Not by a long shot.
I had somewhat of an infertility meltdown. And by somewhat I mean a meltdown of epic, titanic proportions. I'm not sure I've freaked that bad since my surgery, so I guess it was a long time coming.
The husband was at work and then went to baseball last night, while I was home planning on having a nice relaxing evening and dabbling a bit on some promo material for work. Ha! No such luck.
As I was sitting at my computer about 20 minutes after walking in the door my mind began to wander. It was all over the place, but finally decided to focus on why I had an ectopic pregnancy. Had I done something wrong? Did I deserve for it to happen?
I've been dealing pretty well with the entire situation I think, but occasionally it hits me all over again and I can't help but feel at fault. It seems the part that I can't seem to get over is the part after I had the medication to terminate the ectopic.
Although I was assured that the medication was doing its job, that was in fact not the case. The baby was actually growing. When I had the injections in the first place I kept telling Chris that I was a horrible person for killing our baby. He kept assuring me that there was no other option, anything else would have killed me. That did little to make me feel better.
But in the aftermath of the burst tube and my life being threatened I rarely think about that. My concern was (and still is) not for me and what happened to my body, but for the baby. I kept asking myself what kind of person doesn't know they have a growing baby inside of them? And that the baby had grown to three months old in a tiny tube because my idiotic body couldn't move them to where they could grow properly. My stupid body was responsible for the death of my child.
When the husband finally got home last night I had managed to pull myself together somewhat, but he knew something was wrong. We laid down in bed to talk about our days and all of a sudden the dams broke again and I was racked with more sobs. It was that gasping, choked cry where words are hard to understand. Poor husband. He could do nothing to console me, so instead just held me and kept whispering that of course it wasn't my fault, and that I was not being punished for something I had done wrong.
Finally I crawled into bed at midnight, only to have a fitful 3 hours of sleep before resigning myself to the fact that rest just wasn't in the cards. Instead I got up, sat at the computer and worked for a couple hours, before throwing in the towel completely and getting ready for work.
The best part about shitty nights like this though? Even though my eyes were puffy and I was quite sullen and cranky all morning, my little team rallied around me to try and make me feel better.
The husband sent me messages and called to make sure I was okay.
Krista was in my office within about 3 minutes after I got in this morning, knowing something was not right.
Zig poked his head shyly in my door several minutes later and asked if I was okay. I smiled and told him I was fine, but he knew better and did his best to cheer me up.
Then James (the other designer) got in a while later, walked in my office, took one look at me and said "uh oh, what's wrong?" He's not much for affection, but he always manages to squeeze in an awkward hug to let you know he's there for you.
I love having so few people in my department at work, the girls are just girls - they know without a word that something is wrong. And the guys - well they are amazing all on their own, though they might not know just what to say, they will speak in a much softer tone and be very careful with you the entire day.
So, a major meltdown, but surrounded by people I love. I feel much lighter about the whole thing - hope I'm good now for another 7 months.