I broke down for the first time since the surgery tonight. I had been surprisingly at peace with what had happened, which I can only attribute to God. But my faith isn’t any more perfect than I am, and tonight, instead of peace, I feel in pieces.
I was scrolling through Instagram while sitting on the toilet waiting for Max to bring me toilet paper and a pad, and I saw that yet another person is pregnant with baby #2, likely due around the same time that I should have been due with the first baby that we lost.
I’m happy that they’re having a healthy little one. I am. But I’m so angry that I’m not. Instead of being pregnant, I’m bleeding as my body clears out everything that was there to grow the baby that should have been. Again. And I’m back at square one of trying to get pregnant. Again. Except really I’m not at square one, I’m behind. I can’t even start trying until I’ve healed from surgery. And even once I can start trying, I’m at a disadvantage now that I only have one tube.
So I’m angry.
I’m angry at God for allowing this to happen.
I’m angry at my body for failing me.
I’m angry at myself for not taking better care of my body.
I’m angry at all the people who seem to have no problem staying pregnant.
I’m really angry at my body. I hate this body.