I think I’m in a good place. Most days, I’m actually in a great place. It’s one of the benefits of having had surgery, transfusions, tubes down your throat, all kinds of medication counter-indications, etc. Somewhere in the middle of trying to stay alive you forget a little about your past miseries. So most days I don’t actively remember that this whole thing started 8 months ago with a second-trimester miscarriage.
When we first found out that our baby’s heart had stopped, I thought I would live the rest of my days cynical and broken. At that time I didn’t know that nights curled on the bathroom floor in pain that wouldn’t let me sleep would quickly replace the “why-me” blues of losing a pregnancy.
I’ll tell you more of my story someday, but today I want to talk about closure. Feeling well physically does wonders for helping your mind also heal. Though my stamina is not what it used to be, I am hale and hearty for the most part. And my mind is generally at peace. I’ve come to grips with the fact of no heartbeat, and dashed what could have beens. I’m fine with the not understanding, not knowing why. Most days.
Then there are the days I come home to the mailings from Enfamil. On the day I came home from my 12-hour D&C, in my anesthesia stupor, I packed up all the baby and parenting magazines, all the free baby bottles and coupons, all the prenatal vitamin samples, and all the free pacifers that I had been so excited to receive in the mail and threw them all in the dumpster. I couldn’t bring myself to throw away my prayer journal for my baby, the pregnancy books I had ordered, or my ultrasound pictures, but I put those all in the box in the farthest corner of the basement. I just didn’t want to have to be reminded of what I had just lost. I didn’t really know how to deal with it all.
A few weeks later when the first Enfamil mailing came, I immediately ran to my email and wrote to them to unsubscribe me from whatever mailing I had inadvertently signed up for. (I still don’t know when I gave Enfamil my mailing address or email). When the first cans of baby formula showed up a few weeks later I angrily called their customer service number and asked them to remove me from their mailing list. The evil thing about this damn baby formula is that it comes at intervals. So just when I manage to forget, and move on, another set of mailings come.
The ones in the picture below arrived last Friday– almost 8 months to the day of my miscarriage. Two of them— really?! I need two reminders from you people that my baby isn’t reaching any new milestones or learning to do anything? If the fact that I’m a public health professional was not enough to make me loathe baby formula in the first place, you guys are doing yourselves no favors. What do I need to do to get you to stop tormenting me?
Luckily, I’m okay. Seriously. I can coo at the baby in these mailings and keep the cans of formula for a crisis pregnancy center that my church supports… but what if I wasn’t okay? What if these stupid mailings from an overzealous company were really the thing keeping me from being able to close this chapter and move on with my life? Thankfully I don’t need to know the answer to those questions. I just wonder now when they’ll eventually stop trying to sell me on formula for a baby that was never born.