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Hello, October.

This is my fourth October that I have taken part in some way in Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness month. This is my fourth year of pregnancy loss.

Last October, I signed up for a local ceremony and walk with a required $60 donation. I was picturing something like the walk in the movie The Other Woman, starring Natalie Portman. I was imagining a somber meditative affair, surrounded by women who all understood each other.

When we got to the park, it looked like an enormous family fun event. There were children everywhere. Running, screaming, laughing, playing. I searched for another childless couple the entire time we were there, and saw only one. It took everything within me to not turn and run.

We wandered around, walking past tense looking vendors who wouldn’t make eye contact. Then came the speeches. Men and women stood at a microphone, talking about the miscarriages they experienced years ago, one of them eight years ago, that happened before they finally had a bunch of babies. I don’t think the pain of pregnancy loss goes away, but I did not relate to these people whatsoever.

Then they all walked around the park, the children far outnumbering the adults, to honor our losses. We didn’t stay for this part. I walked out angrily, crying and swearing. I felt humiliated and disrespected.

This October I will remember my losses while waiting for my period so I can start another cycle of IVF which will be promptly cancelled, I am sure. I am five days post ovulation, I think, and the heavy spotting I experienced for days was not a period. Just bizarre spotting. Since I thought it was my period, and my husband comes home very late most nights, and we need little excuse to avoid forced timed sex, there were two fertile days we missed.

I just want to be done with this part of my life. I am finding it hard to care about anything. I feel angry toward everyone for every stupid thing they do. I am losing empathy. My motivation is shot.

This too shall pass.

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5 thoughts on “Hello, October.”

  1. I wonder if the ones who are have no child to hold felt too ‘weak’ to attend. Not weak, but too fragile or vulnerable…

    I can’t actually imagine if the organisers thought it out very well. I wonder if any of them are still waiting for their waiting arms to be filled or if they’ve crossed over and have forgotten what it was like. I’d honestly expect to hear from people who are currently bearing the heavy cross of loss NOW. As in, “how are people with this fresh pain and gnawing ache dealing with it NOW?’ what keeps them going? Not ‘how do do they deal with it after acheiving their dreams?’

    Liked by 1 person

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