Glad to be alive
Totally random, but I think I can bravely say I'm happy to be alive. I can say this today, and it's so amazing because I haven't always felt this way.
A few of my friends are expecting, and I look at them and I wonder whether I'll ever be able to want to have kids again. It's such a mystery to me.
The reason why I'm not having kids right now is because I know I don't want them. Bear with me, let me explain.
When we got pregnant in 2013, I'd been wanting kids for years. We waited for everything to fall in place - driver's licences, a car, baby-friendly room, a sofa so I didn't have to sit on the tatami and destroy my back. Then we tried, and we fell pregnant almost immediately.
Six weeks later I was at work, teaching, and halfway through the lesson I had to excuse myself to the toilet because there was a lot of cramping, and I'd been cramping ever since I conceived but this was different, and sure enough I was bleeding.
I went back to the classroom to finish my lesson.
After the class I went to the school nurse, whom I thankfully was on very good terms with, and told her I suspected I was having a miscarriage.
Looking back, I think I adulted really well. I was so calm. I wasn't surprised at all; I knew the statistics, 1 in 4 of pregnancies end in miscarriage. It wasn't even a real baby yet, I thought.
I went to the OB/GYN with my husband after work. We were told the gestational sac was a bit small for six weeks, and the chances of miscarriage were very high.
It wasn't even a real baby yet, I thought.
That evening in the car, on the way back from the doctor's, I felt numb. I remember switching off the song that was playing in the car. I think that was when it all started. The moment I felt I couldn't be happy ever again. I couldn't enjoy things like music, because I didn't deserve to? I don't know why I felt that way. I just felt wretched and helpless because I was losing this baby.
But it wasn't a real baby, I told myself. I was overthinking, I told myself.
At three or four in the morning I had contractions. Nobody told me I would experience contractions, or the need to push, but it happened. The contractions were spaced pretty far apart, and I woke my husband up the moment I realised I was actually going into labour.
I waited for about half an hour before I woke my husband again, because I was feeling an incredible need to push. There was no other place to do it but the toilet because of all the blood, and I sat there crying and crying and pushing and bleeding and holding onto my husband, telling him repeatedly "Our poor baby"; I was so disgusted with myself for thinking that it wasn't a real baby - because which part of the entire ordeal wasn't real? - and that I was putting it a freaking toilet.
The next day I went to the OB/GYN and he found my gestational sac. I hadn't passed my baby out into the toilet, but it was certainly dead.
He put the sac in a glass of liquid. That was the last I saw of it.
I never thought I would be able to fill up the emptiness and the nothing that was inside of me. But I have. I think. I don't know. Maybe I'm a work-in-progress.
I still haven't experienced that want for kids, the desire that I had before I miscarried. But it's okay. That doesn't define my happiness, or my purpose in life. I think it might happen someday, and even if it doesn't, I'm glad to be alive. I'm actually happy that I exist, and that counts for something.
Wow you guys sorry this was so heavy. I get into these pensive moods when I write fiction, and this is my outlet, so I hope you guys don't mind.
A few of my friends are expecting, and I look at them and I wonder whether I'll ever be able to want to have kids again. It's such a mystery to me.
The reason why I'm not having kids right now is because I know I don't want them. Bear with me, let me explain.
When we got pregnant in 2013, I'd been wanting kids for years. We waited for everything to fall in place - driver's licences, a car, baby-friendly room, a sofa so I didn't have to sit on the tatami and destroy my back. Then we tried, and we fell pregnant almost immediately.
Six weeks later I was at work, teaching, and halfway through the lesson I had to excuse myself to the toilet because there was a lot of cramping, and I'd been cramping ever since I conceived but this was different, and sure enough I was bleeding.
I went back to the classroom to finish my lesson.
After the class I went to the school nurse, whom I thankfully was on very good terms with, and told her I suspected I was having a miscarriage.
Looking back, I think I adulted really well. I was so calm. I wasn't surprised at all; I knew the statistics, 1 in 4 of pregnancies end in miscarriage. It wasn't even a real baby yet, I thought.
I went to the OB/GYN with my husband after work. We were told the gestational sac was a bit small for six weeks, and the chances of miscarriage were very high.
It wasn't even a real baby yet, I thought.
That evening in the car, on the way back from the doctor's, I felt numb. I remember switching off the song that was playing in the car. I think that was when it all started. The moment I felt I couldn't be happy ever again. I couldn't enjoy things like music, because I didn't deserve to? I don't know why I felt that way. I just felt wretched and helpless because I was losing this baby.
But it wasn't a real baby, I told myself. I was overthinking, I told myself.
At three or four in the morning I had contractions. Nobody told me I would experience contractions, or the need to push, but it happened. The contractions were spaced pretty far apart, and I woke my husband up the moment I realised I was actually going into labour.
I waited for about half an hour before I woke my husband again, because I was feeling an incredible need to push. There was no other place to do it but the toilet because of all the blood, and I sat there crying and crying and pushing and bleeding and holding onto my husband, telling him repeatedly "Our poor baby"; I was so disgusted with myself for thinking that it wasn't a real baby - because which part of the entire ordeal wasn't real? - and that I was putting it a freaking toilet.
The next day I went to the OB/GYN and he found my gestational sac. I hadn't passed my baby out into the toilet, but it was certainly dead.
He put the sac in a glass of liquid. That was the last I saw of it.
I never thought I would be able to fill up the emptiness and the nothing that was inside of me. But I have. I think. I don't know. Maybe I'm a work-in-progress.
I still haven't experienced that want for kids, the desire that I had before I miscarried. But it's okay. That doesn't define my happiness, or my purpose in life. I think it might happen someday, and even if it doesn't, I'm glad to be alive. I'm actually happy that I exist, and that counts for something.
Wow you guys sorry this was so heavy. I get into these pensive moods when I write fiction, and this is my outlet, so I hope you guys don't mind.