Elana Kirsh

Tag: bleeding

  • Musings on Blood, and How Being a Woman Is Just Freaking Weird Sometimes

    Musings on Blood, and How Being a Woman Is Just Freaking Weird Sometimes

    No one wants to admit it, but it’s true. This whole childrearing thing, it’s a veritable freak-show for the female body.

    I’m thinking about blood today, having just got my first period since terminating a pregnancy for medical reasons just over a month ago. Oh – I guess this is the bit where I warn you that I’m going to talk about blood coming out of vaginas in this post. Anyone who wants to pretend this doesn’t happen all the time, or thinks it shouldn’t be spoken about should probably opt out around now.

    So today, I’m filled with excitement and relief – seriously I think I might feel happier than when I last found out I was pregnant. How weird is that? It makes sense, of course – I’m relieved to know everything’s working, glad to stop wondering when it’s coming, excited to try again etc – but still, there’s something decidedly weird about it.

    And this isn’t the first time I’ve had this realization either. When I started bleeding during my miscarriage earlier last year (yeh, it’s been a fun few months), I felt exactly the same way. I’d been concerned that the pregnancy might be ectopic and really wanted to avoid surgery and/or medication, so knowing that my body was sorting it out made me really happy.

    As I celebrate today’s blood, I’ve been musing over this journey that ‘the fairer sex’ goes on with the red stuff.

    In Western society, we tend to receive our first periods with a sense of dread. We learn about the equipment needed to deal with this annoyance. We read Judy Blume’s Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret. We hide what’s going on from the boys and men in our lives. We feel awkward and broken and alone.

    A few years later once we start having sex, the arrival of our monthly blood comes with a sense of relief – we did it! We avoided getting pregnant and don’t need to admit to the adults that we’re having sex! And of course the awkwardness persists – we still hope swimming parties don’t fall on days when we’re bleeding. We master tampons. We avoid boyfriends during our time of the month so we don’t have to discuss our monthly disability. Or maybe we’re among the more liberated of women, and we do talk about periods – even to men. Maybe we like having sex during our periods, and we have to deal with weird looks and wives tales if we’re brave enough to talk about it.

    And then five or 10 or 20 years down the line we start thinking about kids, and again, the blood takes on a different meaning. We get more in touch with our bodies and (hopefully) come to appreciate a regular cycle. We get off birth control and notice differences in our physical selves. Perhaps we start to appreciate this blood for what it really is – a part of our complex and brilliant reproductive systems, rather than just a monthly nuisance.

    When we’re actively trying to get pregnant, the period takes triggers different emotions again. Now the blood signals failure, disappointment. It means we didn’t get pregnant, not this month. It means we’ll have to wait at least another month for that coveted positive pregnancy test.

    All going well, at some point we do indeed miss a period, yay! But the thought of blood is still there at the back of our minds, always. As we tick off those days and weeks of the first trimester, holding our breaths every time we wipe, just hoping not to see anything red.

    And meanwhile the blood is all just building up in there, providing a cozy home for little blastocysts and then embryos and then fetuses… until eventually we’ve got a baby in our arms, and week after week of bleeding that makes us cackle evil laughs thinking about how we used to complain about our periods.

    And I can only imagine, on the other side of childbearing and childrearing, after menopause – what happens then? I guess I’ll have to write a follow-up post in a few decades.

    Either way, it’s clear – this whole being a woman thing is a weird and wonderful journey. But despite the highs and the lows, the physical and emotional pain, and the gruesome nature of it all, I feel pretty grateful to be in this body, on this path. Every cramp I feel as I’m writing this fills me with a sense of hope and empowerment, and a connection with the women of the world – past, present and future.

    One day, I hope to tell my imaginary future daughter: embrace this bleeding! Each and every time. Let it anchor you to the strong women in your life who inspire you, and to a future in which you get to join the sisterhood of mothers. It’ll be the most important, life-changing and empowering thing you ever do – and all that blood will be more than worth it.

  • Miscarriage… and Somehow Life Goes On

    I had a miscarriage last month. It was early, around six weeks, and resolved itself naturally. It was a two-week emotional rollercoaster – telling our parents and a few close friends that I was pregnant and then in a matter of days finding out that the hormone levels had plateaued and the fetus didn’t seem to be developing. A little scare when some tests indicated that it might have been an ectopic pregnancy, and then a huge relief a day later when my doctor calmed our fears and my body started to pass the pregnancy.

    Two weeks later, and I’m so at peace with it that I find myself worrying I’m in denial.

    It’s just… okay. It’s not a tragedy – it never felt like one to me. I felt like we lost a pregnancy – not a baby. Maybe because it was so early, or because we never even saw the heartbeat – there probably never was one. Or maybe because we have a beautiful toddler running around, full of life and joy and silliness, and to be honest even if we never have another kid it will still be okay.

    As well as looking at my life, I’ve constantly been thinking of the strong, resilient women around me who have gone through so much tougher challenges in their childbearing journeys. And honestly, each and every one of their situations seems so much harder than mine. So I’m mindful that a big part of the reason this miscarriage didn’t knock me flying was that really – it just could have been so much worse.

    There’s something about statistics that kept running around my head, too – we’ve all heard the numbers about how common miscarriages are, especially at this early stage. One in four or five according to most sources. There’s something very grounding about the realization that I’m just as normal as everyone else – just as susceptible to the forces of nature.

    Of course, there were big emotions – don’t get me wrong. I was beside myself for an entire day, an uncontrollable sobbing mess. Just when I thought I had my shit together a new wave of grief would rush over me and I’d be down for another hour. Thick, heavy sadness. Plain and simple.

    And there was a bunch of fear, too. Fear of what would happen to me physically, fear of how nervous I’ll feel if/when I get pregnant again. And a mix of fear and sadness for some sort of lost innocence, a chipping away of my formerly formidable trust in my body. My husband helped me out on that one actually, gently correcting me when I’d expressed a fear of what would happen to my body – instead urging me to think about it as something my body would do. So spot on. From that moment I was oddly looking forward to the bleeding, to get that reassurance that my body was sorting it out, completing the process of terminating a pregnancy that wasn’t working for whatever reason.

    The next day I was a mess for about half the day, and then only a couple of hours the day after that. And then the beginning of the week rocked up and I went back to work, figuring that worst case scenario I could jump in a cab and come home if I started feeling uncomfortable – physically or emotionally. And indeed there was a weird sensation about being at the office – like, why am I having benign conversations around the water cooler while I’m in the middle of a miscarriage? But it still felt like the right move.

    Because what was the alternative? Sitting at home and dragging out the drama, holding onto painful emotions, making myself feel bad when for the most part I felt fine? When the sadness crept back in I felt it, respected it, and just let it pass – and it always did. Happiness always settled back in – along with anger and annoyance and all those other everyday feelings, of course.

    So eventually I had a few days of bleeding with mild contraction-like cramps – not much more than a heavy period, really – and it was done. I had a couple of tests, got the all clear, and I feel good now. Inside and out. Liberated, somehow. Like I got through something massive and waddayaknow – I came out the other side okay, and maybe even a little wiser for it. As is often the case, the fear turned out to be so much worse than the reality.

    I hope I can keep this calm, level feeling with me into another pregnancy in the near future, as an antidote to the anxieties that inevitably accompany the fertility and conception process. To keep in mind that even if something does go wrong, I – we – can handle it. Mindfully, honestly, and with as much ice cream as necessary.

  • 9 Tips for Surviving the Postpartum Period

    A wise woman once told me: Nobody talks about the after party. Ironically, this mother of three told me this after seeing me basically every day of my first pregnancy, and yet uttering nary a word about what I could expect in the postpartum days and weeks. The impending labor and birth we talked about, naturally, along with pregnancy matters galore – from ultrasounds and iron supplements to headaches and contractions. Parenting plans came up, name ideas, baby furniture. Hospitals, midwives and nursing consultants. But postpartum recovery was just never mentioned. No one was game to raise the issue, it seems.

    It’s understandable. You’d sound like a right downer if your first reaction upon finding out your friend was pregnant was to tell them, “Now love, you should know that sitting down may well hurt for quite some time after delivery.” I get it. But women need – and deserve – to be prepared for this intense period. This paradoxical moment in time when you need quiet and rest more than anything else – and instead you get basically no sleep, well-meaning family and friends bugging you round the clock, and varying degrees of aches and pains. And just to make things more confusing and ambiguous, all of this is sprinkled with heart-bursting love, super birth hormones and an amazing appetite.

    And so I write this by way of preparation for those about to give birth, and vow to send it to my friends and my sisters when their time comes. Even if they don’t love me for it at the time.

    1. You’re gonna bleed, big time – and not just like the “heavy period” that I remember hearing about. The midwife is gonna stick three surfboard-size pads together for you, and you’re gonna thank her for it. Keep in mind that the more you rest, the quicker your postpartum bleeding will stop. Rest.
    2. Black is the new black. You don’t want to find out what happens when your grey sweatpants make it to your hospital bag. This goes for underwear for the first couple of weeks too (though I actually recommend buying the sexy disposable mesh ones for the first few days. So much easier).
    3. Going to the bathroom is going to hurt, one way or another. You got through the birth, you can get through this. Take it slow and if possible take the shower head with you (assuming you had a vaginal birth). Spraying water on the area while you’re doing your business is a godsend. I wish someone had told me this earlier.
    4. Cold is your friend. If you’re in a hospital they should provide frozen magnesium or witch hazel pads, and at home you can easily make your own. Trust me, you’ll almost enjoy it.
    5. Stay in the moment – don’t waste your precious energy worrying about what you could have done differently during the birth, or how long this discomfort is going to last. Try this nursing meditation, if it tickles your fancy, put your phone down and focus on your breath for a few minutes, or utilize whatever reminders you need to stay mindful of what you’re doing right now. I really believe this will keep you sane through at least some of the exhaustion and the emotional breakdowns.
    6. Give the nursing apps a miss – unless you (or your baby) are having real problems. I used one at first and started to feel like I couldn’t feed unless I had my phone, not to mention getting obsessed with how long, which boob, averages etc. Losing my phone 4 weeks in was a blessing in disguise, and I realized that a hairband on my wrist to tell me which boob was next worked (and continues to work) just as well.
    7. Let people help, but remember to tell them when you need space. I didn’t do this enough and I should have. The first few weeks are crucial for bonding with your new baby – and if you’re anything like me, resting properly with guests in your space is difficult. Leave the washing. Screw the dishes. Forget about other people’s feelings for now. Lay on the couch.
    8. Bring a snack bowl to bed (better yet, get someone else to make it for you). Waking up every hour or so to breastfeed feels a lot better when you have chocolate, dried fruit, nuts etc at arms reach. Ditto for a liter or two of water.
    9. Give yourself a break. There is an unrealistic expectation on women (I loved this blog post on the topic) to bounce back right after birth, and for most of us it’s just not that simple. Many cultures around the world expect new mothers to be completely out of action for the first 40 days. Don’t expect to feel “normal” for the first month, at least.

    If you’re reading this before giving birth – or even before getting pregnant – I should add: it’s totally worth it. It would be even if you needed to wear the triple maxi pads for six months (you don’t). It can just be a bit of a shock, that’s all.