I had my HCG tested last week–I guess nearly two weeks ago now, and it was at 10. I spotted for nearly a week, and I have finally started my first post-miscarriage period, so I’m guessing my levels finally finished falling last week. It’s awful, but it also means I’m recovering, and I’m another month closer to trying again. It’s a strange place to be. On one hand, I’m glad to be moving along; on the other, having a period at all is just a reminder that I’m not pregnant and won’t be for awhile. There is no making this easy.
Mostly I am staying busy right now. It’s the end of a school semester, so I have stacks of grading and students in crisis to soothe. As tasks begin to wind down, though, I’m finding the grief creeping in more and more–pain for both my lack of pregnancy and, naturally, for my boy. I know the summer and the moments of free time are initially going to be hard, that a lot more pain that I’ve been pushing away is going to come crashing down on me, but I also know that having the time to care for myself is going to mean greater chances of pregnancy sooner. I have to cling to that and to the idea that time for self care will ultimately save me.