Last night, early labour-like cramps started. Heavy bleeding followed, along with relief that it was finally happening. After an uncomfortable evening and several pad changes I went to bed. I was expecting a disturbed night, but the pain settled and then left.
This morning although I had some more heavy bleeding, the cramps were mild and intermittent. They tailed off by the end of breakfast. Since then, the bleeding has slowed down to very little.
I’ve been through this so many times, and I know I haven’t passed the pregnancy. My temp was 98.3 this morning and runs at sub 97.9 in the follicular phase, so the miscarriage is incomplete. So far.
I’m hoping it will pick up again tomorrow (or very soon). I want this to be done. I want to let go.
Or maybe I don’t. Maybe my body, that has tried so hard for me but keeps failing, doesn’t want to give up just yet.
My sense of appreciation for this physical body that carries me around has never been stronger or more accepting. At the age of 40 I love every mark and every scar on my skin. Every stretch mark, every lump and every less-than-perfect contour. Repeat miscarriages have taught me many things, but most profoundly, although they initially made me hate my physical self, they finally reunited my mind and body with a deep love and respect.
My body is not at war with what I want, and it is not the enemy. It has taken me so much time to realise this.
So, I wait some more. I understand that although mentally I am ready to move on, the physical body still grieves. It hangs on, tries it’s hardest to maintain hormonal balance, works tirelessly to sustain a pregnancy that was never going to be a success. Such determination. Such commitment. The kind of commitment that will hopefully result in a happier outcome at some future point.
Letting go is not just an emotional process, but a physical one too, and they may not always run to the same schedule. I have to accept that, and wait patiently for them both to arrive at the destination.