, her approach started changing. She started picking up on my times of depression, particularly around the loss anniversaries, and some of the raw, open wounds that are still very close to the surface and not healing despite counseling.
She asked if she could do an assessment on me for PTSD, post traumatic stress disorder. I shrugged my shoulders figuring it couldn't hurt to answer a list of questions. Not thinking it would really tell us anything.
The answers said quite a bit- even to me. I could see light bulbs of understanding connecting in my counselors nods. I could tell that she felt like she had really touched on something significant.
I will be honest, I didn't know much about PTSD and still don't. I know it is commonly association with veterans returning from war. Or victims of rape, or other abuses. But miscarriages? I never made the connection. And interestingly enough, to this day, since she brought it up, I haven't even consulted Dr. google. In part, I decided I didn't want to label this, or create expectations. And I didn't trust at first that she really knew what she was doing. So, I humored her. And I went along with her plan.
The plan, you ask?
At every counseling session, she would have me do a few minutes of some calming breathing exercises, and close my eyes. And then, from the very beginning, tell the story of my 2nd miscarriage. Recalling every possible detail, in depth. And when I was done, and the Kleenexes were all used up, she would have me start all over again. Over and over and over.
For the past two months!
We don't ever talk, she just listens as I tell the same story over and over. And at times she has me pause, and she asks questions, she gets me to tap into the grief, and the woundedness and recall the raw emotion I felt at the time.
And it has not been pretty.
I have wanted to quit from the very beginning. I came home after the first and second session and I told my husband she was a lunatic, uncaring, and cruel. it felt plain cruel.
I didn't think I was going to be able to continue on. I started dreaming of making up excuses in my head to skip sessions, I would have to talk to myself to convince myself to pick up my purse, grab the keys, and drive to the session each week.
At one point I even told her that I didn't trust that this process was going to benefit me. I told her, and yet she had me start from the beginning of the story all over again and just keep telling it.
And this is part of why I haven't blogged. It truly was one of the most grueling counseling seasons of my life. I thought many times about wanting to talk about this process of "de-sensitization" and the research she talks about that shows how it helps people heal from trauma. I have wanted to share what a relief it was to feel validated finally that indeed my miscarriages were traumatic. They weren't just losses, they were traumas- physically, emotionally, and spiritually.
And I am breathing again. And the change hasn't been subtle. Daily, I catch myself noticing something is a bit different.
She says that the desensitization process, the retelling of the story, is a way to start to own the loss. Acknowledging that yes this happened, and yes this is a devastating loss(es) that has shaped and redefined me and my life, but it is not all consuming. And in retelling the story, she says I am able to acknowledge this as part of the fabric of my life, but be released by the all consuming grip of grief and fear.
And she has been right. And frankly there is a bit of inner strength that bubbles up in me when I to realized that I faced the story, and as I tell it now sitting in her office, there are far less moments of feeling like I am suffocating, there are far less moments in which I feel like I will be sucked into the couch if I really share ALL the details. Instead, there is a subtle knowing that this will always be a wound I will carry, but I can also carry forward and be okay.
We have come close to being done retelling the 2nd miscarriage story. When we started this process many weeks ago, she had asked me to list my three most traumatic occurrences during the last two years of infertility and loss. Of the three, the 2nd miscarriage I had said was the least traumatizing. Soon we will be moving on the 2nd hardest event, and then on to the first. This won't be a short process, and I imagine I will relive many of the same emotions again, but for now, I am holding my head up a bit higher, trusting the new breath that is coming.
Stay tuned for Iceberg #2 that is thawing- this is plenty for one post.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)