Here's a fun little bonus to an already less-than-delightful experience : miscarrying is expensive.  This is a part of the equation that never occurred to me until quite deep into the recovery process because I had a few other things on my mind. I promised to dig into the good, the bad, and the ugly on this blog and this definitely falls somewhere in there.

Now, I am sure this particular experience varies from person to person based on your insurance situation and whether or not you live in a place with universal healthcare (jealous!), but for me personally there was a cruel financial wallop to deal with on top of the emotional one.  There were many moments of staring dumbfoundedly (thats not a word) at astronomical medical bills and thinking of how much I would rather be spending thousands of dollars on cribs, strollers, tiny glitter shoes, and that French giraffe squeaky toy that all the trendy city babies seem to enjoy gnawing upon so very much. This frustration culminated with me (ever-so-slightly) losing my cool with a less than sympathetic insurance company representative and exclaiming, "Believe me!! If I could return this experience for a refund, I WOULD!!"

The fact of the matter is, no matter how financially troubled the bills made us in our day to day lives, we still were able to recognize (most of the time) that money is just money and it ebbs and flows and is ultimately not the most important thing. The actual dollars and cents were merely the vehicle for some much more stealthily disguised emotional hits. Medical bills became the physical representation of the lasting effects of an emotional trauma from which we were trying to distance ourselves. To see it all boil down to medical codes and corresponding price tags was painful. The harsh frankness of my hopes and dreams being referred to as "products of conception" and coded as a "missed abortion" made it hard to make peace with shelling out cash.  The lasting financial effects gave the trauma an exciting new means of haunting us all the more.

More than any of this however, was the way medical bills becomes the universal scapegoat within my relationship. When it felt inappropriate or difficult to express the grief and anger toward this experience or each other, it was much more comfortable to rail against the insurance companies, the waning savings account, and our neglected budget. We became so tense about managing our finances that it was clear at times we were just desperate to replace one stress with another more seemingly conventional and manageable one. Just like we had to reconcile allowing this experience to be part of us as individuals and a couple, we also had to reconcile allowing it to be part of the way we lived our lives for the time being. I think money is an example of the undoubtedly multitudinous commonplace things that get scapegoated in the emotional battlefield of surviving miscarriage. Riding through those moments is the true work of moving ever forward.

It was a combination of time, reflection, and open conversation that got us through this phase. I guess the best we can hope to do is practice being more aware of when our rage and sorrow is being displaced and then focus back in on the important things like communication and connection with our loved ones. For me personally, I had to make a conscious effort to be gentle with myself. I allowed myself to recognize that this was simply a time where it is impossible to have full control over many areas of my life, both large and small. Miscarriage comes with an unimaginably steep emotional price, but learning acceptance and pathways to peace in the face of that price is the kind of hard-earned life lesson that can't be bought. 

I'm sick and tired of thinking about miscarriage and babies and fertility. I'm tired of my emotions being dictated by it. I'm tired of the look I see on my friends faces when they gear up to be supportive once again. I fear (possibly based on paranoia rather than reality) that everyone is sick of hearing about it, but the truth is that no one is more sick of it than I am.

I'd like nothing more than to let it go. In fact, armies of 4 year-old girls obsessed with the movie Frozen seem to be belting at me to "Let it Go" every day. I'd love to oblige. Truly. Because this stinks (and their off-key toddler singing is loud and hurts my ears). However many factors seem to be conspiring against this goal. 

Two months after my miscarriage my pregnancy hormone levels were still not reading negative. My OB was following my levels to rule out a partial molar pregnancy (still is, actually).  She told me the drop was admittedly quite slow, but nothing to be particularly concerned about as long as they were consistently trending down. It seemed that my body was quite literally refusing to let go and clutching desperately to this pregnancy. I became best friends with the lovely nurse who drew my blood every week. She wears bright red lipstick and always compliments my shoes. We have a schtick about the weekly blood draw being our fun little tradition. She talks about her son and I talk about how my week went. It is usually a surprisingly cheerful part of my day even though it involves getting poked with a needle. I brought both Chris and Jer in to meet her so I guess that means she's now officially in my crew. We hug like old friends. So, letting it go seems increasingly out of the question as this little show and its players have firmly woven themselves into my day-to day. They are so much the fabric of my life right now that I can no longer pretend they are something separate. 

For a long while, I would give a weekly report to my nearest and dearest that pregnancy hormones were still surging through me. We'd usually have a snarky banter that went something like "well, we could have told them that" referencing the fact that I was still acting totally bonkers on a fairly frequent basis. I could just as easily laugh giddily about this as break down in spirit crushing sobs. It was anyones guess which it would be (don't I sound delightful?). They say postpartum sadness is unspeakably hard when the pregnancy results in a baby, and I was completely unprepared for the effect it would have when the pregnancy resulted in me being alone with my thoughts. The hormonal free-fall and consequent sluggishly resolving chemical imbalance wreaked havoc on my ability to emotionally move forward. 

This experience has refused to let go of me in more unexpected and cunning ways as well. This was made abundantly clear when I had to go get an MRI to rule out a uterine septum (SPOILER ALERT : I have an almost total one! which means more antiseptic-soaked surgery blog posts to come before carrying a baby is even an option for me. So basically I am in the Olympics of reproductive malfunction and I'm gunning for the gold in several categories). In the days before the MRI I found myself a total wreck. This was not uncharacteristic in general (please refer to the lingering pregnancy hormones), but it was out of the ordinary as it pertains to a simple MRI. I nearly started hyperventilating talking about it over coffee one day. I worked in an intensive care unit for years, for goodness sake, and thought I was almost fully desensitized to most routine medical interventions. Turns out there was some definite post traumatic D&C effects lingering in me that sprung to life at the thought of another IV, another allergic reaction to hospital tape, another runway walk in a scratchy light blue gown and grippy socks. 

This whole experience has burrowed down deep and rears its ugly head when I least expect it.  There are still pregnancy website email pop-ups to which I can't bring myself to unsubscribe. On a day that happened to coincide with two births in my family, I got a very conspicuous email announcing  "Congrats! You're in your second trimester! Start telling the world!". I know I set myself up for that sucker punch because I have complained in the past about how cruelly relentless and annoying those emails are and I could have easily stopped them by now, but I haven't. Part of me also still wants to see them. This part of me defiantly and stubbornly doesn't want to make it easier to forget. Maybe I am not ready to release the parallel universe version of myself that is now moving through the normal stages of a healthy pregnancy.

I guess the heart of the matter is, there is too much focus on letting go. I've been guilty of slipping into the false sense that the end goal is a version of me who does not think about my miscarriage. Moving "ever forward" is not about detaching from what happened, it's about learning to carry the weight of this experience with increasing dexterity and humor. It is about allowing the sadness to be present, but not chaining myself to it and giving it all the power. The sadness and pain deserve honor and respect because moving through those emotions is what is shaping me into a stronger version of myself. 

It is less about letting it go and more about letting it be.

Hi mamas! I had some other ideas for a post today, but scratched them because I felt the need to check in with you all.  Congratulations. We lived. We made it to the other side of Mother's Day. For me, it was easier than I thought it would be in some ways and epically more difficult in other, less expected ways. I spent a lot of the day laughing at the pure ridiculousness of it all (better than sobbing, right?). The day began with me checking in with social media. That was a doozy. It felt like everyone I knew was celebrating their first Mother's Day and oh how the baby bumps were on parade. I felt an all too familiar aching emptiness that I thought was starting to subside. I don't begrudge any of those happy moms their joy because I hope to join them one day, but it still hurt. My mom called me before I even got a chance to call her to check in. My sweet husband flooded me with more and more peonies to soften my fall into the day and tiptoed gently around me. I guess it was fairly clear I was a woman on the edge.

We took about an hour drive out to a little inn for Mother's Day brunch with my mother in law, grandma in law, and the rest of the family. My grandma in law is a beautifully tough old broad who tells it like it is. I love her. She keeps it real. Recently however, her short term memory has almost entirely deserted her. As she wheeled up to me I gave her a kiss and said "Happy Mother's Day!" and she responded with a playful eye roll and "Ha! Can't say happy Mother's Day to you". Nope. Nope you can't, Gram. Nailed it. I know she didn't have any memory that I miscarried and therefore was treating me in the goodnatured way family members do when a married couple is perceived as making everyone wait forever for grandkids. I actually found it surprisingly hilarious and all I could do was just smile and keep plowing forward. When we went inside the restaurant they were giving roses to all the mothers. So there was an actual conversation that consisted of something like : "Ok, so who's a mom here?" At this point I was inwardly in a fit of semi-manic hysterical laughter at the absurdity of being made to publicly declare that I was very much not a mom. After I took that bullet we walked to our table and Grandma asked, "Why don't you have a flower, Becca?", "Because I'm not a mom, Grandma" which was met with another playful, "well quit making us wait so long, already!" look. My carefully constructed armor was showing cracks I could tell. 

We sat down at the table and my sister-in-law and her girlfriend arrived. They were holding a bag which I assumed was for mom or grandma, but they plopped it in front of me. They said they got me a little something because they love me and that it was inspired by this blog. It was a beautiful little statue that was meant to represent "reflecting and soaring". The recognition that this day was going to be tough for me meant the absolute world. I dissolved into thankful, happy tears that I had that kind of love in my life. I felt nothing but utter gratitude in that moment. In fact, there were quite a few moments of gratitude throughout the day that balanced out the harder moments. Dear friends and family reached out to say they were thinking of me. One such message from a friend said that she felt my pregnancy had "given birth to my warrior mama-ness" which is just about the best thing I've ever heard. This experience may not have left me with a baby, but it has certainly opened the door to a new conception of myself and a new strength. So even though mother's day highlighted the lack of a certain role in my life, I found it also unexpectedly shone a light on new roles and ways of coping that are emerging every day.  

I ended the day feeling emotionally exhausted, but I lived. I moved through it. I laughed and cried and tried to grow. How did you do? I'd love to hear....

Last year when Chris and I were thinking about getting pregnant less seriously and in more of a vague “not not trying” kind of a way, he got me a bouquet of my favorite flowers for Mother's Day. They were perfect pink peonies and he attached a note that said: “for my future baby mama”. He gave them to me as kind of just a sweet joke, but it makes my head spin to think about the journey we’ve been on since then. When I laughingly and lovingly accepted those flowers I guess I was pretty naive. I had no reason to believe that when I was serious about a baby I wouldn't just automatically have one. Easy. Because miscarriage/infertility issues happen to other women and not me, right?

With Mother's Day approaching I have become acutely aware of a pervasive mommyness in the air more so than usual and certainly more so than I have in any previous year. Spring bursts forth with new life all around me and it's beautiful and reassuring, but it also sometimes hurts. Commercials, sections of stationary stores, advertisement emails all serve as reminders that in a matter of days I will find myself within a date on the calendar that could have been exciting and special and is now just kind of numb and blah (except of course for the opportunity to celebrate my own fabulous mama, mama-in-law, and the other beautiful mamacita friends I love). 

It got me thinking about the babyless mommas out there; an army of women like me who, in varying durations, experienced a powerful physical knowledge of motherhood and then had it taken away. Where's our day of recognition, I ask!? So guess what, mamas? I'm declaring that day TODAY. I'm pretty sure on the internet you can just declare days and they become official (right?). Today it is Tuesday and you might be working or caught up in the mundane details of midweek, but set aside just a small moment to honor yourself as a warrior mama who hasn't had the easy road, but who gets up every day and shines her light into the world anyway. I assume these emotions might also ring true for a mother who had a miscarriage after already having a child--so you ladies should feel included in this new holiday I just created too! 

Chances are you were all geared up for motherhood no matter what stage of pregnancy you were when you miscarried. If you're like me, you weren't even aware of how geared up you were until you found out that it was unnecessary to be so. Before I was pregnant I would sometimes think, "will I be a good mom? am I ready?", but then when I thought I was barreling toward motherhood whether I was ready or not, I felt myself morphing into the hot mama that I was going to be. I saw myself with a tiny baby slung to my chest while picking up groceries for dinner, going to museums, and chatting on sunny sidewalks with friends. I saw myself vibrant and smiling and unabashedly breastfeeding in pubic like a damn rebel. I saw the way that even though I was sleep deprived and cranky as hell I would lovingly inhale the little ones fuzzy noggin and talk to her like my new tiniest best friend and treasure. I saw the eclectic experiences I would expose her to and the crazy and wonderful people who would become her support system as she grew. I felt my heart expanding inside me in a way I had never felt. 

My question is-- when this process screeches to halt where does the residual mommy energy go? For a while I couldn't hold it in and felt it spilling out onto everyone in my immediate vicinity. I call this my mommylust phase and I still dip into it from time to time. It is marked by the compulsion to make everyone a warm beverage, tuck everyone in, and rock everyone to sleep. Everyone. I'm pretty sure it was creepy for all my friends and family. But today, on BABYLESS MOMMA DAY, I say lets honor the mommylust and all that was left over when our journey toward motherhood was prematurely discontinued. All those preparations and dreams and nurturing instincts are now part of me as I try to (as courageously as possible) walk the post apocalyptic earth as this mommy/not mommy hybrid. Today I plan to buy myself flowers and focus on paying homage to the person that I am and the journey that I've had. I hope you can too.

If you are so inspired : leave a comment on this blog post sharing a way that you celebrated yourself today - i'm sure it will inspire others to do the same !!