I Hate Mondays (and that thief of joy, Recurrent Pregnancy Loss)

That is not entirely true. I don’t really hate all Mondays, though on this particular one I could have shot the whole day down (thank you, Geldof and your Boomtown Rats).

I had an interesting day at work, but that was about the only part that went well. The day started with a thoughtful and considerate text from my sister-in-law. who I love and greatly appreciate (including for things like her good intentions in sending that text). The LP’s nephew and his wife are expecting.  She wanted to tell me before the happy expectant mama called tonight to surprise us.  Amen for avoiding that surprise.

Reading the text, I burst into tears. I didn’t even need to scroll down to the part about the pregnancy. About four words in, I knew. In fact, somewhere inside I already knew. I don’t know exactly how or why, but moments before I had sent a “Happy Anniversary” message to the same couple and something just told me, they were going to have a baby.

Two years ago, when our miracle toddler was still new and I was in no position to be conceiving a sibling, this news would have rocked my world. A year ago, it would have hurt but I would still have been over the moon excited. In fact, a year ago I was pregnant myself and already over the moon because that baby did not die within the first week or two after me discovering she was there. But she did die. In my womb. Like so many others.

I managed to (a) dash off a congratulatory note to the expectant mama; and (b) give the LP a quick heads-up in case he also wanted to avoid ambush (he did).

I was so busy today at work I could not think about how I felt after that initial outpouring of tears. Until I drove home. More tears. Sobs. Heartbroken, shoulder-shaking, gut-wrenching sobs making me afraid to keep driving. All of the fear and grief and sadness I’ve been stuffing down these past few weeks as I have come to accept that a one-child family may be all that destiny has in store for me this time around on earth poured itself out through my eyes, my nose, my mouth.

I called the LP and sobbed away. He sounded so helpless (and I’m sure that’s exactly how he felt) and broken himself. He said he wished sometimes this was all over or we could just give up. Me too, I admitted. I think of that almost every day. I am getting to the end of my line, I think. A broken heart apparently can’t be glued back together indefinitely. At some point, it needs to be retired. Maybe I need to grow a new one?

I let the LP go and kept driving. He called back and said “did you get my e-mail?” You will be glad to know I had not broken the distracted driving laws even further by checking my e-mails while already impaired by the flow of tears. I said I had not. “Robin Williams died.” I was stunned. I heard someone (me, apparently) ask “how did it happen?” but I already knew. When the LP told me it was suicide, I said “I knew that. I always knew he would die like that.” But I do not recall ever thinking about that consciously. Yet, when the words came out of my mouth, I knew they were true. I did know. I had always known. And it had always made me sad, as every death from depression/suicide makes me deeply, deeply sad. As someone who has walked that path but survived – as someone who would possibly have walked that path and not survived in these past 2 years if not for the miracle toddler – I wear my grief about suicides and severe depression on my sleeve.

I hate Mondays like today.

The incident with the Robin Williams news was the second time today I knew the answer before I asked the question or read the text. Eerie. Jarring. God-awful. I don’t like knowing the punch line to the jokes that leave me shaking and broken-feeling.

I hate Mondays like today.

I hoped the whole way home that I would not encounter any police. I could have gotten a ticket for being impaired or a distracted driver. I was not drinking, but I may as well have been. I was a hot mess.

I hate Mondays like today.

I hate this Monday and I hate that the unfettered joy I wish I felt and could embrace for our family’s pregnancy is instead tainted by my own grief and the crappy place I have been in the last couple of weeks. This is not just any pregnancy.  The ecstatic and deserving couple are our miracle toddler’s godparents – they mean a great deal to us and I teased her about having a baby of her own for a while after they got married and even before, despite them being young.  I want to be over the moon for them, not sobbing and heartbroken.

But the truth is, I am sobbing and heartbroken on this lousy August Monday.


22 thoughts on “I Hate Mondays (and that thief of joy, Recurrent Pregnancy Loss)

  1. I’m so sorry today was such a bad day!! I wish things were different, and I wish there was a way to change the outcome. Yet, I know all the wishing in the world will not change a thing.
    I don’t know how many times a heart and should can take lost babies. I ask myself this on a regular basis, I figure there will come a time when I will just know. Maybe you are reaching that point, or even just becoming more aware of its existence?

      • That’s a good way to look at it. I hope you find peace as you make your decision, whatever it may be. (And then tell me how you made the decision, because I suspect soon enough I could be right there too).

        • My decision will be largely informed by what the reproductive immunologist comes back with. I must admit that I don’t feel optimistic that even if he says he thinks we should be able to succeed using a protocol he designed that we will in fact succeed. I keep hoping I can find the energy and time to write a post about how if feels to be rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic right now. Because that is the sinking (pun not originally intended but apt) feeling I have been having since even before we went to see him. It’s as though my spirit broke at some point and I don’t know how to put it back together. Maybe that is what signals the end of the line for us? If I figure *that* out, I will let you know.

          Thank you for your support. I’m sorry your on this crap-train, too. 😦

  2. Oh hon. I want to jump on a plane right now and go give you a big hug. I’m so sorry today was so hard. I hope you can take a hot bath and have big glass of wine and go to bed early so this awful day can just be done. Of course you are happy for your husband’s nephew and his wife, but it doesn’t lessen your pain. It’s okay to feel it. I hope you know that. And they will understand. Sending you warmth and peace. Huge hug hon.

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