I returned to work on Monday. I wasn't too thrilled about it, but knew it had to be done. Monday was a pretty hard day overall, but I must say that my colleagues were amazing. Most people gave me space, but still managed to let me know they were glad I was back. As I suspected, the toughest moment was when I saw my clinical supervisor. He is the kindest man. He gave me a hug and I sobbed. He just knew how hard we worked for this pregnancy and how devastating this is for me. Another colleague who I had just told I was pregnant a few days before the m/c, came by my office and looked at me in askance. She gave me a hug when I told her, which is always a bit surprising when someone's role in your life has been 'colleague'. Her care was so genuine, though, and I welcomed it. At lunch time, she came by my office and asked if I wanted to go for a walk in the park. I appreciated the gesture so much.
People at work are incredible all around. Staff on the my residential unit expressed concern about my health and all said they were happy I was back. None of them pried to know what had happened. My manager continues to be incredibly supportive. I talked to her on Tuesday afternoon, and she reminded me that my job was to take care of myself right now, and that her job was to support me in doing that. This whole situation would be made so much more stressful if my boss was a jerk. Instead, I have one of the most supportive person advocating for me.
I am "working" from home today. I've put the word working in brackets because it's nearing 1 pm and I haven't actually worked. I got back to work tomorrow for 2 days and then will be home for the weekend. I'll work again on Monday, and then it's convocation on Tuesday. Again, I am glad that my work week will be broken up. My first full 5-day week will be the week of June 20. I am thankful for the gradual return to work.
Mr. A and I are planning a tree planting ceremony to say goodbye to our owlet. Friends of ours gave us a hazelnut seedling and we will burry other little mementos with it as we plant it. We're going to plant it where Mr. A proposed to me. He farms land owned by Jesuits in North Pleasantville. Back in 2009, he planted oat seeds in one of his fields to form the letters "Will you marry me?"4-5 weeks later, he took me on a walk around his fields and asked me to look at what was growing there. It was a great proposal and the start of a great adventure together. The spot is at the back of the property. We will plant the hazelnut at the edge of the forest and hope that unlike owlet, it grows up to be tall. We're planning to do that on the weekend.
Otherwise, I am one bitter and angry woman. Hopefully, this state is temporary, but I am struggling with those ugly feelings right now. It's hard to tolerate those feelings in myself, but I am reminding myself frequently that those feelings are normal. Bitter and angry is not who I want to be. It is not where I want to spend my precious energy. But I know that trying to "control" my feelings is a moot exercise. They are what they are. All I have to do is just acknowledge them and let them be, and take care of myself in the midst of these strong feelings. On my long drive home last night, I was listening to a story on the CBC (radio station comparable to NPR for my American readers). There is this big awful story that's been in the news for a few years now about a disgraced pediatric pathologist who got dozens of people locked up for killing their children. He testified against all these poor parents, saying that their child had died of suffocation or being shaken, when in fact, most children had not died at the hands of their parents. This poor mom got her murder conviction dropped yesterday after spending 14 years in jail for the murder of her son. He died of an epileptic seizure, but this doctor said she had suffocated him and she got put away. Her other children were removed from her care and adopted into other families. I was listening to this mom talking to reporters and wondered how the injustice of it all was not crushing her completely. Her entire life was destroyed by a quack. The way she spoke though, I could tell that rage over the injustice was not consuming her. She sounded grateful that the murder charge had been dropped and looked forward to living her life out of jail, hoping that her other children would some day want to make contact with her.
It made me look at myself and my own feelings of rage over the injustice. I guess I can stay stuck in decrying the fact that it's not fair that nothing I've done so far has permitted me to have a child, or I can acknowledge that and find out what's going to help me have a child. Because I was driving when I was thinking of this, I came up with a driving metaphor. The injustice is like cars in the oncoming traffic having their high beams on. You can't look at them directly or you'll be blinded and won't see well enough to drive straight. You have to focus on something else ahead of you and let their blinding light fall into your peripheral vision, where the rods in your cornea can absorb it (they're all about contrast), while you save your cones (responsible for visual acuity) for the important work. I need to keep my anger over the injustice of what's happening fall to my peripheral vision, because I need to look out for more important things. Like, what our next steps will be. Like finding a job for when my contract ends.
Ok, that was a cheesy metaphor, but thanks for bearing with me.
Thanks for your very kind comments on my last post. I get so much from your care and kindness.