(Some of you have all ready read this; apologies.)
Whoa, TherapistLady, you rock my world. And sometimes turn it on its head. But it only helps me. So thanks.
Therapy was decent today. TherapistLady challenges me, kinda like my friend Faith, to look deeper into things, even when they feel icky. (Ya know, cause it's her job.) BigBrother was with me (since I've got a bad case of Mommy Separation Anxiety and refused to take him to the babysitter earlier than ncessary) which I think helped calm my nerves a bit as well. We talked about how shocking this loss is, especially as I never expected a miscarriage to happen to me. I mean, I'm a Firstmother. Miscarriages only happen to Adoptive Mothers. (Total generalization and it's not my view. I'm obviously making a point.) I'm young and healthy and should be fine with the baby making, right? Turns out my therapist had a miscarriage as well and her daughter-in-law had four prior to the birth of the first grandchild. Some things don't make sense and they suck. And it's okay.
She pushed me to figure out why I feel guilt about this loss. She pushed me to figure out why I feel guilt about Munchkin's placement even though, as I shared more about the agency, she has also decided that they should be shut down. Or shot. (That's my opinion. Snark.) I don't have the answers right now. I don't really think I've ever thought why I feel guilt when it's not my fault that I wasn't told certain things. I don't know why I feel guilt when I was basically backed into a corner. So, we'll be working on some of that, combined with my supressed anger. Fun, eh?
That said, the doctor called this afternoon.
Most of my bloodwork came back normal. I didn't randomly develop some strange things that makes it impossible for me to keep a pregnancy (other than the fact that, ya know, I'm high risk). However, my kidney function is kinda low. Not as low as right after birth but, not where they'd like it to be almost seven months post-partum. And so, it boils down to this following paragraph(s) which have been brewing.
This pregnancy, had it not miscarried, could have killed both myself and the child. There. I said it. You've all been thinking it. My friend Sarah was the only one who was brave enough to bring it up. It was in the back of my mind the entire time. There is no guarantee, health wise, I can have another child. There is simply not. Any decisions we make have to be based on my health. It is not my intention to end up dead so that BigBrother is without a Mother; so that Munchkin is without me as well. What good will I be six feet under? That said, had the pregnancy taken, yes, I would have been that stubborn ass and risked it all because, personally, I cannot terminate a pregnancy. I don't care what anyone else does and I don't believe making it illegal is the answer but, for me, it's not an option.
And on the same note, saying this out loud, even just on a screen, feels wrong somehow. As though I am attempting to justify her passing. I am not. I am simply stating what may have happened; things we'll never know. I miss this baby, now named Rose Angel Hatfield, more than I thought possible. Her name is both after my Great-Grandmother and the fact that my roses first opened on her angel date, June 8, 2006. We both felt the name fit her well. TherapistLady agreed.
I'll never be the same. She will always be with us. I don't even want to think about trying for another pregnancy. The thought scares me out of my mind. I'm not quite certain I could handle another loss like this, but, then again, we aren't given more than we can handle. But, still, I'm frightened. Of course, none of that is even an option until my health improves. If my health improves. And if it doesn't, BigBrother still won't be an only child. He'll always have two sisters; one crazy little Munchkin and one watching him from above.
My name is Jenna. I blog here, 
