Siren Song of Heroin

Every now and then it seems like there are reoccurring themes at work. Like one week everyone has bowel obstructions. Or I'll do like 5 bladder irrigations (you don't want to know what that entails, men!) in a given week and then not again for a year. Recently I feel like my reoccurring theme has been young heroin users.

A girl in her early 20s with extensive skin abscesses who is barely conscious, but whose driver's license picture tells me used to be very pretty.  The young woman we have to sedate to cut pus and tar out of her thighs - the aftermath of desperation to get high after all your veins have been shot. And the young man who would've died had the paramedics arrived too much later with the narc blocker. His mom weeping and saying he was so blue- but sounding all too high herself.

This addiction is the ultimate empty promise. By giving you momentary bouts of extreme pleasure it robs you of your ability to experience pleasure without it. It makes you feel free until you wake up a slave.  The ordinary enjoyments of life suddenly seem bland and flat, and the stressors completely unmanageable. You soar high into the sky and then find yourself battered and broken on the ground with ashes and burns where once you had wings.

Most people know that drugs are bad for you. The problem is we all have too much faith in ourselves. We are sure we can give up whatever destruction we hold before it has a chance to hurt us. We are strong enough, we can quit whenever we want. But too often we go to throw the dynamite and find its been glued to our hand.

A Lonely Loss

 

A third of pregnancies end in miscarriage.  There was a time when that was just a number, but then that statistic took painful form with the unexpected loss of my third pregnancy.  I feel compelled to write a little bit about the experience of miscarriage and ways to support women going through them, because I'm now aware of how many women around me have experienced this pain and I know how many people would like to love and support those women, but maybe don't know how, or maybe don't realize the scope of their loss.  I'd like to help validate the spectrum of emotions a woman may experience, and give some helpful tips to those close to them.

Miscarriages are a difficult thing, because for the people around you the loss is rather abstract.  It's an idea or expectation that was lost, not a person.  There was nothing for anyone to see or hold or experience.  Except the mother.  A mom who miscarries doesn't lose a pregnancy, she loses a child.  And though it's true that the experience of that loss is not as profound or devastating as it is when she has been able to see and hold that child, that is still what it is.  The mom alone felt and nourished and experienced the beginnings of this little life and it will forever be a part of her.  When a woman loses a child, no matter the stage, a part of her dies too. We can't help it. Our children are literally a part of us, grown and nourished in our very bodies, and most of us love them fiercely from those very beginnings.  I don't consider myself a mother of two with one failed pregnancy. I consider myself a mother of three, with one I will never meet.  So this can make miscarriage a sort of lonely grief, because people can't share it in the same way. And it's common and easy to minimize. And because it's abstract to others the world gets over it pretty fast. Are you still sad about that? Wasn't that like two weeks ago?  In a world that trivializes and easily discards early life, it can feel like you aren't allowed to be too sad.


If you've had a miscarriage I want you to know it's ok to mourn. You didn't lose the stripe on a pee stick, you lost your baby.  And don't be surprised if it follows you for a while. One mom told me it took her 6 months to recover emotionally. One told me she went to grief counseling. For me it sneaks up on me sporadically.  I've had mood swings that surprise me where I'm irritable and agitated for no apparent reason. The bag of maternity clothes borrowed from a friend sat untouched in the back of my car for over a month like a taunt. I didn't want to give them back, because I do hope for another baby. But for some reason I just couldn't bring them in the house. Browsing facebook one night I scrolled past a picture of a pregnant friend. We both have kids the same ages and genders and would have had pretty mirror pregnancies.  Without warning I felt a jolt of pain, starting in my stomach and spreading through my chest.  It hurt.  I revealed my pregnancy to my husband and family on Christmas morning.  I gave my husband a box with a picture window that held a Bible verse about how children are like arrows in the hand of a warrior and those with many are blessed. Inside was my positive pregnancy test (in a bag) that said 'arrow number 3'.  There were hugs and smiles. Now that box sits in my bedside table drawer, full of condolence cards.

If you've had a miscarriage, I feel it's helpful to commemorate.  I wrote a letter to my child, recalling how I felt when I found out I was pregnant. How I smiled and held my stomach as I fell asleep that night. I recalled how excited her siblings were to meet her, and how her oldest sister talked about it every day, and how she cried when she found out she stopped growing. Me and my husband plan to plant a tree in our backyard. A dogwood with pink flowers. Pink because I always felt it was a girl. 

I learned after my miscarriage that although I did receive so much support, that often times people just don't know how to respond or how to be helpful. That people are afraid of being awkward or offering unwanted words or gestures. So here are some insider tips, for when you find yourself a friend or loved one of a miscarrying woman.  It is never a bad idea to send a card. Text messages expressing love and support initially and then occasionally during that first month are very helpful. Offering to bring meals - sometimes a miscarriage takes weeks and can be pretty painful, and during that time I know I found myself emotionally drained and very low on energy. Planning and preparing meals seemed exhausting. I was blessed to have my mom in town to do it for me (thanks again mommy!!) but many women don't. Offers to watch older siblings. A sweet friend of mine sent me a necklace so I could have something tangible to connect to a somewhat intangible loss.  An acknowledging hug, devoid of words, is actually quite powerful.  Late is better than never.  If time gets away from you and you haven't sent a word of support, do it anyways. As my mom said, emotional vulnerability is fertile soil for offense.  It's hard not to feel hurt when you suffer a loss that goes unacknowledged.  Offers for help may be turned down and phone calls may never be returned, but I can assure you that they mean a lot and go a long way for a sad woman.  You may be unsure or feel awkward, but I assure you making an effort to show you care in whatever way that may be is the best salve for a wounded heart. And silence is easily misinterpreted. It's easier to endure a lonely loss in the community of caring friends.