(this is a miscarriage post with some graphic language and adult content. reader discretion is advised. if that is not for you, watch this!)
I used to pray for patience. For years. And then finally, I came to the understanding that patience was just not something I was blessed with. I would just try to meet people where they were, the best I could, even if that meant going at a glacially slow pace. I would grin and bear it when my impatience got the best of me.
Even with grief I have tried to move things along. This takes so much time. Seriously. I think that is one of the things that has been hardest. I keep waiting and waiting to come out the other side. Waiting for it to get easier.
And for about a week, it didn’t. It got harder. I cried more. I slept less. I spent more time by myself, questioning everything. Why? What if it happens again and again? What if it takes years?
One of the difficult aspects that no one tells you about miscarriage.. is vaginal rest (I’d be willing to bet a significant amount that a man came up with that term). Unfortunately, it isn’t what it sounds like. You don’t get to take extra naps just for your vagina. After a D&C you are placed on vaginal rest for about two weeks. No sex, tampons, or douching for two weeks.
Okay. Tampons? Whatever. I can roll with pads or panty liners. Douching? What? I never did that in the first place. In case you were wondering, your vagina is self-cleaning. Don’t work harder than you need to. Really.
But sex? No sex for two weeks could be just fine. We have done it before, on numerous occasions. Hell, we have gone months and months (side note: don’t marry a foreigner). Something about this time around was harder.
It was like we were two people in the fetal position, curled away from each other. We didn’t know how to reach out and say, I need a lifeboat, I am sinking. I didn’t realize that the no sex rule would create this invisible wall where we felt like we had to heal on either side of it. That first week after my D&C was my hardest week. It was a week I spent mostly alone.
We didn’t make it two weeks.
When I saw my OB for my checkup he was neither surprised nor concerned about my inability to rest for a full two weeks. Phew. Something about being able to reconnect with Rob flipped the switch. We were no longer healing side by side, but together, as a couple. We were able to reach out and say, I’m still not okay.
I’m still not okay. And I am anxious to get there. But I am trying and trying to be patient with myself.