I went back to work today. I went to the ladies room to cry three times. My dad called me.
“What you went through was very painful, very traumatic. You’re not going to be yourself in a few days. It will take time.”
I did an open mic last night. I did an open mic tonight. I have a paying show tomorrow (after I pay for transportation, it’s about 60 bucks. Still, nothing to sneeze at.)
Nothing makes sense. Nothing seems important. Not my job, my comedy. Some of my friends don’t even seem like very good friends. What the fuck am I doing with my life? Today at work, I did what I could. I submitted our various healthcare expenses over the last week for reimbursement. I tried to follow along at meetings. I tried to care. I tried to stay awake. I’m still so fucking tired.
And then I remind myself ….
If I were to become a full-time comic or artist or performer or writer, I would have to show up and do the work no matter what was going on in my life. But every time I go to the bathroom and wipe blood away or look down at my still somewhat bloated belly, I’m reminded of what could have been.
My boss didn’t even ask me how I was. The coworker I had confided in kept her distance. Everyone else went about their day with unbroken hearts, as far as I could tell.
I want to throw myself in to something. Going back to the gym hard will be good. I don’t know if work or comedy or anything beyond putting one foot in front of the other is in the cards for me right now. The sun will rise and set and people will have birthdays and grand nights out and achievements of all kinds but for me, time has stopped.
I realized tonight that I was starting to identify as a mother. For the first time in my life. I was a bride a few months ago, now I’m a wife and it seemed like I was going to be a mother. At this moment, I’m an almost 39-year-old woman who is presently so very, very sad. I have a wonderful husband, very nice in-laws, an apartment that is about to be renovated and about 15 minutes of decent material.
Assuming there is a next time, what do I do? Do I completely shut myself off from possibility? Joy? Hope? Will I have to go through the panoply of tests again? At what point would I be able to relax into it? Week 16? Week 20? Will there be a next time?
For now, I need a shower. Need to put the freshly washed duvet cover on. Get the day off of my face. I want to self-medicate. Dirty martinis and/or wine and bad television. I try not to think about what was sucked out of my body, about what I saw flickering on a screen not so long ago