Midnight... The last day of waiting

Midnight.. Here i sit. Unable to sleep.. Numb all over.

I have taken the long bath. Lots of special bath bomb from my favorite goat milk soap place. I sat there, stewing in hot french vanilla water, trying to read a book "Your roots are showing" while my Christmas present candle burns next to me. I ate chocolate, truffles, yet somehow... Did not seem to ease my mind.

I put new sheets on the bed, and put on the new quilt I was given at Christmas. Nothing eases me more than a nice orderly bed. But somehow it was not enough..

My heart aches. I will never know why my journey is the path that it is.. I will never know why I have been chosen to suffer, suffer the loss of children. Suffer physical pain, suffer through fear. A fear so strong, I shake.

My mind reels with emotions, thoughts, blurring together as I sit here, hours away from voluntarily having my body made unconscious. Walking to yet another cold metal table. Putting my vulnerable self bare to the world of medicine with their needles, IV catheters, dialaters, curettes... It seems like some horror show as the items flash before me. Cold medical pictures from textbooks.. Items made of cold hard steel, with horrific intentions, poke, scrape, tear, force.

All to force my body to relinquish it's hold on a life that just will never be. No amount of hope, no amount of prayer will change this path. And no amount of faith in my body will change the fact that my body has let me down again. Again I have created a broken life. Again my broken body will not do what it must. I must endure a forced removal of what my body cannot accomplish on it's own.

My husband told me something really sweet today, as I am in the middle of a downward spiral. He told me no matter how "broken" my body may seem to be, that I have one really good part. A heart and soul that out shines any other part of me. And that he loves that part, and that part is what is me. Not the broken bits.

I wish I could love that part and forgive the rest of me....But I can't. I can't accept the broken bits that force the rest of me, my mind, my soul to live a tormented existence. Haunted by the lives I could have nurtured. Haunted by the angel wings on babies that I have never held, although I have given my heart to.

I try to find the good in life. To say what I have somehow scraped out, a wonderful daughter who is my reason to exist. Somehow that one life has to make up for all the holes in my soul. Tonight as she lay sick in my bed, all I could do was stare at her. Her perfect eyebrows, her little nose.. And I cry because I have failed her. She may never have a baby brother or sister. She may have to play alone her entire life. No sisters or brothers to share birthdays, Christmas, or life's joys and sorrows with. I feel like I am dooming her to a sad existence without companionship. I never wanted an only...

I am scared shitless of tomorrow. Be it irrational, but I am. I will be giving myself up to these strangers to care for me, when I do not trust. Because trust is earned, and I have yet to have a medical professional I completely trust. But somehow I must surrender, I must close my eyes, dream of a happy place, and let my body be assaulted.

In the book "A women in residence" she calls the end of a D&C "the cry of the uterus" it is a feel, a texture of the muscle wall when all the interior lining has been scraped and suctioned away. My uterus will cry, as it is yet again damaged, damaged in the pretext of doing good.

I worry about the future consequences this will have, yet I am at a moment in life when I worry I will have no future use of my uterus. A barren dead zone. I worry if I will ever be able to do this again. To try again... How much must I endure? How much suffering must I go through? How much physical pain and bleeding before life will be better? Maybe six losses is not enough, maybe I am doomed to loose more, never have another.

I cannot sleep.. Yet I am exhausted. drained to the core of my being. I have been fighting for weeks now. Trying to keep going, to somehow push my loss, my mourning, my pain to the back, in hopes of a good outcome, my body resolving this on its own. Yet now, after 30 days of waiting, I can no longer keep up these appearances. I am crying. I am broken. I cannot go on carrying a death of a dream within me. Without any idea when my life will ever be able to start to heal.

Today I cried to Joanne Shenandoah's "Grandmother moon". I also find comfort in the words, which escape me at the moment, but are about the light of the Grandmother moon finding, holding, and guiding me. And that is what I want I want to fall into the arms of the Grandmother, I do not want to carry these burdens anymore. I do not want to carry these star children with me, tearing me down. But I cannot find the path.. I do not know how to let go of something that has been there for so long. I do not know how to let go of my dreams, desires. It seems that my dreams and desires are attached to my pain and losses. How can I cut that tie? How can I free myself from pain?

My mind spins as my body shakes. I do not want tomorrow to come, yet I need tomorrow. I need to move on, and this is the only path forward. It is hell to look down the path in front of you, one full of fear, pain, out of control, and force yourself to walk it. To tread through lands of darkness, some days so dense that even breathing seems to be impossible. Why? Because I know that i must walk this path, that somehow on the other side, life will continue. I wish I could write that on the other side is some sort of great reward, when my suffering will be replaced by joy, and that all my dreams will come true, but I am a realist. And quite honestly I do not know what the other side of this path holds for me, may be more pain and suffering as the path's I have taken previously brought me to. But I must walk it.

I must keep going. I must walk this path...

Why?

Because I refuse to give in. Because I have been beaten down, but I still smile at the sun. I still love the moonbeams on my bed at night. I still love the sounds of birds in the spring. Because somehow I love this F=ed up life! Because I can not forgive my broken body, but slowly accept that it is not that bad.. Because I DO have one blessing that was given to me. And I need to be here for her. No matter what my life brings to me, I have a responsibility to her. To teach her all I have learned in life, to hope and pray that her life will be a kinder, gentle life. To do all I can to give that to her.

Well, half a box of kleenex later, and past my NPO cutoff, I somehow have to will my body to sleep... Because tomorrows journey will be long and hard, but tomorrow's night I will rest.