Part 2: Where to Begin?

I survived Christmas. That sounds like a rather unfortunate way to describe my Christmas, but in a nutshell, holidays are harder for me now, because I feel like I’m missing something. We celebrated Christmas with my folks on Christmas Eve, as we always have, and I sat down at the piano to play Christmas music, as I always do, and in the background my husband & parents played around with our dog, Marshall. Now our dog is quite the character and he is rather enjoyable to watch & wrestle with, but as I was sitting at the piano, I was struggling to hold back tears, because I wanted them to be playing with my baby instead of a dog.

Back to the story that is my life. That week of blood tests was excruciating. I didn’t know what was going on, and the doctors (actually, now that I think of it, I never saw an actual doctor; only a nurse’s assistant) couldn’t tell me anything for sure. I knew whatever was happening in my body wasn’t good. That next Monday, I went in to the OBGYN for them to check out my plumbing, and at that point they told me I had two options: a D&C or just to wait for it to pass normally. I opted for the D&C. I couldn’t stand thinking that I would have to wait any longer for anything at that point. They scheduled my surgery for that afternoon, and my mom said she could take me since my husband was on the road, working.

I had some time between my OBGYN appointment and the surgery, so I went home to pack a few things and pace. I called my friend, Leah, because I felt like I needed to share this with someone, anyone, and I also wanted to ask her if another friend of ours had gone through this. I knew that she had had fertility problems and at least one miscarriage, but I wanted to hear from someone who might’ve gone through a D&C. They were just initials to me at that point, but very scary initials. Unfortunately, she didn’t know, and I was too scared to call our friend. I then smoked probably three cigarettes in a row and held back tears as I waited to be picked up again by my mom who would be taking me to the hospital.

The hospital was…overwhelming. I remember feeling simply overwhelmed that I was there, that this was now my story. Seeing the nurse’s sympathizing expressions, the quiet way they would enter my room to adjust something or stick me with something. I silently cried, tears welling up, and I could do nothing to stop them. WHY ME? I remember asking that of myself, of God. The doctor asked me if I wanted to be knocked out for the surgery and I swallowed hard, whispering, “Yes, please.” PLEASE, let me not remember anything. They rolled me down the quiet hall, into the room, and the tears wouldn’t stop. I can’t imagine what everyone thought of me. Pity? Disgust that I couldn’t control myself? Was this just another surgery to them? Because to me it was an end of a dream.

Ugh, I’m getting overwhelmed again. Be back soon.

-E