I seem to be having an even harder time after the due date of the baby I lost in March than I did during the days leading up to it. I can’t recall (and don’t want to spend any time trying) this experience with my first two miscarriages, and I can’t yet speak to how I will feel after the upcoming estimated due dates for my most recent heaven babies, but this seems to be a unique experience so far.
With each fun family thing we do, each non-breastfeeding-friendly article clothing I wear, and each full night’s sleep or nap my two boys let me have, I am reminded of Shiloh’s absence.
When we design our Christmas cards, a gender-specific name we would have chosen for Shiloh had the outcome been different will not be included.
Even the kicks I’m currently experiencing from the baby currently occupying my womb– the kicks I so longed for after back-to-back-to-back loss– remind me that Shiloh, Sky, and Rain aren’t here, couldn’t be here, for this baby to exist.
Last night, I had a panic attack.
They don’t happen often but didn’t start until after my first miscarriage in 2015. With each one, everything– the loss of each baby until that point– comes flooding back. Despite my best efforts to gasp in a full breath of oxygen, I just could not get my lungs to inflate. Not for myself and not for the baby inside me depending on my oxygen supply for his own. The gasping woke my husband– the exact thing I was trying to avoid– and the paradox of feeling unable to breathe and crying, “I can’t breathe” (meaning I must have been breathing) went on for several minutes.
Last time I had one was during my very short pregnancy in April. It was one of my first symptoms because with that panic attack, the hyperventilation caused me to vomit– a rare occurrence for me which has never happened even during pregnancy, but I knew.
As I regained control of my breath, I gazed down at my open Bible which I had been reading minutes earlier in an effort to prevent a full panic attack, at which point the phrase “growing seed” within the heading of one of the parables triggered a blinding flood of tears, and the gasping ensued.
Now, feeling my lungs finally filling with oxygen, I looked down at my Bible, which was now somehow opened to the book of Mark, probably from my mindless flipping and desperate searching for something that would calm me down.
Jesus Calms the Storm
That day when evening came, he said to his disciples, “Let us go over to the other side.” Leaving the crowd behind, they took him along, just as he was, in the boat. There were also other boats with him. A furious squall came up, and the waves broke over the boat, so that it was nearly swamped. Jesus was in the stern, sleeping on a cushion. The disciples woke him and said to him, “Teacher, don’t you care if we drown?” He got up, rebuked the wind and said to the waves, “Quiet! Be still!” Then the wind died down and it was completely calm. He said to his disciples, “Why are you so afraid? Do you still have no faith?”They were terrified and asked each other, “Who is this? Even the wind and the waves obey him!” Mark 4:35-41
The waves calmed, still surrounding me but not overtaking me, and I was able to get to sleep.
Recurrent miscarriage mental health update
I explained to Anthony days ago that it feels like I’m operating at a B. Not a terrible grade. Not low enough for most to worry about. In fact, many would be happy with a B. Above average. But not my average. It feels low for me since I’m used to operating at an A, but I don’t feel like I’m doing poorly enough to earn a tutoring slot, so to speak.
The panic attacks may be rare, but the fact is they didn’t start until after my first miscarriage and the near breakdown of my marriage. I’ve been trying to be very mindful of my thoughts, feelings, and mental health, and I’m starting to realize that some of the effects of loss upon loss actually are impacting me daily. I want to get a hold on this. Like my husband said, “Why should you be at an F for someone to care enough to help you?”
Thanks to my faith and family, I do have a lot of joy. But as I shared on a recent Instagram post, I’d be doing a disservice to the loss community if I made it look like I was all better now that a few months have passed. I still have my moments when I feel anxious and my nights when I have to curl my Shiloh bear into my chest to fill an emptiness keeping me from sleep. Overall, I’m doing really well, all things considered, but I’m ready to get back to an A.