Zoomed In

Gray clouds hover and weep heavily today, the ground saturated with their tears. The day matches my emotions at the moment. It's as though yesterday's distance from my miscarriage experience has suddenly been zoomed in, as through a high-power lens.

My radio alarm woke me from a fitful sleep that was lacking. Even with closed curtains, I immediately knew that the day was dreary and cool...matching my heart. Through thick walls of unceasing rainfall, I made my way to the school where I work, and where my dear son (DS) takes classes. Turning into the parking lot, just after the first tone, I was greatly relieved to not have to enter the building.

...why would that be? My friends and co-workers have been supportive and kind throughout this week.

Upon reflection, I am afraid of that first real encounter.

I might cry a little, or a lot. I might not cry at all. I might have to answer their questions, or perhaps it will be awkward and no questions will be asked. I am afraid to be confronted with eyes and hearts that care, yet pity me. I am afraid to just go on, as if nothing has changed...as if I am the same, and as if this baby never existed. I am afraid to talk about my hopes for another pregnancy soon. I am afraid that my friends will eventually grow bored and weary of my lingering sadness. I am afraid that if I don't cry or show sadness, that I'll be seen as having completed my mourning, or that I am simply callous.

I am afraid.

Once DS entered the building, I continued towards the city where I would get bloodwork done and then stop in at my mom's place to tell her my sad news. The XM radio has been a wonderful thing, but most of the songs caused my eyes to moisten on this dreary morning.

Upon arrival at the hospital lab, where I get my blood drawn, I felt as though I might have been "done" mourning for the day. Sitting in the waiting area, I was proved wrong. All it took was one magazine on a side table to catch my eye. A parenting-type magazine. The kind with a picture of an adorable and healthy baby on the cover.

My baby is gone. My hope for this pregnancy is gone. I will not have a healthy baby...a baby at all, this December. That dream is gone. It's gone.

Tears begin to well up.

Keep yourself together, J. Don't lose it here. Don't lose it now.

I bite the tip of my tongue, so that the pain of it will distract me from the pain in my heart, and the thoughts developing in my mind. Deep breath. Concentrate on the pattern on the ceiling. Anything but the pain in my heart.

Okay. Safe...for the moment.

My name is called. A woman in dark blue patterned scrubs, and who appears to be in her twenties, looks at me expectantly. I follow her into a cubicle, sitting in the foamy yellow chair while she prepares the needle.

Uh-oh...please, no.

All those feelings from the waiting area manage to pry their way into this small room with me. Tears come. Lots of tears. Contorted face, runny nose, gasps and sniffles and sobs. Little sobs, then full-blown can't-stop-this-from-happening-now sobs.

Poor, poor twenty-something woman with the needle. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." I repeat this over and over between gasps and breaths. I find myself telling her, between snuffles, all about what's going on in my life right now. I tell her about my mother who is ill, I tell her about going through years and years of heart-wrenching infertility, and I tell her about losing this baby a day before my tenth week of pregnancy was starting.

Grabbing my shoulders, she pulls close, hugging me...telling me it's okay to cry. She tells me that it's a hard time. She says that sometimes we just need to let it out. She tells me that yesterday she found herself crying uncontrollably in the grocery store, because her own mother is dying from cancer. Her tight embrace comforts me. My tears wet her shoulder, but she doesn't pull back...she just holds on. Thank-you, lady with the needle.

Why didn't I let DH go with me today, for this bloodwork? The answer is that I thought I was strong...that I was okay. Even though this is a sad time, I've been through many sad times.

...I thought I was okay.

He wanted to come, but I told him not to. Truth be told, I needed him there with me, but just didn't realize it until it was too late.



...okay, enough for now. I'm taking a break from this blogging session. I'll finish today's blog at a later time.