I’m trying hard to connect with this pregnancy. With this baby. And it’s not easy.
Right now, it would be easier to pretend I’m not pregnant until I have a baby. Or I’m at a “safe” week, whatever that is. I don’t really know if there is a safe week anymore. And many of you reading this are saying, “There’s not.” You’re so right. This weighs on me as I progress through this pregnancy.
I have fears and worries that I push down. That really only come up during therapy when it all spills out and I’m left feeling so raw and drained. I know that should something happen this time around, I would wish with all my heart I’d never given a moments worry to this baby, that I’d simply enjoyed it. I did regret that with the twins. Because I worried and lost them anyway, it didn’t help. Didn’t stop it. Didn’t change what came or make it better. No part of me ever thought, “Well, I’m certainly glad I spent a good amount of time freaking myself out, because I feel really prepared for all of this now.”
Yet it’s so natural to have these fears, and after you lose a baby it’s even more so. Being positive, telling myself it’ll “all be ok” or have others say it seems… naive. Ridiculous even. Just because I lost Preston and Julian does not mean I’ve been granted a kind of loss immunity now. It’s not like the movies where someone goes through something major and the rest of their life is lovely and rainbows. I’ve been blessed to have a little girl, to have twins, to have this pregnancy, but nowhere does it mean that it all works out now.
Thank the Lord for sending me my therapist. Really. I can’t even explain what this woman means to me 6 months into weekly sessions. She’s not a lot older than I am, has been through some of the same things, and she’s just amazing. I don’t know what I would have done, or would do, without being able to take that hour a week and just unload, have her listen and tell me over and over that I’m normal. My grief, this process, is normal. I am ok. Other women who have lost babies have the same thoughts, fears, joys. That my sons were babies, that I was treated horribly. That it’s ok for me to get stuck on a topic for weeks on end and have to work through it over and over again.
I’ve never been through something this traumatic, and it wasn’t just losing the twins. It was the 6 days before that where I was repeatedly treated like crap by so many medical professionals, and this is beginning to come back and haunt me 9 months out. I dream about having a preterm baby and them taking it away from me because I didn’t do the birth “right.” Or being told the baby is too little to save as I try to explain again and again the dates they have are wrong, it can be saved. I take my baby from hospital to hospital trying to get someone, anyone to listen to me as it struggles to live.
I have these dreams all the time because I haven’t worked through ANYTHING I went through there. Nothing. I’ve buried most of it and I’ve started to remember things I haven’t through of since they happened to me there. It’s so painful, so incredibly painful and I become so, so angry at them, at myself, at everyone.
And then I am told it’s ok, this is normal, we can work through this.
So I turn to her, I turn to God, I read my Bible and pray and show up at therapy and emotionally vomit in the safest place I’ve ever been. It helps.
9 months later, I’m starting a new path of healing. This one is differently painful than losing the boys. It has to happen. I have to be able to connect with this baby more than I can allow myself now, and to start to work through the trauma of the hospital.
When someone told me, “I will be here for you on this journey,” right after I lost the boys, I scoffed. I thought, “Give me two weeks and I’ll be fine – I DON’T DO GRIEF.”
Oh. My heart. I know how badly I wanted to push that persona of a grieving mom away. How much I would have given to just go back to Diana with no loss. And looking back, I can see this journey unfolding in tiny steps, and still laying before me now. Less scary, less repulsive. More grace to let myself grieve and heal.
And to forgive. Eventually. I won’t forget, won’t let it happen again, but one day I can be ready to forgive.