Surgery, Recovery and Day 1

My surgery itself appears to have gone well.  The doctor called it 'straightforward' and it took only about 16 minutes.  Amazing that it took olive almost 5 months to come to that point in it's little life, not to mention the difficult journey it takes for egg to meet sperm, etc., and only 16 minutes to end it.  The nursing staff was so kind to DH and I - he asked if we should send them an edible arrangement or something to thank them.  They made the most difficult day of our lives a little more tolerable (and comfortable in terms of drugs <for me, not DH>)  that's the most one can ask.  We got the impression most procedures they see are unwanted pregnancies, so I think that to see two people feeling such obvious grief and pain was a change for nursing staff.

DH's pain was palpable yesterday.  I saw in his eyes when he was saying good bye, and he told me multiple times that it isn't fair that I had to be the one to go through it.  How much it hurt him to see me in so much (emotional) pain and undergoing surgery.  For me, it was a full 100% onslaught of non-stop pain.  I thought I detached a bit the last week, but yesterday all I could think about was every ultrasound.  Of seeing his heart beat for the first time, seeing his little arms and legs flailing about on the tv screen.  DH laughing and smiling as he observed his son.  Oh, how the memories make my heart swell with pain, but at the same time leave me with the hope that we will one day be there again.

I left the hospital feeling more hopeful, and feeling a bit more of the closure that was so needed.  I didn't by any means feel peace, but part of me felt hopeful for the future, and that hopeful that maybe this Christmas we will receive the same present we did last year - a BFP.  Though we lost that pregnancy on 1/2/13 (and this one officially on 8/2/13); so I don't like the 2nd day of each month and I don't really like the year 2013.  So, maybe I'll have to temper my hope for 2014.

This morning I'm angry for something that will likely make me angry for a long time.  I'm mad that life continues to go on exactly as it did before; in the ultimate scope of the world, what happened to us and our physical pain, is just a blip on the radar.  The sun will continue to rise and set, rain will fall (oh, how I wish rain would fall), and life will just go on.  And with that our lives will go on.  Every single morning I'm reminded that our lives will go on.  As I've said before, that doesn't mean they will be any easier, or that they will be without pain or reminders, but the world truly will go on. And we have two options - we either slowly wade back into it, or we stand from the sidelines and we watch.  Right now, watching may feel right, and it may feel easier, but in the long run, it's not right,

Olive, we miss you so much.  You have left a hole in our hearts and our lives that will never, ever be filled.  We can continue to fill it with love and remorse, but it will never truly be filled.  I've never really believed in heaven, the logical side of my brain has a difficult time with such a concept, but I do hope that if there is one, that you have found it, and that you were welcomed in with open arms.  At this moment in time I cannot let myself believe that there isn't a heaven, or that there isn't more to life than what we see, because I cannot and will not believe that you are truly gone and that your tiny little life in my uterus was all in vain.  If I let myself believe that; then that's an entirely different battle that I end up losing, and right now I will let myself believe that my logical brain in wrong.  I've never wanted to be wrong before (well, other than when deep down I knew that there just wasn't something right during your development).

While I was in recovery, being forced to drink apple juice and eat a muffin, I requested to speak to the on-site clergy.  He was very kind, a Presbyterian minister who graduated from Princeton 2 years after DH and them went on to the seminary school.  I spoke to him alone, as DH is still firmly an atheist, and while I am more agnostic, I requested to speak to him because I wanted to know what he would tell someone in my position.  If he would tell me that this happened because God wanted my baby, or that my baby was too beautiful for this world.  Thankfully he didn't say either of these, and was able to engage in the type of theoretical, existential conversation I needed, and at the end of the day he conceded that he too had no answers.  He told me that he believes that rather than having a larger plan for everyone, God is with is constantly, walking beside us as we face this life.  As a scientist I think I'll eventually find a place for faith and logic to co-exist, but right now I feel like both have failed me.  In a Darwinian fashion I was told that in this case my DH & I's genes were not fit to reproduce, and that our little one was not the fittest.  For a geneticist, there is much pain in that.  My logical brain can rationalize and accept that, but it's not particularly comforting.

Today I face the challenge of moving, as just me.  It's the first day in nearly 5 months, that it's really just me.  That's a very uncomfortable truth.

I did learn that Tiffany has an olive branch line this year, so this morning we are going to pick up a few pieces.  Anything with his birthstone would be too painful because he never it made it to his birthday, but I know that these, more subtle pieces, will be a gentle reminder that I can touch or grab when I need to feel just a little closer to olive.  For that who do not know, olive branch means peace, and while we called him olive and not olive branch, I still like to think that the name is appropriate.