Today I received a phone call that I was expecting, but somehow it knocked me right onto my emotional behind. That part was unexpected.
You might have noticed, and I’m sure people in the real world definitely noticed, that I’ve been doing pretty great. I keep doubting myself and doing little self-checks, asking my emotions, “Are we OK here? Good? Not gonna cry or be sad? OK then, I guess we’re not sad today.” I believed it. It felt a little strange to feel so normal so quickly. But as my mother wisely warned, the sadness tends to hit you gently like a Mack truck barreling down the highway, and right when you least expect it.
Today my OB/GYN called with the results of the chromosomal tests that were run on the embryos. She called personally, which I appreciated. Both of the babies were perfectly fine and not abnormal in any way. The uterine tissue was also normal. And oh yeah, the babies were girls. That had a lot to do with the emotional crumble, I think – I knew they were real and I knew they were babies, but knowing the genders made reality extra super real. Those were my daughters.
I took the call, sat back down at my desk, and within minutes had to quickly exit stage left to go sob in the parking lot. The whole scene was quite melodramatic – me, alone in the parking lot, blubbering and repeating over and over again, “I’m sorry” as petals from the trees gently floated by.
Why am I sorry? I’m sorry I didn’t know that my first exaggerated HFCS allergic reaction was actually a warning sign. I’m sorry that I kept eating candy and terrible foods, ignoring my body’s protests. I’m sorry I feel bitter every time I see a pregnant person eating junk food (Why do they get to do it with no consequence?) I’m sorry I ever let myself get so excited. I’m sorry I truly believed that miscarriage was just something that happened to other people. I’m sorry for being so hard on myself today. I’m sorry for shouldering the blame. But I can’t help it. I failed. This body failed. Those babies were perfect, and I was not.
Tomorrow I’ll wake up and feel OK again. Tomorrow I’ll look to the future with hope and feast on my dressing-free salad with a renewed sense of purpose. I don’t miss bread or pasta or preservative-laden snack cakes. I feel light and clean. I feel like I’m coming to peace with my digestive/immune systems (I don’t know if that’s really a thing, but I’m doing it). Tomorrow will be better.
But today, I’m just so damn sorry.