I'm sorry you're going through this right now. I know what you're thinking, "Really? We're not done yet?" And no, we're not. That darn pregnancy hormone just doesn't want to leave, and those infections just keep on coming. So I'm writing you this letter, letting you know that I see what you go through every single day and I'm sorry.
I'm sorry that you feel tired and weak. Last week when you were shaking with pain from your 3rd infection in a row I was nervous, and sad for you. I'm glad that all the different medications have eased the irritation, and I hope that we can keep the bacteria at bay. I'll feed you yogurt, you do the rest!
I'm sorry that you haven't been able to excercise. It's been what, 6 weeks now? When this infection clears up I've been given the ok to move again, so maybe sometime soon? Let's take it slow, but I know you can do it. Step by step, we'll pick up where we left off (which as I recall was hating it but also feeling empowered by it).
I'm sorry that you are still bleeding--13 weeks is a really long time to be flowing, and it seems like things are getting bad again. The bleeding and clotting have been out of control, not to mention retained products of conception. I try not to think it's gross, it is my creation after all, but I just want it out. I keep telling you, "Just a little bit longer, I'm sure this is the week that this nightmare will end." And one of these weeks I'm going to be right. I'm sorry that it wasn't this week. I was hopeful, mostly.
This week you've been miscarrying as long as you were pregnant--a 13-week pregnancy and a 13-week miscarriage. That's a really, really long time. I'm sorry that this is your experience with childbirth, dear body. I'm sorry that things haven't been easier for you. I'm sorry that even after we're done being "pregnant" you'll have to undergo continued genetic testing. {Audible exhale} After 26 weeks of mayhem, I think you deserve a nice massage sometime soon--let's add that to our to-do list, ok? Well, first let's stop bleeding, and then let's get a massage. Awesome.
I'm sorry there's not an easier way to end your agony. I stormed into the doctor's office last week and pleaded your case. "My body is tired!" I sobbed. "It can't do this anymore." So we talked options, and ultimately, in an attempt to save future fertility, we decided to continue waiting--infections, bleeding, raging hormones and all. I won't lie and say I love that plan, but I hope it will be the best for you, dear body. Maybe someday we'll make another miracle, or maybe not. But at least with this plan we're keeping our options open.
I feel bad for you, dear body. You're doing the best you can and I'm grateful. I hope you feel strong and healthy and vibrant again soon. I'll be praying for you.
Love, Heath
Miscarriage of Justice by Lina Scarfi
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