The Way of the Bear

Of all the animals sacred to the Druids and Celts, the bear seems to be the very first of animals to be honored and revered. It was an emblem or symbol of the warrior caste. A constellation was named for it--Ursus Major, The Great Bear.

It's time for the mourning period to end.  I've decided. This doesn't mean that the sadness disappears, but it can take a step back. At first, the sadness pushed me to "do." I couldn't just sit in my darkness. In order to make the reasonable choice to relax and heal, I had to make the irrational choice to rush through important exams and applications to grad schools. I packed my schedule with work and obligations, certifications and deadlines; filling the void to the point of bursting, and now I'm breaking down due to sickness. But the tests are over, the due dates have been met, and I'm back to just having to deal with being me. 

The pesky five pounds from pregnancy and sadness-induced indulgence aren't going away on their own. And at this point, they are just a sad reminder of what could have been. The pain and swelling are gone, so I don't have an excuse to avoid the gym. I am perfectly capable of taking back control of my body, but it has to start with a choice. The choice to move forward, the choice to work hard again, the choice that is hard to make. Taking responsibility is hard because it means I can't point fingers if I fail anymore. There's no safety net of blame, just my own effort-based results and set backs. My happiness and my health work hand in hand; they always have. When I work out and eat right, I feel better. Don't we all? My motivation returns. And I'm positive that I'm far more pleasant to be around. I have a consistent fear that "not being at my best" will drive away the things that I love. Seems reasonable enough, "if you're not enjoyable to be around, why would anyone stay?" Or, "if you fall behind while others progress forward, who would choose to fall back with you?" It's a lonely sentiment, and far too dramatic for my taste when I read the words back to myself, but being willing to face the monsters is the first step to realizing that they aren't real.

So what has helped before? Reaching into my tool belt of past success is both helpful and a bummer. Warmer weather and sunshine are the easiest pick-me-up. Sadly, it's the middle of February. Experimenting with food will provide me with a positive runner up. Getting back to the basics with The Whole28.5 is the perfect plan, but this isn't a time in my life when I should force myself into boring, routine meals. I officially accept the challenge to create new dishes, play with interesting recipes, and allow for some fun in our daily menu through variety, not "cheats." This gives me homework and due dates. 

Next is a plan of action in the gym.  Creating the schedule and sticking to it. This doesn't have to get too philosophical, because in the end it's the basic math. Looking forward to getting back to some Barbell programming and finishing dead last every time during the CrossFit Open. What's important is that I'm showing up, doing the work, and staying committed. This ask me for accountability.

I love their love.

Lastly (for now, I don't want to ask too much too soon), is to truly respect and enjoy my "down time." Especially with Grad School hopefully in my future, I need to soak up this time I have that isn't devoted to work or working out. Especially time together with my partner. We easily get sucked into distractions and technology when we're at home and we don't admit it until we haven't really "seen each other" for almost a week. We've been there in the same room, but not really spending time together. We ALL do it. I know you're thinking about it now...yup, you do it, too. It's particularly difficult in the winter months, with apposing schedules, and personal goals, but we have to be honest: relationships--whether there are with your partners, friends, family--they deserve work, too. It's a misconception that your "perfect" relationship requires no effort. That's malarkey! You should find yourself with someone where your love comes naturally, YES. But you should also feel that kind of love deserves care, respect, and effort. Our recent heartbreaking loss has only fueled my desire to bring my best self to our relationship and thoroughly appreciate and honor the fact that my fella has chosen to love me. Through the sadness and all of its shortcomings.  This pushes me to be present.

The grizzly has long been known for its strength and ferocity. Although it can be quite fierce, it is not naturally aggressive. 

It is time to revitalize my own ferocity without having to be aggressive. This isn't about punishment, or masochism, or distraction. It's  just time to go back to being my best self. Time to absorb the goodness, support, and inspiration around me. Hibernation is over. Now let's be the bear.

-Be cool, Soda Pop-

A Grizzly Bear Lost in the Blizzard

This morning felt like a dream.  I woke up after sleeping in late...opening my eyes at a whopping 6:45am. The dogs and I padded downstairs, and as I sent them out to the backyard, I noticed the most pleasant dusting of snow. It didn't feel real. Just days ago, the weather was warm and wet. In this dream, just floating around the kitchen, I turned to pull the coffee out of the cabinet when I remembered, "Wait, you know you can't have that..."

"...because you're pregnant."

Then the dogs barked at a neighborly cat and I caught the reflection of my bed-head, waking me to the fact that this truly was just Wednesday morning and not a dream at all. It did snow a little last night. And I'm totally pregnant.
- Wednesday, January 13, 2016

***

Well, I was.
I soared through Christmas while pregnant and New Year's Eve. I started this year bright and excited while pregnant. I bunkered down through a blizzard while pregnant. I made it hopeful and terrified to just three days before crossing the line into the second trimester, after receiving worrisome news a week before, when the pain started while pregnant. This weekend was going to be when we announced it. Officially 12 weeks (LMP) on the last Sunday of January, as we believed it was "safer" to keep it a secret until now. But instead of bouncing out of bed with excitement to craft the perfect front page news of my life, I wake up sadly to the searing daily pain of miscarriage.

I know that there are women who have made harder goodbyes. I have known strong, resilient women who lost their babies right before birth. They referred to their baby by name, painted the baby's room,  started a college fund, allowed their own bodies to change and ache with pregnancy, just to lose that life before they could ever meet. I have known powerful and transcendent women who even then had to deliver that child knowing there was no life to be had, no first touches, no first cries, no real goodbyes. And many of us, too, have known women who have lost children years later. Children that provided them with love and memories and heartache and headaches and joy. I do believe that there is no harder or truer pain than outliving your own child.

But until this point in my life, "miscarriage" was a word said under your breath, quickly, and then erased from memory. There is no mention of its possibility at your first OB/Midwife appointment, just discussion of the bubbles and sunshine of the life you are sure to create and bring in to this world 9 months later. As a woman, I was aware of the possibility simple because it is the horror that "happens to other women." It is the scary story we tell ourselves to make sure we stop drinking coffee and alcohol, and start eating better and sign up for our first prenatal yoga class. If we do that, obviously, we won't miscarry. There is no measured and factual speech that 80% of miscarriages happen within the first 12 weeks, and that 10-20% of known pregnancies end in miscarriage. This doesn't even include those that miscarry before they know they are pregnant. First pregnancies are precariously predisposed to miscarriage, but SSSSSHHHHH!!! We cannot openly give women this information so that they can calmly and sanely prepare for this possible outcome. Instead we buy baby books and eat ice cream and pick names. And that of course, is wonderful. It's amazing. Getting to have a baby is magnanimous. Preparing for a baby (at least the fun parts) is like making every day your birthday. Thus, a loss pulls you down from your highest heights into a deep, dark hole of lonely sadness, guilt, and confusion.


We had a week of blind worry after my first ultrasound. I had planned to go surprise my mother afterwards with that first darling "photo," the print out they supposedly give you that you can put on your refrigerator or blast on social media. I had made up some bogus errands I needed to do in Jersey and told my little mama to meet me. It was freezing cold that morning and I paid $5 in quarters to park as I arrived a half hour early. The ultrasound was absolutely nothing as I suspected. I didn't wait long, but the imaging process itself was silent and cold except for the beeping of the machine and the intense tapping of the tech's fingers on the keys. She finished the abdominal ultrasound and I wasn't shown the screen or told anything except she would be back to also perform a transvaginal imaging. That process was also silent and distant. On the day I expected to see my 10 week, 3 day old baby, I am shown nothing and told, "yeah...this looks more like 6 weeks. We're all done here. Your doctor will call you."

A quick conversation leads to 3 blood draws leading to another ultrasound a week later, and just overwhelming, soul-crushing fear. Oh, and a blizzard. Scott actually refers to this as the weekend of "Google Hell." When the snow trapped us in a world of not-knowing, we both got lost in the one thing you shouldn't do: Googling for Answers. It was an honest to god nightmare. Then when the weekend and snow passed, Monday morning started the results. All news we received in the next 3 days was bad, but we were never counseled in preparation for miscarriage. Just "let's wait and hope." So Wednesday rolls around and my love and I wait in the darkened ultrasound room,  as another tech silently performs the ultrasound. Scott can see the screen, but really who knows what they are looking at? I am shown and told nothing. She prepares to just leave the room, just repeating the pain of a week before, but Scott pulls it out of her, "So no heartbeat?"
"No heartbeat."

This story is not new. Couples have received more difficult news. But the way my heart broke that morning still laying on that table was astronomical. It was a loss of love that I have never experienced in my entire life. The minutes, hours, days after have only been waves of grief that range from quick silent tears to unstoppable, blood boiling anger. The lack of knowledge of what lay ahead for us was absurd. Not knowing how long it would truly take. Miscarriage is not a "whoopsie." It's not that one moment you are pregnant, and the next you're not. It is a long process of waiting and worry and pain. The process, the discomfort, the grief, the body aches, the moments of love and planning and attempting to move on;  then searing, awful, back-breaking agony that ends you in the Emergency Room.

Well, at least that was me. That was yesterday. I will spare you the agony of yesterday. However, I promise, this is not me skirting the subject or sparing the details. Obviously, I will share, I will teach, I will warn, while providing comfort and knowledge and hope for the future--but it doesn't have to be here. The only thing I have to say about yesterday, 7.5 hours in the ER,  is this:

There is no part of me that could have made it through that day without the love, support, hand-holding, joke-making, and kindness of my partner-in-crime, the father of the child we lost, my best friend and the love of my life.

He was and continues to be the hero that has helped me through all of this chaos. In fact, he's sitting next to me right now still making me laugh.

***

As I have said, this story is not new. But the fact is, it's true. It happens and we don't talk about it. You don't hear from couples, women, family, friends that they have suffered through the pain of miscarriage until you yourself are boiling in the sadness and confusion. Miscarriage is a dirty evil word that we dare not speak before or during pregnancy. "If you say it, it'll happen." Miscarriage is the curse.  Women will feel remorse for you, but we cannot share in the details or discuss the possibilities...not if we want to have our own kids, or more kids, or if we want our kids to have kids. "We can't...or it will happen to us. Possibly again. But you wouldn't know, because we never told anyone."

We intend to have children. We will have a family. And yes, I did miscarry. And I will talk about it to anyone who has questions, is worried, or would simply like to prepare for the fact that miscarriage is extremely common, can be painful both mentally and physically, but can surely be overcome. You will learn more about yourself, your partner, and your heart-driven plans for the future through pregnancy. Whether is lasts 12 weeks or 40. Whether you get to hold that little baby in your arms, or simply remember the sweet little Grizzly Bear you lost. 

In honor of our Grizzly.

 I suggest starting here. A friend from long ago wrote a moving article on her own loss and a year in reading. She herself is an amazing writer, author of Vivian Apple at the End of the World , Vivian Apple Needs a Miracle; and her short fiction has won the Pushcart Prize and been featured in Best American Non-Required Reading. This article is based in her world of vivid and beautiful words through this hardship, plus the books that got her through it.