I thought I was done trying…

I thought I was supposed to beat this. That I had finally gotten pregnant. I remember the doctor coming in surprised at how quickly I conceived post-metformin. I remember the ultrasound and the little heartbeat so strong and powerful. After all that time, after all those tests, now I was done. I felt peace wash over me. I felt contentment with the world. I believed in a higher purpose and all those months of hell.. finally, I found peace with it all. I was able to let it go. This miscarriage feels like a rape. Its an act against my body without my consent. It’s turned me into a statistic. It’s left me feeling powerless and vulnerable. The world no longer seems to make sense. It’s not my fault yet I feel violated and ashamed.

I want to move on. I don’t want to dwell. Yet the images continue to assault me. The emptiness  echoes within my womb. I am another statistic. I’m another sad story. I’m a war veteran. I am battle weary. I’m a mother bear longing for her cub. The pain touches me on a level so human it’s animal. But- I’m just another voice in a crowd of millions. My pain is a drop in the ocean of others with similar tears.

They say time heals all wounds. Even this one? I can’t imagine that it will. The pain so fresh, spilling over the surfaces, I can’t imagine its absence.

Advertisements