There's a hashtag that pops up when you search the one I've been using, #iamoneinfour, which is #miscarriagesurvivor. I immediately blew this off as bull shit, because why the fuck wouldn't you survive a miscarriage? Unless you were hemorrhaging or something.
And then my miscarriage progressed and I realized this shit can fucking kill you. What else in life will destroy you so completely both emotionally and physically? There's an underlying urge to go and be with your baby.
So let's talk about what kept me from the edge.
I sat in the same spot for three days and watched TV.
I mean, technically, I was recovering. My doc gave me options and I picked the DIY medical abortion, which if you're really curious about, I'll be writing about my experience. I've had surgery before (laparoscopic abdominal exploratory) and I knew I didn't want a D&C. Keep your fingers crossed that I'm all cleared - which I'll know later today.
I watched a lot of NCIS, Law & Order SVU, Big Bang, a new show called Famous in Love, and this one episode of Tanked where they built a fish tank that held DJ equipment. I feel like I was mostly in a fugue state. Day two, I finally showered. Day three, I actually showered and put on a bra.
There's a horse that I've been secretly in love with for about a year. I was walking through his pasture one day and he was escorting me and it dawned on me that this horse was super fucking tall. I can't see over his withers. I can see over Archie's. This caused my little crush to explode and I texted my BM.
His name is Whiskey. Whiskey's mom isn't really an equestrian. She's a rescuer. The story goes that she took him from someone else who was going to euthanize him. In the year he's been there, we've collectively seen her three times. So I had my BM ask if I could start working him.
He's somewhere between 10-15, going by his Galvayne's Groove and the hook, and the biggest Appaloosa I've ever seen. I figured that this guy had to be intentionally sporthorse bred, because he's enormous and has feathers.
But Whiskey doesn't appear to know a goddamn thing. Riding him is like riding a cat. His head is in a different dimension from his body and he ballet dances with his legs. I feel like maybe he's fucking with me, but he doesn't have the muscle tone for me to really push him. So far, we've done four 10-15 minute walks. I love him.. I still maintain dreams of becoming his owner, even if he's old as shit. As Denny says, you can ride a horse young or you can ride a horse old, but you can't do both. Given the pure lack of knowledge on this guy, I think I can ride him old. And I want to..
I bought All The Things.
Archie got a new halter. It's black and padded with turquoise and chrome. So, of course, he needed a matching lead rope with chrome. And speaking of chrome, I needed some new earrings. Like three very similar pairs of silver earrings. And I needed new clothes because pregnancy and post-pregnancy have made me fatter. And I bought Hillary's Equisense, which I'm super fucking excited about, because I'm tired of using multiple apps to track my rides and I didn't want to download a third to track Whiskey. Speaking of Whiskey, the kid needed grooming supplies, so I bought the bare essentials (curry, dandy, hoof pick). Oh, and my bareback pad needs a cinch. Might as well toss in a Riding Warehouse t-shirt. And then I saw a thing to hold plants because, I dunno, every year I have a garden and wrist-deep in warm soil feels good.
L shipped a bottle of magical rum to D and me. I hate to say this, because I ardently believe it solves very little, but alcohol is a solution. Have the super-sads and can't stop crying? Just nurse a drink for a little while and focus on breathing while the drink takes the edge off. My drink of choice is a diet Coke and rum, so I'm definitely appreciating L's gift. Tasty, thoughtful, and helpful. <3
Friends & Fam
People have come out of everywhere, literally everywhere, to show support and compassion and empathy. People I never knew had miscarriages have talked with me about their experiences. A fellow boarder with three gorgeous boys stayed late one day and cried with me about her first pregnancy and subsequent miscarriage and how, ten years later, it's still a gaping wound of loss. Bloggers have reached out, old and current coworkers have sent messages, and my friends send random how-are-you texts. A tech at my vet's came into our exam room to offer her condolences. I was too excited to keep it all to myself, I told everyone, and I knew that there was a possibility that this could end poorly. At the time, I said that I wanted to share my joy and I would want help with the burden of grief. I've gotten so much help.
Scheduled for Sunday.