Thursday, April 24, 2008

more about it

I am going to clean out this miscarriage closet in real time. The minute a fucking tennis ball goes in there, I'm cleaning it right out. It's compulsive, this leaving no stone unturned. I feel like it's my job at the moment - like I have to get good chi flowing in my mind and heart and womb so we can try again when we have clearance, which isn't terribly far off.

First of all, first of all. You commenters. Deb, Eve, Hil, Grammy, Boo, Erin, Shannon, Kyano, Theresa, Beige. And friends who are reading this who have gotten messages of love to me through other avenues, you know who you are. Thank you. I've been so grateful and greedy for all of the love and sweetness you've lobbed in my direction. Your messages are the ice cream sandwiches of this loss, with vitamins hidden undetectably in their creamy insides. I feel nourished and uplifted from all of the goodness you've given to me. What a silver lining it is, to feel like I'm a part of this glowing web of kindness. You're good advertising for any future babies who might choose to lodge with me. They'd look at my world and see all this light in my neighborhood. They'd be so right.

So, I'm going to keep talking about it. I don't know, it might be weird to completely process my miscarriage on my blog. But you know what, I - clearly - don't have the negative feeling for blogs that a lot of people do. I don't feel like putting this here trivializes the loss. I feel like talking about the loss here elevates the blog. A blog is what you make it. I'm just working this out for myself, giving myself permission to do this. I think I have some idea that it's undignified or something, to do this. But then a very defiant part of myself rises up and slams a fist on the table. A gavel. Bangs a gavel. And delivers a verdict with a statement to the effect of On the contrary, this is all dignity. All dignity. Not guilty.

Okay, so, onward. Closet. Throw things out.

Item: Calling the doctor on Monday, when I was at my worst. I've got it together for the phone call, though. On hold for the ob/gyn my doctor referred me to. The hold music is Pachelbel's Canon in D. You must be fucking kidding me. This music might be great for women with healthy babies floating peacefully in their perfect wombs. Countdown: two cherry-blossomed months until the arrival of our little flower! Tender smiles, all anticipation. Pachelbel, Pachelbel. Well, this is SHIT hold music for people who have miscarried. Word to the wise. I burst into tears during the hold music. Fucking Pachelbel. (Note: I really love Pachelbel, but the thing is that it kicks my heart's ass under normal emotional circumstances.) I remember there was a commercial about the American Cancer Society when I was very little. Old people were walking slowly in a park under a stone bridge on an overcast day, past a cherry tree in bloom. This is where I first heard Pachelbel's Canon in D. And then there was Ordinary People. And then there's every wedding ever. You just can't have this music as the hold music, doctor's office. It's too FULL.

Item: But! I had to call the ob/gyn's office today to confirm the results of my blood test, and they had Pachelbel playing again and I was totally cool. Totally didn't lose it until after the phone call. So I may not have conquered the miscarriage, but I may have conquered Pachelbel.

Item: When the ob/gyn got on the phone, she said, "Good news!" And for a split second I thought she was going to say, "You're still pregnant and everything's great!" But the good news was that the miscarriage was complete. I understand why that's good news compared to an ectopic pregnancy. But she sounded a little too psyched when she said "Good news!" I would give her a different line reading for that. I would read that line with hesitation if I were playing the ob/gyn during this phone call.

Item: After the blood test on Wednesday, I went to the bookstore to go buy myself a book as a treat. I was going to buy this book I've read about recently called I Was Told There'd Be Cake, by Sloan Crosley. I really had my heart set on it. I went to the information desk and asked for it. She said there was only one left in the store. And I was like, Are we going to go get it? And she said it was probably on hold for someone. And inside I was like BUT LOOK I WAS TOLD THERE'D BE I WAS TOLD THERE'D BE CAKE. I stood there for a second, and realized I was not able to handle not getting to buy this book right this second. I started to well up. And I said weepily, "The reason I ask is....." and then did total battle with myself right there. Because I was going to be like, "You have to give me that book out from under whoever you're holding it for because I just had a miscarriage." What I said was, "Never mind." But then I said even more weepily, "I just got some bad news, you see." And she said, "Oh, I'm sorry" but continued to look at me like I was an asshole because I hadn't left the help desk due to what appeared to be a teetering hissy fit about an unavailable humor book. I couldn't blame her, but I absolutely blame her. But I did leave the help desk. And then I asked the help desk upstairs. But I was like a normal person when I asked up there. When he told me it was on hold for someone, I just walked away like it was no big thing.

Item: I think Alicia Keys would be surprised to learn that her song "No One" has become my miscarriage anthem. I don't think she wrote it to be a miscarriage anthem.

Sometimes I feel really, really calm and peaceful. Weirdly so. Like I'm totally over it. I'm totally over this miscarriage I had less than a week ago! Weird but true! And then it strikes out of nowhere with a quickness.


Scott Chicken said...

Man, grief is weird, ain't it? I still well up on occasion when something comes on that my Dad was a fan of, and he's been gone lo these seven years. And while I'm not grieving for him, I still see Will Plunkett around downtown on occasion and go "Hey, it's Will! Oh, wait..."

Anyhow, Pacobell (which apparently I think is spelled like Taco Bell, but I'm too lazy to flip back to your post and spell correctly): I like the song (probably because it was one of my fonder memories from the heyday of my violin career back in, oh, 5th grade), but yeah...shouldn't be on anyone's hold music. Ever.

So that's my eight cents. Didn't comment on your prior post because, well, I didn't have anything to add. But hopefully the thoughts wormed their way through the ether to youse guys!

Anonymous said...

YES! I agree with the gavel too. Purge it, tenderize it, heal it however you feel is best. And I am also a huge supporter of theme songs for things. It helps.

I hope your heart's ass in is a good place today, lovey.


Anonymous said...

Are you fucking KIDDING ME? To what better use could a blog be put than to be the tool of your closet-cleaning? You rock the casbah, TR. And your sharing this story with your peeps online is a beautiful way to give light to a very human experience. I am grateful. I'll bet there are others who have waded through loss who are grateful. Do your thang, lady.

I totally get that moment in the bookstore - grief has a way of squeezing out through some damned odd little portholes.

I'm still sending you love and goodness, as much of that good stuff as I can fit on the airwaves.

Mother Theresa said...

Get it all out there, and don't think a blog is any worse for that than any other method. Blogs are only as good as those who write them, and yours is good, so no worry. That doctor needs to learn a little about tact, there are ways of saying things that make them easier to take, but some people just aren't good at that. Then again, she's probably so used to this sort of thing that she didn't even think about it. Anyway, keep on moving forward, but let the grief come to you when it has to, it's the only way to get through it.

Anonymous said...

This is an infinitely better use of a blog than "Don't you guys hate it when you order a turkey sandwich and they bring you ham?" Of course, you're probably wishing for a day when that's all the news you have to post. That will be a nice day.

Oh that Pachelbel and his double-edged sword of beauty.

bonnie said...

Oh, Tina, I am so sorry that I'm finally quitting lurking to say I'm so sorry.

Funny Scott should mention Will. I still sometimes just randomly think of him & can't believe...

I guess that's how grief is isn't can't believe, but it is, and you have to find some way to balance...

Have loved your blog since I ran across it through Scott's - don't know why I've been shy about saying hello. Maybe 'cause your writing is just so darned awesome.

Anyways. Kind thoughts now being sent from from Brooklyn. Hope they make it to you OK.

Tina Rowley said...

Thank you, sweet dears.

Hi Bonnie! I'm so glad you've said hello, and thank you for the kind thoughts - they arrived swiftly and in perfect shape. Am using them right now, in tandem with the Scott Chicken ones that I got in the ether.

Scott and Bonnie, I think of Will a lot. It IS hard to believe, isn't it? The Discotizer. I definitely give him the shout-out on a regular basis. When I heard the news, I was knocked down for sure.

Eve & Grams & Theresa & Shannon, I smooch you all. So encouraging. What a round-up of good eggs. It's ridiculous.