Dichotomy

Just when I think things are getting better, they seem to get worse. When I start to see a light, my world becomes engulfed in darkness. It has been 3 weeks since we were told that our baby’s heart stopped beating and these three weeks have been the worst of my entire life.  I feel like I am constantly on the verge of breaking down. I feel proud and strong when I can hold it together and weak and tortured when I cannot. It’s like I keep taking two steps forward, and one… or maybe two-three steps back.

As much as I have felt like isolating myself, not facing the world, I have been encouraged to get out and have fun, continue living life. This weekend was a very special weekend for a couple of our good friends, their wedding, and I wanted nothing more to be there to celebrate with them. Thursday night was the bachelorette party, I went and it was fun. I felt happy to be around friends, but throughout the night I struggled with waves of sadness, feelings of hopelessness. How can it be that when I am dancing, it also feels like I am drowning? How can it be that when I am smiling, I feel like dying? When I am laughing, I feel like crying? How can I be feeling better and so much worse at the same time? The bar bathroom and the quite drive home at 2:30am offered moments to let my true emotions out.

During the rehearsal dinner there were good stories and warm feelings, and in the shadows there were thoughts of death and despair. At the wedding I thought of new beginnings and love, juxtaposed was thoughts of mortality, heartache and hate.

I haven’t stopped bleeding or feeling physical pain since July 28^th. A week ago I seemed to be doing better, less bleeding, less ache, but at the wedding reception that changed.  In the midst of trying to enjoy myself I was drawn back to the cold reality of my loss. Sitting at dinner, talking with friends, I felt a gush. My heart sank and I felt so insecure. I discreetly placed my napkin under my dress and waited for the appropriate moment to excuse myself.  When I got up the napkin was soaked in blood, as was my dress. The walk to the bathroom was shameful. It was dark out and my dress was dark as well, no one probably noticed, but I knew the disgrace. I hadn’t lost this much blood since the night I passed our baby. Alarmed and wondering why this had to happen, I got angry that I couldn’t just enjoy the night. I cleaned up, used about a forth roll of toilet paper as a makeshift pad, went back to the party and danced and celebrated the reason we were there, our friends and their love.

This loss is embedded deep in my soul; it is something I must learn to live with. I am sure I will stumble along the way, either emotionally or physically, but I must keep going, I have to adapt.  This dichotomy of pain and hope is my new normal.