i will be brave

i took 2 weeks off from my life, to pretend i was someone else. that what had happened was just a nightmare. i got to see sights. throw myself into work. and share just enough cocktails with friends i maybe felt one brick unloaded from the million on my back. and now it’s tonight. half past midnight. everyone in the house is asleep. except me. i can’t, my brain won’t shut off. it just spins and spins. what ifs and shoulda woulda couldas cloud my thoughts. as if any of that would change where i am today.

i am a fool.

i honestly thought that one day it would be my turn. statistics, you know. eventually the numbers play to your favor. after so many pregnancy losses, it would be my time. because, numbers, man. i started to believe this as truth after my 3rd loss. okay, well it will be next time.

and then the 4th loss. okay, that’s the last one, right? and then my 5th. this has to be it.

but just as i didn’t understand math then, i clearly don’t grasp it now. i am 1 for 7 in successes. 85% of my pregnancies end in miscarriages. eighty-five percent. here’s another way to see it (if you’re a sports fan): that’s a batting average of 0.143.

okay coach, i’ll be over here, riding the bench. forever.

remember when i, and you, and the rest of the sciency über nerds guiding my reproductive world believed wholeheartedly that i had my miracle baby with lucky #7?  the baby that finally travelled from one ovary to an opposite tube and somehow found my uterus and based on labs looked 100% perfect?

i think you should sit down right now. pathology results came in and they found chorionic villi in the sample of fluid from my bleeding belly.

fuck.

take a breath (i’m telling myself this). chorionic villi is fetal tissue. it is ONLY fetal tissue. fuck.

my baby didn’t stand a chance even after all that hemorrhaging ridiculousness. it was 100% ectopic. and now a team of doctors pore over textbooks quoting me the rare statistic of having an ovarian ectopic (which likely is the case) which you guys is like 1 in a zillion. because, why wouldn’t that happen to me?

thank you universe, for an epic joke. thank you for filling my sails with wind and then tearing them to shreds while trying to sink my ship in the meantime. just when i had just started to let out my breath, it was nearly taken from me.

and can i take just one minute to say what a cruel punishment the follow-up from this is? from any miscarriage? let’s just “forget” about the painful surgical incisions and persistent sore boobs aside (they have seemed to forget that i am no longer pregnant)… the worst thing in the world after losing a baby is having to return to OB for the follow-up appointment. where i have to sit in the waiting room chock-full of pregnants oohing and aahing over their bellies and complaining (YES! complaining!) about their backaches and swollen ankles and how the perfect bedding for their nursery was out of stock and it’s the end of the world. please someone kill me. i also have to have weekly blood draws to ensure my HCG levels return to zero. and i yearn for each result to scream “not pregnant” (which, when do you ever beg to not be pregnant on this journey) and yet the punishment refuses to abate. each visit to the lab, the tech sees what test they are doing and their eyes light up with what i interpret to be hope and happiness… their eyes and smiles might as well be their arms hugging me and lips wishing me well. one guy even congratulated me. thanks asshole. i’m more than 2 weeks post-op and my last level was still 66. really? when does it end.

it’s only natural i am again doing the “why me” dance. WHY. why me. why NOW. why. AFTER ALL THIS. why build me up only to suck the life out of me? i am angry. i am OH so angry. and why shouldn’t i be? every time i see two lines on a pee stick panic and terror ensue. i have forever been robbed of ignorance and bliss since, well, the beginning of time. instead of congratulations and planning nursery themes, i immediately begin bargaining with God. please God, show me mercy this time.  i am irrationally angry.

and i am such a fool.

you may be thinking “don’t think like that”, and want to offer up crap cliché like “if it’s meant to be it will be”or “don’t worry, you are young, you will have another one.” please, go take that somewhere else. anywhere, where no one who has lost a baby can hear you.  let me be angry. and irrational. and hurt. i am entitled to feel angry. i have to feel all of this if i am ever to stand tall again. hell, simply stand again. the only appropriate words to say to me are “i am so sorry.” and even those words might make me tear up, but they will not add to the hurt.

i have been brutally honest throughout this journey, and with that, surprisingly, people who read it  have come up to me and told me how brave i am. they say how strong i am to bare my soul. to be so honest. “i could never do that” they say.  but i don’t feel brave at all. especially when i am sitting in front of a computer screen at 1 am sobbing giant crocodile tears into the keyboard. truth is, i just can’t hold it in anymore and put on a happy face. i hit my limit years ago with lying to faces and pretending everything was perfect.  bravery has nothing to do with it, i simply have no reserve to hide the struggle.

it’s only right to show the truth. to shine a light on the bullshit that is infertility and my own bullshit journey. i will talk about it because NO ONE talks about it. so that those of you who are so lucky to have easy conceptions and easy pregnancies can gain an understanding that it isn’t so easy for others, and to foster compassion and sensitivity for their fellow women. their friends around them who suffer in silence. those who aren’t “so brave” as me (more like “so crazy”). and i also share so my people, those men and women who have lost, who are currently losing, who may never HAVE at all… know that they are not alone when they feel all of it is shit. all the wild curves and straight edges of this walk. it is all injustice and pain. but for most of my people there is a light at the end of this seemingly unending tunnel. i have seen the strong majority of my loss mama friends go on to have their rainbows. so keep your head up. your numbers are better than mine. they have to be.

you are so brave, they say.

please. i am a hot mess. and one day i will stop being angry, i think. and nothing makes sense to me anymore. well, except this. this made perfect sense.

they are forever with me, always.

❤ fly high my angels ❤

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15 thoughts on “i will be brave

  1. Jodee, good for you getting some of it out. I am angry as well. It does not make sense. I am sad for you and wish that this was different. I love you girl. I pray for you each day.

    Love, Cara

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  2. You are so brave Jodee, stronger than any woman I know. I wish I could take all your pain away, and I am so incredibly heartbroken for you and what you have been through. You’re always in my thoughts beautiful. Sending love and hugs. ❤️💕

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  3. You are not irrationally angry, your anger is completely rational. I wish this didn’t happen to you. I wish your pain could end. I wish for your levels to get below 5 so you dont have to be tortured by those appointments. I wish your strength will
    return again at the right time for you. I am so sorry, hugs X

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  4. Jodee, I have read every word you have written about your experience and thank you for sharing your story. Your loss is unbearable and I am heartbroken for all your angels you have lost. Sending love and healing wishes to you.

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  5. I have felt this hope with you and this sadness with you. I wish I could give you what you yearn for. It’s one of my wishes if I ever find a genie. In the meantime, you have made it much much further than I ever could have and I am in awe of your strength. Every time you post, I think, what has this tough cookie been up to lately? One day, perhaps, all this will be clear. The reason. For now, it just plain old sucks. Fuck the universe man. Enjoy being angry. You’ll get there…you always do.

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  6. I am with you. I hear you and understand. When I read your words they remind me of words I can’t say. I’m still rooting for you. ❤️

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  7. I am so sorry for everything you have experienced. I share your pain and have experienced a similar journey. It is complete torture and I feel like its something only people who have experienced it can really understand. I am writing this as I try to decide our next steps and want to cry as I know you have. prayers that life takes a turn for the best. I wish I knew someone in real life to talk to about this and thank you for sharing, it helps to at least have virtual people who understand the pain although I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy.

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