That's kinda how it feels now. I was trying to articulate this sensation for C, but it's hard to put it into words.
For the last 10 months I've been living my life in increments. Stims, then, the two week wait, 48 hours for the repeat beta, another week for ultrasounds, two weeks. A month between appointments, waiting for NT results, waiting for amnio results, how many weeks along. listening to heartbeats. listening to silence. how many contractions, how many pads, how many doses of pitocin, units of blood.
Then, how long has it been. How many days, weeks, months. How many weeks would I have been.
Now there is nothing. No counting. No measuring. Yes, I will still count how long it's been, probably. But the duration of pregnancy has ended. The boys are far enough away now, and were when they were delivered, that I don't feel compelled to say, "they would be X months old." Just that they are gone X months.
I was going to say that I am sort of numb, sort of floating aimlessly. I need to focus on school, at least for the next few months. I need to re-establish my contribution to my department, make myself worthy of investing in, improve my value. (Yes, theoretically, they all believe I have value, but even my Chair said "well, you're still a plus, even if you're not as big a plus as you used to be." Tactful? No. Honest? You bet.) I need to find a way to care about all that work I have to do. C says that I still care about it, he could tell by the way I talked about my students' work in my class, but I don't know if that's enough. I need to find a way forward.
I was going to say that I was numb, but I guess I'm not. I had on the La.w & Or.der: S.V.U where someone's very hugely pregnant wife is in a serious car accident. Her water breaks, contractions began. That's where I turned it off because of the panic rising in my chest.
I've been a little weepy. Sad. Both my sister and my dad called yesterday to check on me and I had nothing to say. Sad. Angry. Too afraid to be hopeful. I want to hope for something good, but it seems that only the bad news touches me. Pleasure at someone else's good news is fleeting. Reaction to not-bad-news is not much reaction at all. I got the results from my blood work, and mostly it's fine. Don't really know what to do with it. I'll probably write about that soon, too. The idea of trying to have living children, I mean.
The memorial service made me cry. It made me sad, made me realize, again, that my boys are gone. But it didn't really touch me. The level (and choice) of religiosity in it distracted me. But even the last bit, when they read the poem, where the group (not me) said "we will remember them" after every line. It made me cry. It made me feel worse. I told my dad I guessed that I was glad that I went, at least I wouldn't wonder. Maybe in time I will be able to appreciate the service, but right now I just don't know.
I guess this is grief. Mourning. Lack of affect? No, I have affect. Right now, it's mostly sad, though last week or the week before I could laugh. I guess this is reaction to time and place. To Monday, and hopes unfulfilled. I guess it will get better. I have to trust that, that it will get better. That I'll find a reason to hope. And that fear and sadness will not eclipse it.
Thank you, everyone who commented, who came and checked in with me and with C. It means a lot to know that there are people who care and who understand. It's amazing what comfort a few words can bring. Thank you.