How are you, really?

It’s been 9 days since we lost our baby Mars. In those 9 days I’ve experienced just about every emotion I’d imagine exists. My body’s crumbled in ways I didn’t think were possible. And my mind has gotten lost in the darkest tunnels I’ve ever known.

So how am I? Really? It’s a strange combination of extreme emotional turmoil and bone-crushing physical pain. I’ll try to put it into words.

I’d say what I’ve felt these past 9 days can be described best as a “bone-crushing pain.” The kind you feel in your chest like a heavy weight begging you to stop breathing. The kind that lives in your bones and makes everything ache so you resort to laying in bed until the ache lets up. But, the ache doesn’t let up, it just manifests.

The physical pain from the procedure has nothing on the physical pain from the grief, that’s all I can really say when comparing the two. The procedure to remove Mars was quick, the pain afterwards lasted a few days. But, the emotional pain has been hitting me full force. It’s hit me so bad some days that I’ve screamed “I don’t want to live in a world without our baby.” I know though, that I need to continue on living, in honour of Mars, and in honour of myself and my family, friends and everyone who’s pushed for us.

I went through periods of 3 days at a time where I didn’t sleep. My doctor said it was likely due to hormonal shifts.While my therapist said “Of course you can’t sleep, the last time you went to sleep you were pregnant, and when you woke up you didn’t have your baby.” I think both are true, and both are heartbreaking.

I found maybe 2-3 hours a night where pure exhaustion would knock me out. I became so sleep deprived I got physically ill, I started hallucinating and swore there were people in our house. This is the raw, unfiltered side of grief, of sleep deprivation, of miscarriage. My doctor ended up prescribing me sleeping pills which I have yet to try. I’m hopeful I won’t need them, but glad I have them incase I do.

I think the hardest part of my week was the moments when I’d forget what had happened. I’d be outside, the warm air against my cheeks. I’d be playing with my dog and laughing while drinking a glass of wine on the deck and suddenly the sinking feeling would hit and I’d remember Mars, and how much I missed them, how much I loved them already. And in an instant, my happiness would turn to pure panic.

I’m still learning how to find happiness after this. I know it’s possible, and I know I’ll find it. I just need to keep going. Some days are harder to keep going than others, but today I’m choosing to find happiness for Mars.


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