This is my 40th post on The Ever Forward Blog. It is hard to even recognize the girl that let loose her pain onto the very first page of this blog with not a clue what would come of it. Over the last 40 gestational posts the following things have been brought miraculously into my life : I've been put into direct contact with thousands of you who I have never met, but who have been through the same indescribable pain. I have connected with old friends in a new way through the lens of this experience. I've been given the incredible opportunity to heal through processing my experience in writing. 

I'm very nearly feeling like a normal person again (whatever that is) here at the 40-post mark. Just yesterday a dear friend shared with me that she is expecting. Along with being overcome with excitement for her, I was overcome with a wave of gratitude that she was able to just tell me freely and not feel the need to tiptoe around me (you know who you are, that was a huge gift, thank you!). It was refreshing to notice in myself that I could receive this news with a genuinely open heart. There was no forced "oh i'm so haaaappy for you" with gritted teeth. I celebrate her joy with every ounce of my being because I pray that that same joy will come to me at some point regardless of what my journey has been so far. 

It's not over. It will never fully be over. This is the part I am still working on accepting. The day I found out I was pregnant my entire world tilted into a terrifyingly beautiful technicolor roller coaster and I can't un-feel the things I felt. Once you've experienced that connection to motherhood it rips open something inside you that never heals over completely. I am reminded of this at the most unexpected times.

For example, when my girlfriend told me about her pregnancy she also told me they were already able to tell her the sex of her baby. She is only half a week further along than I was when I was told there was no more heartbeat so I instantly took to the internet to Google : "earliest they can determine sex of baby" and learned that there is now a test that can determine the gender very early on. I felt like the wind was knocked out of me. To my total surprise I felt a sickeningly intense longing to know what my baby would have been. Regardless of whether this actually would have been an option in my case, the thought of it took hold of me ferociously. Emotion sprung forth with a magnitude that I hadn't felt in months regarding this topic. Why, I wondered? Where the heck is this coming from? I'm still processing it and I haven't fully cracked it yet.

I took an extremely informal poll (full disclosure, it was seven people--four women and three men--hardly going to win any scientific research awards). Three of the women said yes they would absolutely want to know and the other four I polled said no. This obviously doesn't highlight any major trend, but the one definite commonality was the definitiveness with which people answered. It was visceral. They either knew it was a yes or knew it was a no with zero second thinking. For me, maybe it's something about my voraciousness for knowledge regarding this entire experience and of my body in general. Perhaps it's also something to do with wanting to experience every part of that pregnancy for as long as it lasted. I have never shied away from the raw details of my lost pregnancy and this feels no different. It's not about the gender. I wouldn't have cared if it was a boy, a girl, a boy born in a biologically female body, a girl born in a biologically male body, or a unicorn. Perhaps if I am to lay myself bare here (and, really, what's new?), what it's really about is feeling one tiny, but extremely tangible, step closer to this child I wanted so desperately and lost. It would have been one more layer of realness. Yes, it might have been another layer of sadness too, but it was always going to be heartbreaking anyway. 

For some of the people I spoke to who said "no" they explained they didn't see what the benefit of knowing would be if the fetus was never meant to grow into a boy or a girl to begin with and I do understand that logically, but emotionally and illogically (and lets face it, that's where I generally live) I would have needed to know if I was given the option. The initial emotional impact has passed and now I am just curious to hear what you think out there--wether you have experienced this or not, what are your thoughts?  I've included an annoynymous survey below (how tech savvy am I?!) or you can write in comment section or to theeverforward@gmail.com.

The fact that this issue sparked an emotional reaction goes to show that even after 40 weeks, 40 posts, 40 months, 40 years, I am forever changed, but increasingly well equipped to grapple with the questions, learn about myself, and move forward. Thanks for sticking with me for the last 40, you have no idea what it means to me.  

I am completely over the hospital. I was certain I had put it behind me for quite some time and then I landed myself there again over the weekend. I have truly never been the person that gets sick, the person who needs repeat medical attention, or any of that. However my track record over the last year is forcing me to admit I have in fact been that person of late for reasons totally out of my control. I'm not into it. I didn't even want to write this blog post because I felt like everyone was shouting "SHUT UP about a hospital already!" (because that's certainly what I've been shouting to myself), but then Jeremy helped me realize that it's a pretty universal and hopefully relatable phenomenon to be bored silly with the cycles we find ourselves in ...so I wrote it anyway.

After calling my primary care doctor and visiting an urgent care clinic in my neighborhood and having both physicians sternly urge me to go to the ER, I (very unwillingly) conceded. The symptoms I was having coupled with recent surgery, a genetic clotting disorder, and having been put on post surgical estrogen patch all were too indicative of a pulmonary embolism to ignore I was told. So I went. I did the blue jammy dress thing, I got poked in the arm not once, not twice, but thrice (I can already tell I am headed for arm bruises that would make even the most consummate heroin addict blush), I submitted to test after test to rule out pulmonary embolism and visualized the dollars and cents draining from our bank account with every one.

In the end, everything came out clear. They can't fully explain some of my symptoms, which is uncomfortable to sit with, but they were able to rule out the life threatening things they were worried about and that is a relief. The whole thing got me thinking once again about how it's not so easy to leave the reproductive trauma of the last year behind (as if i needed more reminders, but they just keep on coming). It tends to follow you around in the most annoying and unexpected of fashions (just like all of our baggage does). Everything links to everything.  That experience lives inside me emotionally as well as physically and so I never know when it is going to emerge and stir up some trouble. 

The Universe likes to remind us that we are never fully in the driver's seat even when we begin to feel that we are. This can make us feel very stuck as it did to me as I sat there in the ER feeling stripped of my autonomy, but it can also be freeing depending on how you look at it. We're not so very powerful. We can work hard to move forward, we can bring as much positivity as possible into our lives, we can fiercely love the ones that are dear to us, but ultimately we can't control much else. As I laid there in that ER bed, I thought to myself, as unpleasant and annoying as this is, I feel lucky to have people in my life are that are continuously willing to wade through these rough moments with me. I know my support system loves me and they know I love them (I probably make that overly clear at times), and right now, that's the best remedy I can think of. There are going to be moments where we inevitably get stuck in the same old garbage and then all there is to do is fall back on that foundation--the work, the positivity, the love--to pull us out again. 

So, I joined a gym. This is not terribly characteristic of me as you may know (I'm one of those people for which running feels like the worst sort of torture and who doesn't believe in this supposed "runners high" that people speak of. Come on runners, just admit it, that's not a thing). 

I did it partially because I'm doing a play soon and I want my energy and stamina to be on point (and lets face it i'm also highly motivated by the thought of strangers sitting in a darkened room and staring at me). I also did it partially, and probably more significantly, because this whole year of being utterly out of control of my body has really done a number on me. My body and I are in a bit of a weird place. In some ways I feel more comfortable in my skin than ever because I'm proud of it for emerging from battle and still getting me from place to place on a daily basis. In other ways however, I think, without realizing it, somewhere along the way I lost a certain amount of faith in its ability. I counted on my body to perform what I thought of as a basic human function and it punked out on me. I know those are unfair expectations to put on my little body, but I'd be lying if I said I hadn't internalized some of those negative messages.

Now that the dust has settled and all my medical interventions are for the most part behind me, I am left to look at what parts of me may have atrophied from lack of attention over the last 10 months. There are relationships that could use more nurturing, there are projects that could use energy breathed into them, and there are body parts that could use strengthening. This is something they don't really tell you about miscarriage and infertility (well, to be honest, "they" tell you very little don't they?) : that you will emerge stronger in so many ways, but also emerge with quite a bit of repair work to do in terms of your relationship to yourself.  For me, now is the time to take stock of what is left to do and one small step toward that is chugging my butt over to the gym as often as possible. Each time I walk out of there a sweaty mess (which, for me, at this point is the best part of going--the leaving bit), I remind myself that I even though I may not possess the most grace or agility from a physical fitness standpoint, I am more than strong enough to clean up the messes that the Universe left for me. 

Muscle memory is a thing. I feel pockets of emotion shake out of me as my legs tremble and old pains and fears sweat out through my pores, but I'm doing my best to stay with it so that in a few months I will be 5'10" and 100 pounds (Just kidding. That actually sounds truly terrifying to me). I'm trying to stay with it because I want to continuously reinforce that my body is capable, is adaptable, is resilient, is enough. I think if that is the energy with which I approach my physical being, then the rest will fall into place as it is meant to. It's worth a try. 

At the risk of being lumped in with the faceless masses of clichéd girls in oversized sweaters clutching pumpkin lattes to their chests at this time of year, I must say I do love Autumn. It's my favorite time of year. The leaves are starting to crisp up into oranges and ambers, the air smells delicious, and the skies are still bright blue (thank you for indulging me). The quality of light is shifting and that seems to have a ripple effect through everyone whether we directly notice it or not. 

I think what makes me really love this time of year has something to do with its relationship to change. This is the time of year when decay becomes beautiful and even though the end of summer is bittersweet there is an electric energy in the air of things to come. It's a time when Mother Nature holds our hand through an inevitable ending. And if you started reading this blog because you too lost a baby (or know someone who did), then you know that it certainly doesn't always feel like the Universe is holding your hand through an ending. So when this kind of seasonal coddling does occur, it feels noteworthy. All we need to do is look to the trees to be reminded that life is cyclical and that, like it or not, it ceases to cycle for no one. 

This time is steeped in nostalgia for me and leaves me feeling particularly reflective (Shocking, I know. I hear you thinking, "Does this girl ever stop with the reflection?" No. Not really. She doesn't). The fact that the Jewish New Year/high holidays fall at this time of year also kicks up this sense of contemplativeness. As I atoned for my undoubtedly multitudinous missed steps over the past year, I also got to thinking about what I want to carry with me forward into a fresh new year and what to leave behind. I've been feeling pretty positive since my surgery (punctuated by the occasional fun little wave of light weeping and panic of the "What am I doing with my life?!" and "Who am I?" variety. You know, just light stuff), so when taking stock of what I would "leave behind" as I step into a new year, it seemed the obvious and obtainable choice to finally drop some of my miscarriage baggage at the door. I don't ruminate about it on a daily basis anymore. I've looked at it from many angles and raked it all over the coals plenty over the last year. You would maybe think that putting it behind me would feel easier at this point. The seasonal endings and beginnings of Autumn remind me, however, that no matter how much I've healed, walking forward baggage-free is never really an option. The leaves that fall decompose under the snow and nourish the buds that will burst forth in Spring. Nothing truly gets "left behind". As much as I like forward moving motion, I am grateful for this. There is actually something sad about the very thought of "leaving it behind" because it implies loosening the connection to a moment in my life that was profound for many reasons.

I think the best we can hope for in this season of change is to be like the trees. We have to find ways to honor the scars that are carved deeply and permanently into our trunks and remember that cicatrices don't stop leaves from bursting into spectacular color, falling, and then starting to grow again. Over and over we cycle like this which means there is always a second chance right around the corner.