Ya know what? I'm going to stop making proclamations about how things are getting better. Each time, almost as soon as I hit the button to publish a post, something happens. I'm just going to keep my mouth shut.
On Monday, we attended our support group. The discussion usually bounces across a couple of topics, and it happened to land on how support after the loss of a baby can come from the most unexpected places, and how you'll be most disappointed with those closest to you. Over the past few months, I've heard or read so many of the most insensitive things that have been done or said to grieving parents. And I've always thanked my lucky stars that no one had said anything terrible to me. I guess I was wrong. My husband had it on his heart to share, and it happened to be something hurtful that his grandmother said about me shortly after Morgan's death. She told him "...maybe your wife's just not a breeder." WTF??!!@#$!!
Of course, as he'd never shared this with me, my head jerked up, jaw dropped, all that. My first thought was that she made me sound like a cow! As the comment kept rolling around in my head, I realized that I was beyond hurt. Though delayed, in one fell swoop, she hit on two of my biggest insecurities and fears surrounding our situation: that it was my fault, and that we won't be able to successfully have children of our own.
Logically, I know that what happened is not my fault. But, deep down, or maybe not so deep, I do feel that ultimately, any blame falls on me. If not for anything I did, then for what I didn't do. I didn't know that my body was slowly but surely preparing to spit my little girl out onto the ground. Where was my mother's intuition? Hell, where was the epidemiologist in me? Oh, yeah. I told her to go take a hike back in April. But, really. How could I not feel broken, or defective? My body truly failed my little girl when she needed it the most. I couldn't keep her safe. That, my friends, can not be denied.
Then, there's the future looming ahead of us. I want so badly to have our little family. We waited quite a while before trying to conceive Morgan. We were waiting for the "right time." And when she was conceived, the timing relative to just about everything seemed absolutely perfect. Now, though I know I'm not nearly ready to try again emotionally, it doesn't look like the "perfect" time will be back for a while. With me getting closer to finishing school, and starting to look for a real job, the window will be pushed until at least the middle or end of next year. Meanwhile, I'm not getting younger. Conceiving wasn't an issue this time, but what about next time? In addition, IC is not something that heals or goes away. It reoccurs, and it occurs at the same gestational age. Though a preventive cerclage is 80% successful, there's still a chance that we may not get our rainbow baby. At any rate, it won't be anytime soon.
I tried to explain to Chris why I was so hurt. While he said that his grandma's comment hurt him too, I don't know if he quite got where I was coming from. My entire life, I've always been on the fringe, never quite fitting in anywhere. The fat one, the Black one, the nerdy one, the quiet one. The one whose baby died. I've always been "the one." And so, I've also spent a lot of time pretending I didn't care what people said about me behind my back. Often, I really didn't care. But, just as often, I did. And that's why this comment hurt so much. Because now, of all times, we need good people in our corner; on our side. I don't know if I can deal with going to family get togethers where it feels like everyone is whispering about me behind my back. I told Chris that this was one time I'm glad we don't live near his family. I don't know that I could carry on as usual, knowing what she said. Hopefully, once some time goes by, I'll cool off. It's been two days already, and she said this three months ago. Right now I'm still hot, but with time...