Caution; verbal diarrhea ahead.
Ugh. Bleh. Humph.
My training for Syracuse Half is a big thumbs down right now. Number of long runs accomplished- one. Only one long run in four weeks.
I got sick. AGAIN. I NEVER get sick, yet I’ve basically spent the last month and half snotting, coughing, and blowing green crud out of my head and chest. Body, get your shit together.
Upper respiratory infection, miscarriage, food poisoning, and now a sinus infection that has morphed into a nasty cough.
Oh, did you catch that ‘M’ word up there? That emotional head space thing I’ve been struggling with? Yeah, that’s that.
I found out I was pregnant around New Years. Shocked basically described it for both Rob and I. We want another baby, we want more kids, but this one surprised us both a bit. And then the shock wore off, the nausea and sore boobs kicked in, and I figured I’d settle in for another long haul nine months.
Then after a couple of weeks the nausea abated, my ability to breath returned, and my boobs no longer hurt constantly. I tried not to read into it. I’d only been pregnant once before and aside from a few scares and a high risk label, it went fine. There was no reason I should be worried about this one.
Then, with an hour left in my teaching day, Friday before MLK weekend, I felt a gush. The bell rang, so I sent off my middle schoolers then darted to the bathroom. Blood. I tried not to panic as I muscled through my last hour, my duty block. But by the time I left school I knew it was over.
I called my OB when I got home and they told me their protocol was for me to go to the associated ER of their hospital. I called back twice trying to argue why I didn’t need to go. They kept telling me I needed to. I decided not to Friday night. But then I spent all night awake, pacing the house, googling the differences between a miscarriage and subchorionic hematoma and ultimately caved on Saturday morning. We dropped Ellie off with my mother in law and headed over to the ER.
There, an old man with a hearing aid was assigned to be my doctor. He made me repeat myself over and over, louder and louder with every question, which was difficult when I struggling so hard to even say any words, needless to say what he needed to hear. He gave me the worlds most uncomfortable pelvic exam, complete with demanding “I thought you said you had a child?” when I eyeballing my cervix (I told you three times I had a damn c-section) and exclaiming that I was indeed pregnant when feeling my uterus despite telling me my bloodwork leaves me in the gray area of may be pregnant, may be not.
The ultrasound showed nothing. Just nothing. And then, the doctor spoke to me once more, asking if I understood. Yup, got it. Then he just walked out of the room. Do we wait? Can we go? What’s happening? Cue panic attack. I couldn’t be there anymore, I needed to leave. NOW. I yanked my pants back on, found the nearest person in scrubs, and told them I needed to go and to find someone to discharge me, now.
I spent the next three days curled up on my couch, riding out the miscarriage and dealing with an on and off fever. I even bailed on work on Tuesday, the first day back after the long weekend. Physically, I could have managed, but emotionally I just needed another day to myself.
My entire menstrual cycle following my loss was emotionally exhausting for me. I was dialed in on everything my body was doing even though I wanted to stay detached. I was anxiety riddled, waiting to see how my body would react while my doctors tracked my HCG down to zero and said we could try again whenever we felt ready.
My first post loss cycle has come and gone and I’m finally feeling more at ease now. Still sad, still feeling betrayed by my body, still emotional some days, but better.
And finally, for the first time since early January, my body is feeling better overall. It’s kind of too little too late for the Syracuse Half. I’ll likely still show up on race day and muscle through, but I will go into it with no expectations other then to trust in my body to do what it knows and carry me through to the finish, regardless of pace or time.
I’m not sure where I plan to go from here in terms of training other then getting out to run 3-4 times a week and trying to get as much mileage as I can in those runs. As for my race, whatever will be will be and I will be grateful for whatever the outcome of it is. I’m just going to put my faith in my body and my mind and let a nice, long run rejuvenate me.