Monday, April 18, 2011

Spring Gleaning, Still

My bedroom smells like shit. Not My bedroom smells really bad. No, it smells like actual shit...and something else. Oregano, maybe? It's truly awful. Last night it was so bad I couldn't sleep.

After sniffing madly, washing everything, stripping the bed and discovering a crime scene of old pee stains (Where the hell did they come from? I swear I change the linens regularly, and the mattress did not look like a piss-soaked Jackson Pollack reproduction), I doused the mattress in Nature's Miracle, even though the, uh, specimens were definitely human and not feline.

Many loads of laundry, half a bottle of Mrs. Meyer's room freshener, and seven hours of box fan usage later, the bed was "sleepable" again. But the room still stank. Then I discovered - while replacing the sheet - that the kitty had puked under the bed. A while ago. Moldy kitty puke is its own kind of gross. Why we didn't notice it or smell it before now, I have no idea.

Suddenly, I want to clean under every piece of furniture I own.

* * *

Never have I wanted so badly for my period to come. I'm suddenly fixated on the idea that my uterus isn't clean inside. That I'm congested with black-brown "old blood."

None of my health care providers is concerned. My naturopath gave me some herbs to take, mostly so I can feel like I'm doing something to recover. And I feel fine.

But a regular period will make it official: Miscarriage = Over.

* * *

Okay, that's not true.

I don't feel fine.

My depression is nicely under control, but I've unearthed something else. Anger. A bundle of anger I didn't know was there. It's alarming; I don't think of myself as an angry person. But I see that I contain the kind of rage that makes people absolutely cruel.

* * *

So far, I hate everything about gardening. Weeding is mildly satisfying. Ripping living things out by the roots feels surprisingly naughty, in a mustache-twirling sort of way. But I still hate it.

As my inner voice was complaining, and my outer voice was snapping at Westley, my hands were minding their own business. I semi-noticed marks in the soil - Great. Some creature has been digging in my yard - but not before putting my hand directly in mystery critter shit.

* * *

There are a few things I distract myself with when the awful starts to take over. Several of them are films.

So I was watching How to Cook Your Life recently. Every time I watch it, a different thing Zen priest Edward Espe Brown says stands out. This time...
"If you have a little piece of shit on your nose, then you'll smell it wherever you go. This stinks. Oh, this stinks! Cooking stinks, everything stinks...It's all bad. So the expression in Zen is 'wash your face'."
* * *

(A year later, and I still need to spring-clean my life.)



Kaylie Jones said...

I was really angry after my miscarriage. So angry that something my mom said to me made so furious I couldn't talk to her for a week and couldn't calm down.
And the anti-depressant made it worse. Now, off the anti-depressant recently and I feel much better, no longer either angry or numb.
Feeling angry is supposed to be normal but like you I wasn't/am not a angry person at all. It was alarming for me and was something I had to work through.
I'm so sorry you're going through this.

Jessica - This is Worthwhile said...

I'd say you deserve a new mattress. Hands down.

And I'm angry for you, too. I'm watching you write through this process, though, and I'm right there with you -- I think we all are -- and I'm throwing all my weight behind you.