In a stunning fit of personal irony, The Daver and I were called upon to serve on a jury of our peers on the same day.
That day is tomorrow.
One of us is going to perform his civic duty, while I have to call in sick so that I can go back to the doctor. Again. And trust me when I tell you that I wish like hell that I was going with him.
Going to the doctor for this latest miscarriage is only going to dig the old nail in a little deeper and remind me that hells yes, my body is expelling yet another ickle and well-wanted critter. And then I have to suffer the indignity of another ass shot performed with the sterile equivalent of a ball-point pen. It’s going to be AWESOME.
It’s weird, I never really knew how I would react to having a miscarriage. On the logical side of my brain, I am pleased that it didn’t happen any later than it did: having it happen at all is sad, but having it happen at 4 months, 7 weeks, or 9 months is far worse. The emotional side of my body is telling me that this is yet another loss of something I really had wanted. I would have loved the wee critter as much as I love my not-so-wee critters and I wish this had a different outcome.
The hormones aren’t helping matters one tiny bit, but I think ultimately I will decide that this is neither here nor there. In the end, I suppose it all comes down to the idea of luck. I hate the concept of luck. If I am lucky because I have a truly wonderful husband and 2 hilarious kidlets, that makes someone who doesn’t have these things unlucky.
But what did I do to deserve these wonderful things that I do have? And what did someone who doesn’t have these things do to not deserve them? Should I feel lucky to not be those people, or should I have survivor’s guilt and feel terribly for them? (I’ll let you guess which one I feel, and it’s not the first option). I’d love for The Universe to shower good fortune and luck onto everyone in the world, but it’s just not the way it works, and I don’t know why.
I can accept having one early miscarriage, hell I can accept having two, although it seems a bit careless. In the grand scheme of things, I’m still pretty blessed and I don’t forget it for a moment. Honestly, I never do. But to have two of these miscarriages/chemical pregnancies within 30 days just seems cruel and unusual to me. I comforted myself by telling myself that I cannot be so unlucky so as to have two in a row, but it seems that my luck has changed. And I am beyond devastated.
Despite my devastation, I refuse to subscribe to fear, though, and let that overrun my life. I’ll have another baby, or I won’t. I’ll go back to school or I won’t. I’ll paint the kitchen or I won’t. But I won’t not do something (hello double negative!) because I am afraid of a bad outcome. That’s a stupid way to live my life, and I refuse to do it.
Maybe I’ll never get to the truly peaceful place again, and maybe I’ll always be a little afraid of things outside of my control, but that’s okay. It’s what makes life interesting and us humans.
It happened, I’m suitably wrecked, and I’ll survive. It’s what we all do.