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One of the greatest things about being a human is the realisation that the sun will come out tomorrow.
It isn’t just an annoying musical number, it’s a shining reality to hold on to in the dark days. Happiness always has a way of breaking through the night.
Ten months ago I had a miscarriage, losing the baby I had planned for my whole life and desperately wanted. My body wouldn’t let go, and so, on a full and brutal December moon, I had to have a D&C.
The incompetent OB/GYN blundered the procedure and left me with a scarred-up uterus. Undiagnosed, she told me that the pain I was subsequently suffering was possibly all ‘in my head’.
After months of agony, I went to another doctor, a specialist, and found that I had in fact been inflicted with a rare case of Asherman’s Syndrome by my former gyne. He treated me, performed more highly delicate surgeries and did his utmost to fix me.
Months of pain, both physical and emotional, sent me spiraling out of the life I had once known in a tornado I could not control or understand.
Hormone treatments wreaked havoc. Weight gain whirl winded me (10kg’s in 6 months!) Periodic birth-like contractions that left me curled in a fetal ball reminded me cruelly of the lost child from inside my broken body.
The trauma of losing my first baby was made worse by not healing normally, and it hurt where the infant should have been. Useless unsolicited advice that ranged from ‘It just isn’t your time,’ to ‘What is meant to be will be,’ tore me apart daily. Having to face those who believed God killed my offspring on purpose and allowed the botched surgery for some reason too?
I can’t even begin to explain what I have been through this year.
But, not too long ago, I woke up and realised I am happy again. Ridiculously happy! Not for what happened, and not in a giddy, throw your head back and swing from the chandelier way, but with a deep sense of calm.
It’s over. No more. The tornado that took my little one, lashed at my life, devastated my hopes and spun me out of control destroying everything in its path has finally been forced to relent its claws.
And I survived it.
I realise I am not in Kansas anymore, and there is no going back. There is only here and now. This new land spreads out before me and fills me with a happiness like warm sun on numbed skin, soft grass under bruised feet, and I see my baby’s perfectly beautiful spirit all around me. A crowning glory.
I feel honored to have been the one chosen to carry her for the short time she had on this earth and know that even though I never had her, I will never lose her.
As happy songs fill my playlist, I am happy to be here.
I am happy to have those who were supportive around me still. I am happy to be able to have seen through people and realise who my true friends are. I am happy because my child that almost was is not all of me, but a precious part of me, and now I can smell the fresh dew again.
I am happy because I healed, and my strength returned. I am happy because even though I have not been able to conceive again just yet, I have learnt so much more than I could have thought possible about the world, and the people around me through the loss.
I am happy to be here - this new land is even more alluring, even more full with possibilities, and my soul is once again glowing with a pregnant hope.
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It isn’t just an annoying musical number, it’s a shining reality to hold on to in the dark days. Happiness always has a way of breaking through the night.
Ten months ago I had a miscarriage, losing the baby I had planned for my whole life and desperately wanted. My body wouldn’t let go, and so, on a full and brutal December moon, I had to have a D&C.
The incompetent OB/GYN blundered the procedure and left me with a scarred-up uterus. Undiagnosed, she told me that the pain I was subsequently suffering was possibly all ‘in my head’.
After months of agony, I went to another doctor, a specialist, and found that I had in fact been inflicted with a rare case of Asherman’s Syndrome by my former gyne. He treated me, performed more highly delicate surgeries and did his utmost to fix me.
Months of pain, both physical and emotional, sent me spiraling out of the life I had once known in a tornado I could not control or understand.
Hormone treatments wreaked havoc. Weight gain whirl winded me (10kg’s in 6 months!) Periodic birth-like contractions that left me curled in a fetal ball reminded me cruelly of the lost child from inside my broken body.
The trauma of losing my first baby was made worse by not healing normally, and it hurt where the infant should have been. Useless unsolicited advice that ranged from ‘It just isn’t your time,’ to ‘What is meant to be will be,’ tore me apart daily. Having to face those who believed God killed my offspring on purpose and allowed the botched surgery for some reason too?
I can’t even begin to explain what I have been through this year.
But, not too long ago, I woke up and realised I am happy again. Ridiculously happy! Not for what happened, and not in a giddy, throw your head back and swing from the chandelier way, but with a deep sense of calm.
It’s over. No more. The tornado that took my little one, lashed at my life, devastated my hopes and spun me out of control destroying everything in its path has finally been forced to relent its claws.
And I survived it.
I realise I am not in Kansas anymore, and there is no going back. There is only here and now. This new land spreads out before me and fills me with a happiness like warm sun on numbed skin, soft grass under bruised feet, and I see my baby’s perfectly beautiful spirit all around me. A crowning glory.
I feel honored to have been the one chosen to carry her for the short time she had on this earth and know that even though I never had her, I will never lose her.
As happy songs fill my playlist, I am happy to be here.
I am happy to have those who were supportive around me still. I am happy to be able to have seen through people and realise who my true friends are. I am happy because my child that almost was is not all of me, but a precious part of me, and now I can smell the fresh dew again.
I am happy because I healed, and my strength returned. I am happy because even though I have not been able to conceive again just yet, I have learnt so much more than I could have thought possible about the world, and the people around me through the loss.
I am happy to be here - this new land is even more alluring, even more full with possibilities, and my soul is once again glowing with a pregnant hope.
Follow Women24 on Twitter and like us on Facebook.
