And So It Continues...

My surgery ended up going just fine, and I was sent home the same day armed with painkillers and antibiotics. The nurse explained that the recovery process could be rough, so I left the hospital expecting the worst. But my recovery was pretty much perfect. I never experienced any of the pain or other side effects the nurse had described, and I ended up not needing any of the pain meds that the doctor had prescribed. Physically, the worst part was my milk coming in (no one had warned me that this could/would happen). That was pretty painful for obvious reasons. It was painful on an emotional level, as well. My body was providing for a baby, and that baby wasn't there. For a few weeks, it was a constant, physical reminder of what we had lost. Although, at that point, I didn't need a reminder. I wouldn't have been able to forget even if I had tried. I was feeling so many different emotions all the time. I was overwhelmingly sad. It's a sadness that I can't explain. You have to feel it to understand it. I felt confused and like my mind was spinning. Things had gone from happy to sad, good to bad, exciting to painful in such a short time, and I couldn't make sense of it all. I felt guilty. My family was sad along with me, and I felt like I was the source of their sadness. I felt fearful. I was afraid of so many things. I was afraid that my husband was going to resent me for losing our baby or that he would think that he had married a woman that was somehow damaged. I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to get pregnant again or that I wouldn't ever be able carry a baby. I was afraid of facing most people outside of my family. I was afraid of their questions, their attempts to be helpful and sympathetic, and their comments that were meant to be encouraging but ended up feeling like salt on a raw wound. I was afraid of my own emotions. I think that's what scared me the most. I'm by nature a very emotional person, but I've learned how to control my emotional side and keep myself held together. But I was barely holding it together, and I was terrified of losing control. You know that feeling when you're about to cry, how your eyes sting and it feels like there's a golf ball in your throat? You know how if you keep swallowing and keep taking deep breaths, you can usually keep the tears from coming? That's how I felt all the time. I was constantly on the verge of tears and constantly willing them away, and I couldn't talk about what I was feeling. My mom finally said, "You HAVE to talk about it, to someone. You can't keep all this to yourself forever. It's going to eat you up if you do, and it's not healthy." I remember saying, "I don't know how to talk about it. As soon as I do, I'm going to start crying, and I'm afraid once I start crying I won't be able to stop." Eventually I did talk about it, but it didn't happen all at once like I thought it would. I didn't just sit down with someone, get it all out, and leave feeling all better. It happened over time. God placed some amazing people (my husband and my family included among them) in my life during this time. These people were living examples of God's love and wisdom, and I'm immensely thankful for each of them. They helped me see that God was working and that He had a plan. God was taking me on a journey, and that journey was just beginning...