Farewell my little one

My dear little one,

It had been two weeks since you were gone and to be honest, up until now, I still don’t know exactly what to answer when someone asks me “How are you?”.To have something changed drastically so fast, so soon was something no one expected. One day I was happy because I thought I was getting my period after one month miss, and the next I felt so crushed when it turned out to be a miscarriage. Awal Muharram suddenly took a whole new meaning for me...

My dear little one,

I was shocked and angry at your father when he uttered “tu lah, Haida tak nak baby, baby pun tak nak la (hidup)…” right after I cried out for him to help decide what to do with this big blop thingy that suspiciously resembled a fetus sac in the toilet bowl. I was angry at myself for not making sure whether I was pregnant or not right after I missed my period. I was angry that I ignored the movement I felt in the tummy during the long 110 meter sliding experience in Kodomo no Kuni when you must had been 8 weeks old. I was in denial of my pregnancy because despite the missed period, there were no other signs and symptoms – no nausea, no vomiting, no heightened sense of smell, no nothing. I should have known that something was wrong then, but I didn’t pay much attention to it. I never thought it was going to cost me a heartbreak.

My dear little one,

It hurts so much to lose you. I never thought how one miscarriage that others often see as a minor incident in life could hurt this deeply, but now I know from experience. It hurts even when this is not my first pregnancy, even when we are not exactly trying for a child right now. I can’t imagine how it must had been for first time mothers or those who had to undergo several miscarriages. For me, it was not that terrible physically – a bad cramp on Tuesday night, a mild tummy ache on Wednesday night followed quickly by the release of that greyish blop, with lots and lots of blood clots. But when I went for a check-up, and the doctor showed me an ultra sound scan image of a 10 week old fetus, I felt so sad. Instead of looking at the blinking heartbeat on the ultra sound scan monitor, I had to look instead at the remainder of your short presence in me on the monitor. The little placenta tissue left in the uterus. I felt as empty as my uterus. I felt hollow – physically and emotionally.

The night I had my miscarriage, I kept tossing in the futon, unable to go to sleep. I was so afraid of so many things. I was afraid that you had been a girl and I would never get a girl again due to my carelessness in taking care of you. I was afraid that you were gone because I expressly told others that I am not ready for another child right now, what with your brother Akif being so young and my thesis yet to be finished, and 1001 adjustments that need to be made when we go back to Malaysia. Was it because I took a long walk? Was it because I drank parsley tea and ate pineapple to induce menstruation when I thought I was late a month ago? Was it because I had been carrying your brothers more often? Was it because I am not eating right? Was it because I am not taking enough vitamin and supplementary food? Was there something wrong with my genes?

I was afraid that your father won’t forgive me for not making sure of my pregnancy and to take better care of myself. I am still scared now – of so many things and of so many possibilities. I am scared if the next period will bring back memories of seeing the blop and gory. I am scared that I might not be able to get pregnant again. But I am also scared to get pregnant again now I have been through a miscarriage. It is so confusing, I feel so bewildered and for a while I lost ability to express my thoughts clearly. Your father thought that I was killing time by playing those word games, that I should have spend more time on my thesis rather than playing Text Twist or Bookworm Adventure or Scrabble Rack Attack or Scrabble Blast (yes, I am a word games junkie). He didn’t know that for a while I have just lost my ability to think straight or even to think at all. On the outside I looked okay – but the depth of the sadness, the grief inside – was just too difficult to explain.

My dear little one,

Your father is grieving differently than me. He was the one who buried that blop the size of two adult fingers I could not flush down the toilet that night. He was the one who had been passionately praying daily for the safety of both the mother and the baby he highly suspected I was carrying. It had been difficult for him too, he had been crushed as well, but in different ways. Perhaps it’s difficult for him seeing me so depressed that prompted him to instruct me to snap out of it by reminding me that a lot many other women went through this and they were fine. He was right. Ayah's mother, your own Nenek had experienced giving birth to stillborns not once but twice. And miscarriage episodes are not new in my family too – your Tok Nyah went through it twice, so did your Tok Tam and Tok Jang. All three of them plus your Tok Su who, like me, experienced miscarriage at 10 weeks gestation, had went through the dreaded D&C. I must admit that it was a great relief to be able to consult not one but various sources among my own aunts when it happened to me. I was relieved too that I didn’t had to go through D&C even when my miscarriage was incomplete, instead just prescribed with Methergin for uterus contraction and to stop the bleeding.

My dear little one,

You will never be forgotten. Others have survived their grief and in time I will too, but I will never forget you. Your Tok Nyah told me that I should not be blaming myself. I had went through successful pregnancies with your brothers with pineapple eating and staining involved. I had walked longer when I was pregnant before than the walk I took the night before I lost you. Pregnancy loss can strike anyone and even doctors could not really tell why. Perhaps you were not a feasible fetus and hence you just discharged yourself from me. Sources on the internet claimed that about 15 – 25% of all pregnancies ended in miscarriage usually before 13^th week gestation. I am just one in every 4 or 5 pregnant women. It was sad that we have to say good bye before I even acknowledge your presence inside me. But as much as part of me died when I lost you, I have to live and keep being stronger for your brothers.

Your father has been lending me lots of strength lately. And in many ways that they may not know themselves, so have your two brothers. Your brother Ujai’s enthusiasts in singing ABCs, Ichi Ni San or Alif Ba Ta could always make me smile. Your brother Akif’s repeated attempts at standing on his own and walking by himself remind me to keep on trying to be positive in life. As much as I am aware that children are only gifts on Allah’s loan that He might take back anytime He wants, for the moment, they bring me joy, they make me smile, they make me laugh. And laughter and joy are quicker healers than tears and grief. I learn that celebrating bits of joy – like buying ice cream for others since I could not enjoy my number one comfort food during this ‘pantang’ period or joining your brothers making noise by the window as they excitedly enjoyed the falling snow – does not dishonor losing you. That tug you gave me once in Kodomo no Kuni was a sign that you too must had enjoyed the laughter and joy your brothers and parents shared then.

Farewell my little one.
I love you.
I will always do.