I didn't know what suffering was until the day I lost my baby.
Many of you didn't even know I was pregnant, and if this is the first time you're hearing about it, I'm sorry. It was a roller coaster. We found out on Halloween night, and before I could even make an announcement the doctor said the words "things don't look good for this pregnancy" at our very first appointment. The weeks that followed are a haze. I remember feeling embarrassed because I had to "untell" people I'd already told. The look of pity in their eyes made me sick. I didn't want their pity. I just wanted a baby. Then, I had to wait for the actual "passing of the tissue" which could happen at any moment. I kept thinking, what if I'm at work? I was more worried about saving face and keeping things private than the pain and emotional anguish that was inevitable. I was so naive.
At around 4:00 am one Saturday morning in December (the weekend before Christmas) I woke up to severe abdominal cramping. I was curled up on the floor near the bathroom when I brother came out to see what was going on. He rubbed my back and soothed me. I went back to bed to be close to my husband, Erich. I curled up in the fetal position for a while and cried quietly. The first few hours were defined by overwhelmingly painful contractions, much like labor pains I read later. Erich woke up with me and by around 7:00 am I began to hemorrhage. We both stayed home from work. He did his best to console me, but once I saw the blood I felt like I was losing my mind. I cried for my baby. I felt betrayed by my body. I felt helpless. I felt angry. I felt despair. I was in danger of being consumed by my own suffering.
Finally, Erich's loving presence and support helped guide me out of hysteria, but once I calmed down it was my job to bring peace to my body. The first thing I did was lie down in child's pose. When I found out I was pregnant I began to practice yoga almost daily (a goal I've had for over a year now). I also began eating better and loving my body more. As soon as I relaxed into the pose and began breathing I felt a wave of relief. It hit me like a ton of bricks, "I don't have to despair." Yes, my baby was leaving my body, and yes, it was painful and emotionally stressful, but those were things I could not control. Breath in. Breath out. Breath in. Breath out. This was something I could control. Of all our autonomic functions, our breathing alone is under our conscious control. The more I sunk into my breathing the more relaxed I felt. The despair and fear melted away.
Erich and I began discussing the loss in terms of acceptance. We shared that we both felt that the baby had decided it wasn't time. That little soul seemed to know that I needed something big in order to treat myself better. I stopped smoking, drinking and eating poorly. I spent time loving myself. I did these things for the baby, but when the baby was gone I kept doing it out of habit, and simply because it felt right. I wouldn't dare claim to know why the baby didn't develop properly, that is in God's hands. What I do know is that the experience had meaning for me and that I don't feel bitter or angry about it. I feel blessed. I learned what it means to suffer, but I also learned what it means to grow and accept the unacceptable.
Thank you, little one for what you taught me. I hope to meet you someday in the future!
Here is an interesting article I received today (my inspiration for finally writing this long overdue post). I hope it moves you: Suffering is Optional
