The Effects of a Miscarriage
My Miscarriage
Such an emotional topic huh? Yeah. I have had three miscarriages (which are also called spontaneous abortions) and when I think about those women that have had more than three, my heart does nothing but break even more.
I had always had a difficult time in conceiving, going back to my teenage years. Yes, I had purposely tried to get pregnant back in the day because that was the "in" thing to do, and yes, that was a tactic to keep the roaming eye of the father from venturing too far away. One doctor told me after I had repeated attempts in my 20's to conceive, that he could offer me a little pill that would tell my brain to get to work, or something to that effect. I refused his advice, never getting a second opinion. I didn't want a pill telling my brain anything, especially when it came to the reproductive area.
But by the time I was in my early 30's, I was well on my way to motherhood because I had met "Prince Charming". So when I told the prince that I was pregnant, he became angry in all his righteous and royal anger, even throwing a plate yonder the living room. So I, being the obedient subject, was forced to have a legal abortion by my prince. I say forced because the plate throwing incident totally freaked me out, not knowing at the time about the abuse to come. But I digress.
As if the spaghetti splatter on the kitchen wall wasn't reminder enough for this obedient servant, I went ahead and, "Ooops…I did it again!" Another trip to the city where they perform "those" procedures. The second time was easier, but not without its toll on me.
Finally, when this "accident" occurred a third time, I rebelled against the powers-that-be, and opted to keep my baby. Pregnancy was such an awesome experience for me, and I fell into a major depression reminiscing about the decisions I had made beforehand. But the birth of my first child at the age of 37 was for me almost a holy and spiritual passage. The child, my son, couldn't be placed down too long for fear someone else might grab him up. He had to sleep in my bed lest he die from "crib death". Yes, I became protective, even overly. But I fell for this baby like I was in love, and I was.
So when I was pregnant for the fourth time, needless to say I was ecstatic. The Prince finally realized that it was my queen-dom, and I was surely going to have a lot of pomp thrown his way. But I miscarried while using the bathroom. I saw blood, thought nothing of it, but knew I had to call the doctor anyway. He advised me to come in the following day and when I did, the tests were done and showed that there was no life. No little blinking of the heart on the monitor of the screen. So I grabbed a bottle of Southern Comfort, went home, drank it in my bathroom and cried for three days.
Pregnant once again, I was overjoyed. This was a full term pregnancy, with a beautiful little boy once again. But soon after, I became pregnant again, only to be emotionally tackled by that dreaded spontaneous abortion. Depression settled in quickly to make itself at home in my bedroom once more. I got comfortable with him, and settled down for a long winter's nap, but little sleep.
My last child was born to me at the age of 41, so I never assumed I could get pregnant again, so I let my aging menses create its own birth control method for my partner and me. But Wham! Can you believe it? I got pregnant, this time at the age of 48. Mother Nature would not hear of this, so I began bleeding once again in the toilet, and fearing the worse, I prepared for the worse. I believe Mother Nature and I knew that this would have been a hard feat for the both of us to perform. After all, I was no spring chicken, and with the depressive bouts I suffered through, well they always seemed to clip my wings. But I have never experience so much pain in my life. While at the hospital, they kept me in this room bleeding profusely, suggesting to me that I had to allow this spontaneous abortion to take its course. Well it sure did, and plenty of time as well. I couldn't stop this if I wanted to, and I wanted to. The pain was so unbearable, not even the dreaded labor pains equaled these stinging and fiery pangs..
After all was said and expelled, I went home, met up with Jim Beam, I believe, and cried myself to sleep again. But this time I think Jim Beam started calling me out on this, on my handling of this matter or something, as I couldn't lay in the bed for too long before despising my set of circumstances. I forced myself, with Jim Beam's help, to get up and get out, and start living again. I went to speak with someone who helped me in so many ways. I will always be grateful for her compassionate guidance, this friend of mine, this counselor of mind, this hero of mine.
So if you have suffered a miscarriage, if you have suffered many of them, give yourself a break and your body as well. Forgive yourself, above all, because I know you feel responsible, but be advised, you are not. Miscarriages are God's way of saying, "Too much too soon, or it's just not supposed to happen right now. This I believe to be true.
Such an emotional topic huh? Yeah. I have had three miscarriages (which are also called spontaneous abortions) and when I think about those women that have had more than three, my heart does nothing but break even more.
I had always had a difficult time in conceiving, going back to my teenage years. Yes, I had purposely tried to get pregnant back in the day because that was the "in" thing to do, and yes, that was a tactic to keep the roaming eye of the father from venturing too far away. One doctor told me after I had repeated attempts in my 20's to conceive, that he could offer me a little pill that would tell my brain to get to work, or something to that effect. I refused his advice, never getting a second opinion. I didn't want a pill telling my brain anything, especially when it came to the reproductive area.
But by the time I was in my early 30's, I was well on my way to motherhood because I had met "Prince Charming". So when I told the prince that I was pregnant, he became angry in all his righteous and royal anger, even throwing a plate yonder the living room. So I, being the obedient subject, was forced to have a legal abortion by my prince. I say forced because the plate throwing incident totally freaked me out, not knowing at the time about the abuse to come. But I digress.
As if the spaghetti splatter on the kitchen wall wasn't reminder enough for this obedient servant, I went ahead and, "Ooops…I did it again!" Another trip to the city where they perform "those" procedures. The second time was easier, but not without its toll on me.
Finally, when this "accident" occurred a third time, I rebelled against the powers-that-be, and opted to keep my baby. Pregnancy was such an awesome experience for me, and I fell into a major depression reminiscing about the decisions I had made beforehand. But the birth of my first child at the age of 37 was for me almost a holy and spiritual passage. The child, my son, couldn't be placed down too long for fear someone else might grab him up. He had to sleep in my bed lest he die from "crib death". Yes, I became protective, even overly. But I fell for this baby like I was in love, and I was.
So when I was pregnant for the fourth time, needless to say I was ecstatic. The Prince finally realized that it was my queen-dom, and I was surely going to have a lot of pomp thrown his way. But I miscarried while using the bathroom. I saw blood, thought nothing of it, but knew I had to call the doctor anyway. He advised me to come in the following day and when I did, the tests were done and showed that there was no life. No little blinking of the heart on the monitor of the screen. So I grabbed a bottle of Southern Comfort, went home, drank it in my bathroom and cried for three days.
Pregnant once again, I was overjoyed. This was a full term pregnancy, with a beautiful little boy once again. But soon after, I became pregnant again, only to be emotionally tackled by that dreaded spontaneous abortion. Depression settled in quickly to make itself at home in my bedroom once more. I got comfortable with him, and settled down for a long winter's nap, but little sleep.
My last child was born to me at the age of 41, so I never assumed I could get pregnant again, so I let my aging menses create its own birth control method for my partner and me. But Wham! Can you believe it? I got pregnant, this time at the age of 48. Mother Nature would not hear of this, so I began bleeding once again in the toilet, and fearing the worse, I prepared for the worse. I believe Mother Nature and I knew that this would have been a hard feat for the both of us to perform. After all, I was no spring chicken, and with the depressive bouts I suffered through, well they always seemed to clip my wings. But I have never experience so much pain in my life. While at the hospital, they kept me in this room bleeding profusely, suggesting to me that I had to allow this spontaneous abortion to take its course. Well it sure did, and plenty of time as well. I couldn't stop this if I wanted to, and I wanted to. The pain was so unbearable, not even the dreaded labor pains equaled these stinging and fiery pangs..
After all was said and expelled, I went home, met up with Jim Beam, I believe, and cried myself to sleep again. But this time I think Jim Beam started calling me out on this, on my handling of this matter or something, as I couldn't lay in the bed for too long before despising my set of circumstances. I forced myself, with Jim Beam's help, to get up and get out, and start living again. I went to speak with someone who helped me in so many ways. I will always be grateful for her compassionate guidance, this friend of mine, this counselor of mind, this hero of mine.
So if you have suffered a miscarriage, if you have suffered many of them, give yourself a break and your body as well. Forgive yourself, above all, because I know you feel responsible, but be advised, you are not. Miscarriages are God's way of saying, "Too much too soon, or it's just not supposed to happen right now. This I believe to be true.
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