Today is a regular day, a regular Sunday, it’s a day in August. But it’s also the due date we were given in January.
This day was forgotten right when we found out that our baby had no heartbeat. In my mind I thought “what had been is no longer, lets move on”.
Normally a miscarriage means that it didn’t work out this time, the body wasn’t ready but you can try again and maybe you succeed.
I was ok, sad of course that we weren’t gonna have a baby with a due date of August 11, sad that I wasn’t finally gonna be able to use the baby girl name that I picked out and have loved since I was 13 (I’ve had a boy name as well but once we got pregnant I didn’t feel that it fit us), sad that my husband had lost a baby and had to see his wife go in for surgery, but I was ok with it. Miscarriages happens all the time.
But as you know, My miscarriage didn’t mean”move on and try again”. For me it meant months of tests and worries if instead of a baby I had got cancer.
The loss of our baby girl was hard but ok to deal with, chemo, surgery, a needle in my arm on weekly basis has all been fine. Even knowing that my body might develop cancer has been somewhat ok cause I’ve heard that in almost all cases that kind of cancer would be treatable. But the freaking waiting is killing me. Waiting for my test result every single week, waiting for doctors to tell me if I need more chemo or not, waiting for that 0 and then knowing that once it’s at 0 I have another 12 months of waiting before they can tell me that I’m done. Waiting for this, waiting for that, it’s the WORST! And I can’t do anything about it really, just keep on waiting and hoping that the body I’ve been given will heal…eventually.
August 11 meant nothing to me after January, but today when I woke up I remembered and it hit me like a big punch in my face.
But, today is just another day, it’s another Sunday, it’s a day in August.
