When I was in grad school I wrote my master's thesis on the "shadow side" of the bride role. One of the things I talked about was that when going through a big archetypal event (like marriage, or having a baby) people feel activated by their own relationship to the event and then entitled to share whatever opinions or thoughts may have occurred to them. It's always the other person's stuff thats being projected, but that doesn't make it any easier for the bride-to-be or mom-to-be who is already in a sensitive place. This definitely happens way less with regards to miscarriage because people don't really like to talk about it (slash are afraid to talk about it) as a general rule, but there have still been some real doozies in my experience. Sometimes they are actually hilarious. 

Last week I had a preoperative appointment at the hospital. They did a physical, asked me a lot of questions, had me fill out stacks and stacks of medical history forms, and drew a bunch of blood. The lady who drew my blood waited until it was just she and I in a tiny room and then began to chat with me. At first it was nice, she asked about what I did for a living and what surgery I was having and why. When I told her, her face got grave and she lowered her voice a bit and asked if I believed in ghosts and spirits. I instantly began looking around the room for the hidden camera and toward the medical supply closet out of which I assumed Ashton Kutcher would be popping momentarily.  I tried to be diplomatic and responded that I believe in spirit and energy and prayed that she didn't press me on the specific ghost issue.  She then proceeded to imply that maybe if I just relaxed I wouldn't have miscarried (incredibly helpful, thank you). Next she went on to tell me that because I am a therapist that perhaps the ghosts or bad energy of past clients are attached to me. I asked if she could point me in the direction of the nearest ghost cleansing facility. No, actually, I just nodded politely and did my best to wrap up the conversation. She instructed me that I should be particularly careful about hugging or touching people other than those who I am very close to because that is a surefire way to transfer energy and ghosts. I mean, I had no idea. Here i've been depositing ghosts all over town!  She also told me that she has a sense that as soon as I get pregnant again I should not work and I wondered if she was planning on bankrolling me for those 9 months.

This whole experience actually made me laugh, but I imagine if I had been in a slightly more fragile place it might have been pretty distressing. When I told my girlfriend afterwards she said, "I feel like this stuff only happens to you!". It may be true that the ...um... eclectic personalities of the world sense a certain kinship with me and feel comfortable unleashing the full power of their colorful belief systems. I guess I'm okay with that as long as I can keep reasonable boundaries. In a way I was grateful for this conversation, because in the midst of a week where pre-op hormones and stress were making it difficult for me to find the humor in it all, this lady swooped in with a diagnosis of ghosts on the uterus that I found too brilliant not to laugh about. Thank you, lady, I would have hugged you had we not already discussed the clear and present dangers of that. 

Today is going to be a short post because there are times in this process (and in life in general) where you don't know what to say. I've been honest about pretty much every other aspect of the journey and I want to be honest about this too. There are times when finding a fresh perspective just isn't easy.

In this two week stretch leading up to my surgery and would-be due date I'm feeling adrift (which is a nice way to say I've been a total mess of a zombie on the inside). I partially want to be coddled and partially want to be left alone. I partially want to talk because that's usually what makes me feel better, but I also don't want to (slash don't know how to) talk about it. The hermit lifestyle is seeming oddly appealing. This week is filled with pre-operative appointments. That means a lot of sitting in waiting rooms with medical record forms that require me to fill out : Number of pregnancies : 1. Number of live births: 0 (yeah, ok, I get it, thank you for hitting that point home, Universe). Yesterday I stared down at that very line and couldn't tell if I wanted to laugh or cry or just use the paper to throw away my gum. I honestly couldn't tell if I was bored by it or still freshly tormented by it.

I think we're allowed to have these moments. There are still so many in betweens and unknowns and things that can't be controlled that having it all sorted internally seems like a whole lot to ask. I was going to skip writing altogether this week, but I decided against that because I do want to say this : if you are out there not knowing how to put your finger on how you're feeling (no matter what happens to be going on in your life), I get that. I am working on giving myself a break. I am working on telling myself that there is no time limit on figuring it all out. I'm working on remembering that being lost is a crucial part of being found. I hope you can do that too. 

Since the very first days of being pregnant one date was set apart from all the rest. August 28th, 2014. My due date.

I've gone through phases with August 28th. First it was a beautiful shining jewel of a date that I longed for, then it was a date I tentatively circled in my planner, then it was a mark in my calendar that I hated myself for writing it in pen and not pencil, and then finally, finally, FINALLY it was a day I decided I would set aside to do something really special for myself. 

A little while after my miscarriage, my mom gave me a tiny gold ring engraved with 8-28-14 and a teeny heart as a way of honoring the experience as a whole. I remember when she gave it to me she said, "You don't have to wear it if it makes you sad, I just wanted you to have it". When I first received it I didn't know how I felt about it. However, as the days have gone by I look down at that tiny ring and it is such a strange kind of comfort. It reminds me that what happened to me was important enough to memorialize. It reminds me of the sadness, sure, but also the love that is around me. And on the days that ever being pregnant feels like just a dream, I look at it and remember it happened and that I lived and am living though all that came after.

As my thwarted due date draws nearer, however, I find all sorts of emotions being kicked up. Emotions that I thought I had fairly successfully resolved are back and fresh as a daisy. Suddenly I'm noticing every woman who looks like she's about to pop (would it sound paranoid if I said I feel like they're following me?). I have to hold myself back from manically grabbing each of them and asking : What would I be feeling right now?? Do you feel so, so lucky?? For this and other reasons that also point to me becoming ever-so-slightly unglued, I made a plan to reclaim my due date. I thought treating myself to a massage or a day trip or a fun evening with friends would be the right way to not give August 28th all the power. The Universe apparently had other plans for me that day. 

As I've shared in previous posts, post-miscarriage testing revealed a uterine anomaly that has to be surgically corrected. Due to insurance issues and Chris switching jobs I knew I had to do the surgery before September 1. And what was the only day that my doctor could perform the surgery, you ask? Why, 8-28-14, of course. I kid you not. I actually almost burst into a fit of laughter when the medical secretary told me. I think somewhere in the back of my mind I knew it would work out like this, because as we have learned, the Universe loves to have a bit of a chuckle at me. I hung up the phone with the secretary and felt that initial blast of dark humor dissolve to make way for the the weight of the world crashing down on me. The thought of opening my eyes in a hospital bed post surgically on the day that I theoretically would have been there to give birth just seemed so cruel (of course I'm not underestimating the silver lining of being benevolently knocked out by general anesthesia for a good portion of the day). 

I called in the High Counsel of Talking Becca Off a Ledge and conversations with them slowly helped me to begin to reframe August 28th. Perhaps one way or another my energy was meant to change that day. I'd like to believe that the powers-that-be had earmarked that day for some sort of Earth-shifting event and maybe it just isn't the one I expected or hoped for. To be honest, I have no clue how I am going to feel when I wake up on the 28th. I am sure I will be nervous and maybe a little sad, but I hope that in addition to that I can view the day as the start of something new. The last 9 months didn't conclude with a baby for me, but that gestational period instead brought forth connections, growth, insight, and new depths of emotion and empathy. It brought me thousands of chances to practice keeping my sense of humor in the darkest of times. It brought me a greater knowledge of the incredible support system I am lucky enough to have around me. It brought me all of you that tune in to read this blog every week (for which I am flooded with gratitude). August 28th was clearly always meant to be a charged day for me, but I think at this point I will be able to have a hand in how it unfolds and what it represents. Now when I look down at the date engraved on my ring I will not only think about this experience, what it taught me, and what it left me with, but I hope I will also see the date when a new chapter began. 

A few weeks back when I asked for guest blogger submissions and I received a very special one from one of my favorite bloggers Marisa Bardach Ramel (check out her blog Sally's Circle ). In the past I've written about the idea of "Rainbow Babies" -- the children that are born following a miscarriage. Low and behold, Marisa is a real live Rainbow Person who was kind enough to share the unique perspective that it has given her. Since the experience of miscarrying, I've talked about how many people have stepped forward to say that they have also experienced it, but what I haven't mentioned as much is that an equal amount of people have shared that their parents experienced a miscarriage either before or after they were born. I've been fascinated to hear the impact that miscarriage has had on their lives and the dynamics within their families. Despite the fact that is not talked about very much, the phantom of miscarriage lingers on in big ways and small with every person it touches. The ramifications are not always negative. In Marisa's case it has left her with a rich understanding and well of hope for those who have been through this expeirence. However she can explain better than I can so without further ado... I'll pass the mic to Marisa....