In about 10 minutes we’re leaving to get my last ultrasound for Hope. I’ve been doubled over in pain for 10 days, and have begun spotting blood again, but there’s this tiny little part of me sitting with her eyes squeezed shut and her hands over her ears singing “lalala I can’t hear you” over and over to the rest of me that knows that Hope is gone.
As painful as it is to allow myself that little piece of ignorance and denial, it’s going to be so much worse to force her eyes open and pry her hands off her ears and force her to face the truth.
I have a list of questions for my o/b and I know it’s going to be hard to keep it together and pay attention to what she’s saying without letting myself get angry or irrationally try to accuse them of not doing enough.
There are moments when I question getting the D&C. Most of me wants to get the miscarriage physically over with so I can get back to trying as soon as possible. Deep down I know that the real balm for this wound is the knowledge that I am capable of carrying a baby to term; not to replace Hope, but to know in truth that Hope’s death wasn’t my fault. The other part of me welcomes the pain of the cramps even as they get bad enough to wake me from a sound (well, perhaps not “sound”-I’m not exactly sleeping well) sleep. In some fucked up way it’s validation that Hope really existed, and part of me thinks that suffering through every second of her leaving is a way to force myself to accept the loss of Hope. Of course that’s the part of me that was self destructive as a younger woman and has a lot of understanding and empathy for cutters (people who cut themselves as a way to force themselves to feel) and I worry that the desire to feel all the physical pain isn’t on some level equivalent to the cutter mentality or perhaps an effort to subliminate the emotional pain.
At any rate, it’s time to go and put on my big girl panties, and face the truth, leaving behind the last traces of ignorance.