Catching Our Rainbow

Hoping for a rainbow after the storm…

Perspective

I came to a life-changing realization a few days ago. Ok, maybe that’s an exaggeration, but it was big and important and it has affected  my actions ever since.

As you all know, hubby has been very sickly. He still goes to work because he is stubborn and doesn’t have any paid time off, but he spends almost all of his time at home on the couch in pain. He has also slept in the guest bed for the majority of the past three weeks because he tosses and turns so much from the pain, and he doesn’t want to keep me up. This has resulted in a few things, the biggest one being that I am the only one who is able to do anything around the house. I was always aware of everything that he does to help out, but I guess I never realized just how helpful those things were. Hubby’s sickness has also resulted in a severe lack of intimacy. I don’t just mean sex (although that hasn’t happened in over three weeks), there has been very minimal cuddling and playfulness. As I said before, we haven’t even been sleeping in the same bed (which is a big deal because we are the rare couple that actually cuddles all night).

I’m not sure how many of you have read The Five Love Languages by Gary Chapman. I highly recommend it because it changes the way you see people, especially your spouse. The basic idea of the book is that everyone has his or her own primary love language, which is the way you feel and receive love. The different languages are words of affirmation, receiving gifts, physical touch, acts of service, and quality time. My love language is physical touch. You can ask anyone who knows me in real life, and they can confirm that is definitely my love language. So this has been a hard month for me. Not only am I on my own keeping up with the house and the puppy and all of the meals, I am not receiving affirmation from my husband in the love language that is the most important to me. Add in a few pregnancy announcements, birth announcements, and my due date, and I’ve done a whole lot of feeling sorry for myself.

Now for the good part, my realization. It took me a long time to figure out my husband’s primary love language, but I finally realized about a year ago that his is acts of service. It was hard for me to figure out because he has such a servant’s heart, and he is always so busy taking care of me that I don’t get a lot of opportunities to take care of him. Do you see where I’m going with this? A few days ago, I finally pulled myself out of my pity party and saw this as an opportunity to take care of hubby and serve him and make him feel completely filled up with love.  I spent my day off yesterday cleaning, organizing, and doing laundry, and it no longer felt like a burden that I had to take on all by myself. Every moment I spent working around the house felt like an act of love towards my husband, and instead of feeling bitter and resentful, I felt thankful for the opportunity.

It’s all about perspective. How can you change yours?

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Feeling a little Horrible

Three posts in one day. I feel a little like an over achiever–like I should be quiet and let the other kids talk. Anyway, my first two posts were prompted, and I wanted to let loose a little and tell you ladies about my day:

Today was a bit of a rough day. It wasn’t positively horrible, but it was a little rough. I work in the office of an EMS service and my office (which is shared with one other girl) is essentially a hallway, so we always have EMTs and medics walking through. We have two chairs we have deemed the “therapy chairs” because so many of the crews will come in and visit with us. Most of the people who work in the office can be a little hateful and the crews avoid them, so it makes me happy that they like us enough to visit. Today one of the EMTs came into my office very excited and looking a little freaked out, and when I asked him what was up, he exclaimed that he is going to be a dad. Exact words: “I’m going to be a dad.” When I asked him how far along she was, he said she was only a few weeks, that she had just found out that day. My heart skipped a beat and it took all of the self control I possess not to shout, “Wait! No! Don’t tell anyone! You still have no idea if she is going to have a baby!” I couldn’t bring myself to pop his bubble and bring him into my world. I couldn’t tell him that a positive pregnancy test isn’t a guarantee of a child. I couldn’t tell him the one in four pregnancies end in miscarriage. I couldn’t tell him that he may have to go back and tell every one of those people that he is no longer going to be a dad. He doesn’t understand, and I know that because I didn’t understand either. My mind went to two different places, and neither of them were very nice. First, I thought that he will understand one day when his wife has a miscarriage and he has to deal with all of the crap that we’ve dealt with–when he sees that he’s not really going to be a dad and the universe is just playing a cruel joke on him. Then I felt really horrible. Could I really think that? Automatically assume that the pregnancy won’t last and he’ll be in the same babyless boat I’m in? I felt a little disgusted with myself, and then I thought, “No, he’s going to have a baby. Why would anyone else have problems carrying children? Just me. I’m the only one who has to keep my pregnancies a secret and be filled with fear when I get a BFP. He’s going to have a baby just like all the rest of those stupid, smug fertile people that have no idea how amazing of a feat they are accomplishing. I hate them all.” This is what my loss has done to me. I am a horrible person.

I can’t remember where I read it (I think it was survivingbabydreams), but a few months ago, I read a blog post where she talked about automatically judging whether someone was “worthy” when you hear they are pregnant. How long did they try? Did they have to do any treatments? Did they suffer any mc’s in the process? Or are they one of the annoying fertiles who just decide they want a baby, have sex, have a positive test, then have a baby–all in a ten month time span? The thing is, I don’t even know this EMTs TTC story. I just assumed that they hadn’t had any trouble or suffering at all because if they did, he wouldn’t be announcing her 3 week pregnancy. I just assumed that they did not meet the standards of being “worthy” of having kids.

I am one of those people who is genuinely happy for others when they announce something exciting. At least, I was. I’m upset because I feel like this journey has stolen that from me. Now when I learn someone is pregnant, I either pity her because she could have a mc like me or I feel bitter towards her because she can have children when I can’t, and I always resent her for reminding me of my pain. Ugh, this post is turning out to be even more bitter than I thought it would. I just feel like a horrible person sometimes, and I wish it would stop. I wish I could just be innocently happy for people again.

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Anger, Prayer, and a Rainbow

My mind is in a million places right now. My second hCG was the exact same number as my first. It’s supposed to double. The midwife I spoke to sounded very concerned and she was very surprised when I told her that I haven’t had any spotting.  She did say that it’s still early and things could work out, but she sounded like she was really trying not to give me false hope. Her exact words were that my numbers are “not reassuring.” Of course they aren’t. I’m honestly not surprised. I’m upset, devastated, pissed off, heartbroken, bitter, and a million other things, but I’m not surprised.  I will be surprised if things work out and this is a healthy pregnancy. In fact, I’ll be floored. Hubby thinks that it was a lab mistake because the number is the same, but I don’t think it is. My progesterone did change–it got even better: 23, and if that number was the same too, I might think there was a mistake. But I can’t afford that kind of hope right now. I know better than to let myself have that kind of hope.

As I was driving to work today, it was a beautiful, clear day. The sky was the perfect shade of blue, which was the total opposite of the bleak grey and fog that was inside of me. I kept thinking about how God fits into all of this. I remember during my first pregnancy earnestly praying for the health of our baby. I miscarried the next day. The next time I got pregnant, I was honestly too afraid to pray about my pregnancy. This morning I was thinking about how I should pray about my numbers and my fears, but I was just so angry and bitter. I prayed out loud and told God that I know He can make this a healthy pregnancy and save my baby. I know He has the power to do that. But I also said that I believe that he won’t do that, and I don’t understand why. I don’t understand why he won’t save me from this heartache or why he won’t save my child from death. I know that’s not a typical prayer, but I try to be honest when I pray because He knows what I’m thinking anyway. After I said all of that, I turned a corner and saw a rainbow. It was just a small piece of a rainbow but it was bold and I could see every color in it. It was a beautiful morning without even a hint of rain so there should not have been a rainbow outside, and I honestly believe that was God’s answer to me, but I don’t know what it means. Maybe this pregnancy will be ok. Or maybe God will bless us with a child later in life and we need to be patient and wait. I don’t know.

Right now I’m just trying to hold myself together. We leave for the beach tomorrow morning, and we will be gone until Tuesday night. That’s just what I need. My first time at the beach in six years, and I’ll probably have an miscarriage which means I can’t wear tampons, which means I can’t wear a bathing suit. Perfect. I’m trying so hard to remember that I actually have a wonderful life with a husband I adore and a stable job and a nice house and two crazy furbabies, but I’m still falling into a place that is angry, hateful, and bitter.

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