Emotional State of Shock

Recently a friend asked me if I felt losing Andrew caused me to feel like I lost part of my womanhood. Or at least feel robbed of it. My answer, "absolutely."

Even if we made the decision to live without children, I still feel it is my right as a woman to make that choice. We were made for this. At least, all women were supposed to be. We all know that doesn't always work out for those who are infertile or cases like stillbirth, our bodies denying us that complete right.

When I heard those six terrible words from the doctor that day, my body went into a state of emotional shock. To my knowledge, I'd never experienced this feeling before. It's an unpleasant, euphoric wave that carries you through something life-altering. Though I was given impossible news, I still had a job to do. My body knew that I was laboring and realized that although my emotional pain was completely destructive, I still had to act physically to birth my baby.

That brings me to the next FAQ (maybe this should belong to a FAQ post, Q&A sesh about stillbirth?). I've been asked many times (by mostly those who don't read the blog) if I still had to give birth since Andrew wasn't alive. Well, of course. I couldn't just wish that my 7lb.6oz. child vanished from my womb and walk untouched from the hospital. The same contractions, labor, pain, pushing, and recovery were all experienced. The breastmilk came in with a vengeance. The only thing that was different in our case was the heart monitoring (we needed no fetal heart monitor as there was no heartbeat) and the end result. All of that was different, obviously. No pain was spared because of our unfortunate and devastating circumstance.

I knew I was in shock. I also knew when I was hyperventilating. I remember once he was delivered just shaking uncontrollably. My entire body was rocking. My teeth chattered and my limbs were impossible to hold down. I was unable to cry or really mourn at this time-- I was dazed and although not entirely confused, I was disjointed from the reality of the situation. I remember being wheeled from the triage room to the delivery room immediately upon learning of Andrew's demise with the world zooming around me a millions shades of color and at millions of miles an hour-- except I was stationary. It's that state of disbelief and paralysis that numbed my emotions enough to get the job done. I am not sure when the state of shock ended, but I do know the moment that shock started. I think the shock continued on for at least a few days because I remember vividly joking and laughing with friends as they came to visit our dreary room the next day. I told them we were going to be fragile, sad, emotional, unpredictable. I knew all of these things by text but did not understand the severity or intensity they'd hit. It was almost like I was talking about someone else and how they should proceed with caution. But I was talking about us.

Doctors call the emotional state of shock Acute Stress Reaction and the symptoms include: numbing, detachment, derealization, depersonalization or disassociative amnesia, continued re-experiencing of the event by ways of flashback, thoughts, dreams; avoidance of any stimulation that reminds (me) of the event, anxiety, and/or impairment of at least one essential area of functioning. Symptoms last for a minimum of 2 days and a maximum of 4 weeks, anytime within 4 weeks of the traumatic event.

I'd say I experienced all of these symptoms and still experience some of them daily. While I wouldn't consider it shock now, I'd associate it entirely with the trauma of that day. Perhaps it's the same thing that soldiers experience upon returning home-- though fully comprehending the severity of the situation, they experience PTSD. Perhaps, on some levels, that's what I am experiencing in small doses.

No expected take away here, just a post I've been thinking about for some time related to bodily defense in the midst of tragedy. Maybe I educated someone or provided more insight to understand. Or maybe it just felt good to write about.