Bittersweet Mother’s Day

It is a little after 11 p.m., Central Time.  Mother’s Day was today.  I was so blessed to spend it at my mother’s home, with my mom, my sister, my husband, and my precious daughter.  But I was so sad and felt so alone in my sadness.

I spent Mother’s Day weekend grieving the loss of my pregnancy. Continue reading

The journey to where I am now

It’s been a funny little journey through the last few years.  Five years ago, when I first set out to have a public blog (versus a journal), I was going through a really rough patch.

See, I had a miscarriage.  I hadn’t even been aware that I was pregnant.  And so much was going on at once – I was working three jobs, I needed surgery to remove several pilonidal cysts, and an extended family member had come to live with me through the end of her pregnancy.  I did not notice that my usually pretty regular period just did not flow.

Until it did.

And flow, it did.  I bled for days.  For nearly two weeks.  With terrible cramping and soaking through pads and tampons on a regular basis.  And it was not until about the second to last day of this terrible wave, as I sat down on that porcelain seat for the umpteenth time that shift, that I realized what was happening.  I had failed at keeping a pregnancy and I wasn’t even planning on having a child yet.

I was in such shock.  I even proceeded to go to my other job the next day.  Calls to my GYN group’s office resulted in a series of dropped calls.  When I finally spoke to a nurse, she told me not to bother coming in.  And I couldn’t believe it.  Here I was, a young person, a consumer, their patient.  And there were no kind words.  No concern to match my own.  Not even clinical follow-up by my doctor.  I realized that this was exactly how many American women were treated by doctors’ offices.

And in the ensuing weeks, I started to form this half-baked idea that if I ever wanted to be a mom, first I had to learn to be a “good” wife to my husband… and before I knew it, I was hooked on following blogs by Christian fundamentalist homemakers.

It seems so odd and naive now.  I latched on these proponents of “femininity” and gracefulness and God.  But it always felt a little sour to me.  Do not get me wrong.  I love my husband.  I respect that there is a Creator – God, to me.  But the in-your-face “pious”-ness wasn’t who I was inside, or really who I wanted to be.

But something good came out of reading those blogs.  I learned that there were alternatives when it came to birth.  And as I did more research, I learned more about reproductive justice and how that played into my personal politics.  And I learned about doulas.

And I realized that I had to be one.