coming into color

i don’t feel like i have much to say these days.  mostly i draw.  unlike a few weeks ago, i don’t feel angry or crushed, just resigned, and i find myself putting one foot in front of the other without thinking too much about where i’m going.

we spent the week following the sad ultrasound mostly glued to the couch, waiting for something scary and painful to happen, and when, after nine tense days, it didn’t, i warily started taking the miscarriage-inducing pills on the date the my doctor’s replacement told me to.  all the anecdotes i’d read online painted the drug as an instrument of torture. there were stories of hemorrhaging and of hours upon hours of unbearable cramps that came with chills, diarrhea and vomiting. you were not supposed to take them if you were alone.  Froggy was on edge and constantly asking me if i felt okay.  i’m pretty sure she expected me to turn into a writhing fountain of blood at any moment.  nothing happened, though.  not one single thing. it was terribly anti-climactic and also frightening, as we both thought a d&c was the next step.  we went down the rabbit hole of imagining all the things that could continue to go wrong.  it was not a good time for either of us. after the second day of no cramps or bleeding or really anything at all, Froggy called the gynecologist’s office.

that afternoon, we once again went in for a tense ultrasound, and because my gynecologist had just returned from vacation, her waiting room was packed to capacity.  when a young mother came in carrying her baby and sat down directly across from us, Froggy and i both sighed and dropped our eyes to the floor.  hearing the little coos and cries and occasionally catching a glance of the mother comforting and talking to her child made the forty-five minute wait feel interminable. several times i dropped my head and examined my mobile phone closely while surreptitiously sliding my sleeve across my eyes.  a pregnant woman joined our group, and i decided it was time to pare down all the photos stored on my phone. finally, we were called into the gynecologist’s office, and for the gazillionth time, i watched an image of my uterus appear on an ultrasound screen.  i was expecting to see that lost little bean still lost inside of me, but instead i was met with the same view that i have every time i go for a follicle scan.  the gynecologist announced that i’d had a complete miscarriage and that my body was moving towards a new cycle.  when i exclaimed that that was good news, she gave me a strange look and said that, yes, it was good news given the situation.  we told her how relieved we were not to need a d&c, and then Froggy asked when we could start trying again.  it looks like i can begin the injections again once my new cycle starts. more good news…i suppose.

so we are slowly climbing out of the dark hole we’ve been in and from there back onto that unpredictable horse.  i wouldn’t say that i’m hopeful, but at least i’m still moving my feet.

towards the end of the interminable (yet pointless) wait, a package arrived for us early one morning.  inside i found bursts of color and little sun’s name and incredible artistry in the form of a quilt.  quite a few of my virtual friends had gotten together and created the most beautiful memorial for little sun.  when Froggy saw it, she cried and asked if it was really for us.  even now i can’t believe that all these women (whom i’ve never met in person and who never knew our little sun) took the time to express their sadness and love.  there are squares from several different people and many others contributed fabric and paid for shipping. one friend embroidered little sun’s name and birth date on a square. my friend O (who is herself the rainbow that came after her one-year-old brother died) did several of the squares herself, and she was the maestro who put everything together….all of that despite being extremely ill.

getting the quilt healed something in me.  in all those squares i saw such compassion and such love, an overwhelming kindness that warmed those chambers in my heart which had gone chilly after little sun died and the people i love began to melt away.  how can i remain constantly hurt and angry when there are souls in the world who would do this for a grieving stranger?

and how can i give up when Froggy takes such gentle, loving care of me…when people like Pen and Spindle call me every day for a week to talk and to listen…when other virtual friends email frequently and send cards to say they are thinking about me…when Froggy’s best friend shows up with food and laughter….when a friend offers to become a pen pal so that i once again have the joy of real letters….when so many people do stay in touch and show that they care.

and so, i go on and life goes on.  my steps feel heavy and there’s little light, but even in these days of Autumn gray,  i can still see the color.

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5 thoughts on “coming into color

  1. Sam

    Je remercie aussi les femmes qui ont fabriqué ce MERVEILLEUX patchwork, car le bonheur que je ressens en lisant le bien qu’il t’a fait, les couleurs que tu vois, l’espoir qu’il te donne, est énorme!

    Reply
  2. Isa

    Life goes on. What a beautiful quilt! And how wonderful to be able to wrap yourself in it and know your friends are thinking of you. I’m glad you didn’t need the D&C. Sending good thoughts across the ocean to you and Froggy!

    Reply
  3. Pingback: helping | following my sun

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