Monday, April 02, 2007

Stubborn or Pragmatic?

I like to think of myself as philosophical; prone to rationalisation. Looking on the bright side.

A very high percentage of pregnancies don't make it to twelve weeks.

It happens all the time.

I knew it was a possibility.

It wasn't my fault. I was well-behaved to the point of obsession. I did all the things you're supposed to do when you're pregnant, and then some. I couldn't have done any more to protect my unborn child.

Just because something went wrong this time, means nothing for any future pregnancies. A very many people have miscarriages followed by healthy babies.

It probably meant something was seriously wrong. It's better that my body dealt with it early in a natural way, rather than facing difficult decisions later on.

It gives me more breathing time, before doing the baby thing again.

It's not unusual for people to get pregnant again very quickly.

It's not helpful to fall apart. There's a lot to look forward to. Stress is bad, calmness is good. I'm fine, I'll be fine.

These are the things I think. I'm a logical person. OK, I'm emotional too. But I like to reason things through. And it's a helpful tendency at times like this. I can give myself reasons to feel all right, and it makes me feel all right.

But there are emotions there too. Loss: Of plans, of potential, of bumps. If I want to I can talk about babies, and small hands. I have a strong capacity for drama, for exaggeration, for hysteria. I could hype it up, wind myself up, very quickly and easily if I let myself. But I don't want to. I don't think it helps.

But when the emotions beat the logic, I don't even know whether it's me, or just the hormones. I'm in a right old grump at the moment for instance, and it's got the external jittery edge of PMT. Which it more or less is.

But is it unhealthy to be as calm, as cheerful, as matter of fact about the whole thing as I am being? Am I really coping well, or just refusing to dip down below the surface. There's only so long you can stand on a surfboard. Eventually your legs will give way, or the tide will carry you to shore.

I was so pleased with myself, for not getting hyperemesis. But it could have been a sign that all was not well. Which is deeply ironic. I nearly died when I was pregnant with Felix, I was so ill. This time I was glad to escape near-death, and yet my good health may have been a symptom of ill health on the part of the pregnancy. Pah.

And now, of course, I have to go through all that again. Preparing for serious illness, and months of debilitation. The chance that I'll get ill is still 60% - i.e. more likely than not. Pah again. But that's one of the things I'm refusing to think about.

This post was interrupted by a phone call from a friend, who said that I can be repressed if I want. I don't have to be super-well-adjusted, I can be a mess. That's ironic too - that my calm pragmatism may in fact be evidence that I'm maladjusted. Ha. That's funny.

I've just done three long phone conversations in a row, and I'm knackered. And bored of talking about this. I have bags to pack. See you in a few days.

All the Miscarriage Posts

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4 Comments:

pierre l said...

Have a lovely time in Wales, Mrs Gordon. We'll miss you.

10:18 PM  
Clare said...

Aw, bless you Pierre.

10:55 PM  
Ms Melancholy said...

So sorry to hear that Clare. I had 3 myself, before having a healthy baby. Much love, as always. (Off to York next week for the conference - staying in Derwent college. Will send your love!)

10:24 PM  
Debi said...

As you know I lost 2 before going on to have 2 healthy babies (now 11 and 9). We still talk about the ones that didn't make it. The children are fascinated - and they also know that if I hadn't lost those 2, the real ones would never have been born.

That's what passing time does for you. This time will pass for you too and you'll be in a position to understand better why this had to happen to you now.

Meanwhile for what it's worth I think the way you're handling it is spot on and very healthy.

Love and hugs.

11:29 AM  
I'm a little flower, short and stout...