I am presenting my research to a Grief and Loss class at the University of New England tomorrow. This will make the third time that I have presented my study on men's experience of miscarriage. Although I have known about this for months now, I only started preparing in earnest last night as I drank 3/4 of a bottle of wine while reading through my thesis; that much alcohol is way out of the ordinary for me. I woke up today feeling pretty down, pretty sad.
Even now, having just finished preparing, I caught myself imagining the death of my son. This isn't the first time I've imagined such a horrendous fate. My reaction is the same each time: if he were to die, they'd have to send me to a mental hospital. I honestly do not know how I would survive. Since his birth, memories of the miscarried babies have never gone away, but they no longer permeate my daily life. His birth has saved me from being forever present to my interminable grief for our miscarriages...without him, I don't know.
How do I make sure not to lay this burden on him? I don't want my grief to change him; his own will change him enough in his life time.
Somehow I had not expected it to hurt so much to return to this material, but it has been difficult. It surprises me each time I return to this work. It sneaks up on me, finds me, beats me up a bit, then slinks away so that it may accost me again someday.
I am glad to have the opportunity to present, but I will be relieved when I am done.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Sunday, December 20, 2009
To a fellow father in pain:
Dear Anonymous,
I received notice of your comment that you left here and am desperate to respond directly to you. I am not sure how to do this, though. Do you have any ideas? I am moved to know that this work still reaches others. I very much intended to make this a resource for other men as well as a resource for me; I am grateful to know that it has helped you. I have lots of other material that I can send along if we can find a way to connect.
With regards to my research: I currently have one final semester left in social work graduate school and then I will devote some time to publishing my work on men and miscarriage. The final thesis was just over a hundred pages, so I have a lot of editing ahead of me.
Sarah and I are doing well. We managed through our two miscarriages and had our son nearly two years ago now; he turns two at the end of this month, in fact. We have talked about trying for another once I finish school, but the possibility of another miscarriage scares the shit out of me. I will always live with that fear now. It is a part of me. Every now and again my eye catches the tattoo on my right forearm and I take a moment to remember and feel the reality of our losses.
I am sorry for your loss. My heart feels for you and I hope that you are receiving support from your community of friends and family. If you would like to find a way to connect via email, I would be amenable to that if it would be of help.
Please take care of yourself,
Jeremy
I received notice of your comment that you left here and am desperate to respond directly to you. I am not sure how to do this, though. Do you have any ideas? I am moved to know that this work still reaches others. I very much intended to make this a resource for other men as well as a resource for me; I am grateful to know that it has helped you. I have lots of other material that I can send along if we can find a way to connect.
With regards to my research: I currently have one final semester left in social work graduate school and then I will devote some time to publishing my work on men and miscarriage. The final thesis was just over a hundred pages, so I have a lot of editing ahead of me.
Sarah and I are doing well. We managed through our two miscarriages and had our son nearly two years ago now; he turns two at the end of this month, in fact. We have talked about trying for another once I finish school, but the possibility of another miscarriage scares the shit out of me. I will always live with that fear now. It is a part of me. Every now and again my eye catches the tattoo on my right forearm and I take a moment to remember and feel the reality of our losses.
I am sorry for your loss. My heart feels for you and I hope that you are receiving support from your community of friends and family. If you would like to find a way to connect via email, I would be amenable to that if it would be of help.
Please take care of yourself,
Jeremy
Thursday, April 12, 2007
questionable judgment calls
Interview number four today. I am going to take a break with interviewing for a couple weeks so that I can get into the analysis a bit. In grounded theory, the data is analysed as it is being gathered. So, rather than conduct all data up front, I collect data, analyse it, and eventually the data will become redundant and I won't get any new information. This point is referred to as saturation. Because I have now conducted four interviews (five including the pilot, which I am not going to use in the study) it is necessary for me to analyse this data before I go much further. When I resume interviewing, I hope to analyse each interview as soon as I finish transcribing it, rather than wait until I have a batch of interviews to do all at once. Also, doing it this way will help me to determine what areas of men's experiences of miscarriage I might want to look out for and possibly delve into more during future interviews.
I am finding it fascinating to pay attention to the anecdotes that precede the interviews I have with participants. Today's began with this fellow, who is a train conductor, telling me about an incident that happened years ago when a van tried to go around the lowered railroad crossing gates and was hit head-on by a train he was conducting. In spite of ending up underneath a washing machine that had been in the rear of his vehicle, the driver lived. Seven years after the accident, there was a deposition wherein he was questioned about the accident. He recalled being asked what color the van was and responded that he remembered it being blue. However, the inquirer called him out and stated that, seven years prior, he had stated that it was a white van. The participant told me all this while trying to remember specific answers to the questions on the demographic, such as what the gestational age of the baby was at the time of miscarriage.
The interview lasted for about 45 minutes, which seemed to be a good length for the participant and certainly enough time for me. Today's interview was an interesting contrast to Monday's for me personally. Whereas a part of me had wished Monday's to go on further, another part (I feel confident that they were not the same part of myself) wanted to end today's interview at least three times. Despite this inner compulsion, I waited until it appeared that the participant was done sharing and, ultimately, I am very glad that I did because he shared some tremendous personal information with me that I would not have heard had I heeded that scared part of myself.
The dynamic of today's interview was different than the past three interviews. Today, the participant asked me questions some of which I answered. So, I therefore became more involved than I would have preferred now that I am more aware of the potential for influencing data in this way during the interview. I think this was partly what made me want to end the interview a few times; I was concerned that he was going to ask me a question about my response to Sarah's miscarriage and that I would be cornered into answering it. There were a couple times that I can recall now where he asked me personal questions about our miscarriage that I was able to avoid answering, though there were also times when I nodded an acknowledgment as if to say, "yes I understand" when, in fact, I had not had that particular experience at all. (How much impact does a nod or gesture have?) I was afraid that, by not responding to his questions more readily, he might assume I was sitting in judgement of him. He made a few comments that I interpreted as his concern about being judged, either by himself or me. And honestly, perhaps there was a part of me that was judging him. Whether as a defense mechanism or for some other unknown reason, I could very well have been judging his response. Actually, now that I am reflecting on it, yeah, there were moments when some voice inside of me commented on his story as he was telling me. Most of his story was very different from mine and I think about halfway through the interview he recognized how different our stories were. Throughout the interview, I tried to be aware of my body position (uncrossing my arms when they crossed) and sensing the expression on my face because, well, this interview was tense for me, and I wanted to minimize how much of this tension manifested so as not to influence his responses to my questions. However, I can imagine this may have exacerbated his sense that I was judging him, if this was indeed something he felt from me. It's interesting how concerned I was of being judged while simultaneously concerned that he not think I was judging him.
He and I talked about some of this after the interview because I wanted it to be clear to him that there were moments (and there were some) when I did want to respond to his questions but was trying not to entangle my experience with his. I even told him that I had been concerned that he had interpreted my silence and minimal expression as judgment upon him. He said he understood and suggested that perhaps with future participants I explain why I try not to respond and talk about it with them beforehand. I think this is a good idea and would certainly alleviate some pressure I have experienced while interviewing, but I wonder: how would being up front about this impact the participant's story? It has got to have an impact of some degree.
I would like to state that I was very touched by the degree of respect this participant had for his wife and his intention to maintain her privacy.
I am finding it fascinating to pay attention to the anecdotes that precede the interviews I have with participants. Today's began with this fellow, who is a train conductor, telling me about an incident that happened years ago when a van tried to go around the lowered railroad crossing gates and was hit head-on by a train he was conducting. In spite of ending up underneath a washing machine that had been in the rear of his vehicle, the driver lived. Seven years after the accident, there was a deposition wherein he was questioned about the accident. He recalled being asked what color the van was and responded that he remembered it being blue. However, the inquirer called him out and stated that, seven years prior, he had stated that it was a white van. The participant told me all this while trying to remember specific answers to the questions on the demographic, such as what the gestational age of the baby was at the time of miscarriage.
The interview lasted for about 45 minutes, which seemed to be a good length for the participant and certainly enough time for me. Today's interview was an interesting contrast to Monday's for me personally. Whereas a part of me had wished Monday's to go on further, another part (I feel confident that they were not the same part of myself) wanted to end today's interview at least three times. Despite this inner compulsion, I waited until it appeared that the participant was done sharing and, ultimately, I am very glad that I did because he shared some tremendous personal information with me that I would not have heard had I heeded that scared part of myself.
The dynamic of today's interview was different than the past three interviews. Today, the participant asked me questions some of which I answered. So, I therefore became more involved than I would have preferred now that I am more aware of the potential for influencing data in this way during the interview. I think this was partly what made me want to end the interview a few times; I was concerned that he was going to ask me a question about my response to Sarah's miscarriage and that I would be cornered into answering it. There were a couple times that I can recall now where he asked me personal questions about our miscarriage that I was able to avoid answering, though there were also times when I nodded an acknowledgment as if to say, "yes I understand" when, in fact, I had not had that particular experience at all. (How much impact does a nod or gesture have?) I was afraid that, by not responding to his questions more readily, he might assume I was sitting in judgement of him. He made a few comments that I interpreted as his concern about being judged, either by himself or me. And honestly, perhaps there was a part of me that was judging him. Whether as a defense mechanism or for some other unknown reason, I could very well have been judging his response. Actually, now that I am reflecting on it, yeah, there were moments when some voice inside of me commented on his story as he was telling me. Most of his story was very different from mine and I think about halfway through the interview he recognized how different our stories were. Throughout the interview, I tried to be aware of my body position (uncrossing my arms when they crossed) and sensing the expression on my face because, well, this interview was tense for me, and I wanted to minimize how much of this tension manifested so as not to influence his responses to my questions. However, I can imagine this may have exacerbated his sense that I was judging him, if this was indeed something he felt from me. It's interesting how concerned I was of being judged while simultaneously concerned that he not think I was judging him.
He and I talked about some of this after the interview because I wanted it to be clear to him that there were moments (and there were some) when I did want to respond to his questions but was trying not to entangle my experience with his. I even told him that I had been concerned that he had interpreted my silence and minimal expression as judgment upon him. He said he understood and suggested that perhaps with future participants I explain why I try not to respond and talk about it with them beforehand. I think this is a good idea and would certainly alleviate some pressure I have experienced while interviewing, but I wonder: how would being up front about this impact the participant's story? It has got to have an impact of some degree.
I would like to state that I was very touched by the degree of respect this participant had for his wife and his intention to maintain her privacy.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
the role of my observer
My goal is to write a blog entry right after I interview when it is still fresh in my mind. However, I had my third interview on Monday afternoon and I am just now fully digging into my reflections on it. If the last interview was characterized as being emotional, then I would describe this interview as being pained. Monday's interview was shorter than I had expected, yet still very rich, of course. The participant is originally from another continent and I was hoping to get the chance to explicitly hear him speak about the different cultural perspectives on miscarriage. Clearly, I have this belief that there is a cultural difference, which is not founded by any means so far. A noteworthy bias, indeed.
Outside of our interview, I have heard this fellow remarking about how he has never lived by himself before. He said that, at home, he always slept with his family members in the same room and when he came to the United States, he was with his partner. Now when he returns to his homeland, he is not used to sleeping with so many people in the same room and when he takes any space from others that he needs, people in his culture, his community assume that something is wrong with him. They think that he is upset when he spends time alone.
It was very apparent to me from the start that Monday's participant was anxious about the interview. He and I have worked on a project in the past that focused on boy's and men's issues with sadness and crying. It was then that I shared about my experiences, which, I assume, led him to feel comfortable enough to tell me that he had also experienced a miscarriage with his wife. My sense is that he felt compelled to push himself to share his story with me on Monday. When I approached him to participate, he made comments implying that he needed to be more open and share his feelings. Because I noticed these comments, I repeatedly asked him if participating was really something he wanted to do and made it very clear and assured him that he could change his mind at any time.
It was difficult to observe this man tell me about his experience. He had chosen to tell me at his office, which I think we both realized quickly was not a space that he felt safe to completely open up in. I don't think he would have opened up to me completely anyway, nevertheless it is necessary to have more privacy than thin office walls can provide. He was so clearly distressed about telling his story that I began to feel very sad and worried that I had participated with him in opening up something more than he had anticipated. I praise him for respecting his limits and stating that he had reached the end of what he was comfortable sharing. He stated that the interview had been helpful, but had not made anything better for him. He was, however, interested in being able to share the recording and transcript of his interview with is wife.
I must admit that I felt disappointed as I walked to my car after this interview because I had not had the chance to explicitly ask him about cultural perspectives on miscarriage. Now, it is very likely that this information is embedded in his narrative, but just not on the surface. So, whatever. What truly disturbed me, though, was observing that part of myself that was disappointed by not having this opportunity. In a single moment, it became apparent to me that at some point, unbeknownst to me, listening to men talk about their experiences of miscarriage had become less about them sharing their story with all its complicated thoughts and emotions and more about gathering data from them. I felt very gross when I saw this exploitation. Is it selfish? I do want to gather useful data to produce the highest quality report that I can. Yet it is shocking to me that I had not even seen this transition from fellow miscarriage experiencer to research data collector. I mean, I don't think I am one or the other, but rather more one than the other, like the two are extreme points along a spectrum. I feel embarrassed and a bit ashamed to disclose this here for all to read and I also had hesitations about doing so out of fear that potential participants might read about this and judge me as not a safe person to open up to. And would they be wrong? Yet it is what it is, ugly and all, but it is also not a fixed position along this spectrum. I trust that now that I have observed this and am more aware of this potential, I am less likely to be overcome by that data-grubbing researcher part of me. We, humans, are such silly, complicated creatures.
Outside of our interview, I have heard this fellow remarking about how he has never lived by himself before. He said that, at home, he always slept with his family members in the same room and when he came to the United States, he was with his partner. Now when he returns to his homeland, he is not used to sleeping with so many people in the same room and when he takes any space from others that he needs, people in his culture, his community assume that something is wrong with him. They think that he is upset when he spends time alone.
It was very apparent to me from the start that Monday's participant was anxious about the interview. He and I have worked on a project in the past that focused on boy's and men's issues with sadness and crying. It was then that I shared about my experiences, which, I assume, led him to feel comfortable enough to tell me that he had also experienced a miscarriage with his wife. My sense is that he felt compelled to push himself to share his story with me on Monday. When I approached him to participate, he made comments implying that he needed to be more open and share his feelings. Because I noticed these comments, I repeatedly asked him if participating was really something he wanted to do and made it very clear and assured him that he could change his mind at any time.
It was difficult to observe this man tell me about his experience. He had chosen to tell me at his office, which I think we both realized quickly was not a space that he felt safe to completely open up in. I don't think he would have opened up to me completely anyway, nevertheless it is necessary to have more privacy than thin office walls can provide. He was so clearly distressed about telling his story that I began to feel very sad and worried that I had participated with him in opening up something more than he had anticipated. I praise him for respecting his limits and stating that he had reached the end of what he was comfortable sharing. He stated that the interview had been helpful, but had not made anything better for him. He was, however, interested in being able to share the recording and transcript of his interview with is wife.
I must admit that I felt disappointed as I walked to my car after this interview because I had not had the chance to explicitly ask him about cultural perspectives on miscarriage. Now, it is very likely that this information is embedded in his narrative, but just not on the surface. So, whatever. What truly disturbed me, though, was observing that part of myself that was disappointed by not having this opportunity. In a single moment, it became apparent to me that at some point, unbeknownst to me, listening to men talk about their experiences of miscarriage had become less about them sharing their story with all its complicated thoughts and emotions and more about gathering data from them. I felt very gross when I saw this exploitation. Is it selfish? I do want to gather useful data to produce the highest quality report that I can. Yet it is shocking to me that I had not even seen this transition from fellow miscarriage experiencer to research data collector. I mean, I don't think I am one or the other, but rather more one than the other, like the two are extreme points along a spectrum. I feel embarrassed and a bit ashamed to disclose this here for all to read and I also had hesitations about doing so out of fear that potential participants might read about this and judge me as not a safe person to open up to. And would they be wrong? Yet it is what it is, ugly and all, but it is also not a fixed position along this spectrum. I trust that now that I have observed this and am more aware of this potential, I am less likely to be overcome by that data-grubbing researcher part of me. We, humans, are such silly, complicated creatures.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
acupuncture : miscarriage :: hope : fear
According to this week's work schedule, it looks I will now finally have more time to focus on this project. It feels like I have been on vacation from this research for the past two weeks. I had a dream this past weekend where Sarah and I were eating dinner with other people somewhere, kind of like a feast, and while eating voraciously she turned to me and said that she knew she was pregnant. I told her about this on Sunday afternoon at her mum's house in Medford, MA where we were for the weekend. Yesterday she brought out a pregnancy test and we talked about her using it in the evening, but decided that she should wait for the morning so that her hCG levels would be at their highest. So, this morning after about six hours of sleep, she asked me if I wanted to know the result of the test. Part of the reason I had only gotten six hours of sleep was because I had been up until 12:30 AM taking practice exams for the analogy tests that I will need to complete in order to get into graduate school next year. Why I chose midnight last night to do this, I cannot say. Anyhow, so she asked me if I wanted to know the answer to the test this morning and my hazy mind could not quite grasp why she was asking me this question since she had been asleep when I was noodling around with these Internet exams and had completely forgotten about her first pee of the morning. It was negative.
Sarah went to a acupuncturist last week after hearing for a while now how much it has helped others who have had difficulty having children. There was a lot that she told me about the appointment and more details that I still don't know about yet. What I feel confident relaying here is that the acupuncturist treated Sarah as though she were pregnant because at the time we were not sure if she was or not. The doctor found some unresolved issues that need to be worked with and recommended that, if Sarah found out that she was not pregnant, to wait three months before trying again and continue to have acupuncture during that time. So, when Sarah told me this information, I was worried that she was, indeed, pregnant and that the unresolved issues that the acupuncturist had found were the mysterious reasons for the previous miscarriages and that any new pregnancies would result in more miscarriages. All of that is to really say that, though I was sad to find out in my semi-dream state this morning that Sarah was not pregnant as we had hoped, I was also a little relieved because now she can help her body heal via acupuncture.
One last thing to mention here: after our second miscarriage, which was near last year's summer solstice, Sarah and I began seeing our midwife for her naturopathic practice. The most pressing concern that I brought to my visits was that I had this unceasing and obtrusive fear of death. I was constantly afraid that Sarah would die in a car crash on the way to work or fall down the stairs, breaking her neck on our basement floor or that I would find out that some other friend or family member would have just unexpectedly died. At the time, I was working on my father's construction crew and still recall very vividly that for weeks when I would kiss Sarah goodbye in the morning, I was extremely aware that I might be killed on the job site that very day and never see her again. In some respects, it was amazing to have the quality of presence that can come from facing the reality of one's death; this is probably why these memories of kissing Sarah goodbye in the morning remain so lucid. However, this fear was certainly obsessive and disruptive to my life as well. The intensity of my fear of death and never seeing my loved ones again did diminish shortly after my naturopathic visits, which I found quite remarkable actually. Likewise, I also found it remarkable that within a day after Sarah (who practices the fertility awareness method) told me when her body was going to be most accommodating for my few hundred million suitors and suggested we oblige, these insistent fears of death returned. But, unlike last time, now there is a part of me that is fascinated to witness this traumatized part of myself reacting so strongly and producing these morbid thoughts and images. That is not to say that I am not terrified when I think about or imagine my loved one's dying, I am. Now that I have experienced these responses once before, I know that this intense fear of losing hope for a new life will not last forever; that is, the repeating triple-feature horror shows that run in my mind are more endurable this time around because I know they will eventually end.
Sarah went to a acupuncturist last week after hearing for a while now how much it has helped others who have had difficulty having children. There was a lot that she told me about the appointment and more details that I still don't know about yet. What I feel confident relaying here is that the acupuncturist treated Sarah as though she were pregnant because at the time we were not sure if she was or not. The doctor found some unresolved issues that need to be worked with and recommended that, if Sarah found out that she was not pregnant, to wait three months before trying again and continue to have acupuncture during that time. So, when Sarah told me this information, I was worried that she was, indeed, pregnant and that the unresolved issues that the acupuncturist had found were the mysterious reasons for the previous miscarriages and that any new pregnancies would result in more miscarriages. All of that is to really say that, though I was sad to find out in my semi-dream state this morning that Sarah was not pregnant as we had hoped, I was also a little relieved because now she can help her body heal via acupuncture.
One last thing to mention here: after our second miscarriage, which was near last year's summer solstice, Sarah and I began seeing our midwife for her naturopathic practice. The most pressing concern that I brought to my visits was that I had this unceasing and obtrusive fear of death. I was constantly afraid that Sarah would die in a car crash on the way to work or fall down the stairs, breaking her neck on our basement floor or that I would find out that some other friend or family member would have just unexpectedly died. At the time, I was working on my father's construction crew and still recall very vividly that for weeks when I would kiss Sarah goodbye in the morning, I was extremely aware that I might be killed on the job site that very day and never see her again. In some respects, it was amazing to have the quality of presence that can come from facing the reality of one's death; this is probably why these memories of kissing Sarah goodbye in the morning remain so lucid. However, this fear was certainly obsessive and disruptive to my life as well. The intensity of my fear of death and never seeing my loved ones again did diminish shortly after my naturopathic visits, which I found quite remarkable actually. Likewise, I also found it remarkable that within a day after Sarah (who practices the fertility awareness method) told me when her body was going to be most accommodating for my few hundred million suitors and suggested we oblige, these insistent fears of death returned. But, unlike last time, now there is a part of me that is fascinated to witness this traumatized part of myself reacting so strongly and producing these morbid thoughts and images. That is not to say that I am not terrified when I think about or imagine my loved one's dying, I am. Now that I have experienced these responses once before, I know that this intense fear of losing hope for a new life will not last forever; that is, the repeating triple-feature horror shows that run in my mind are more endurable this time around because I know they will eventually end.
Wednesday, April 4, 2007
happy anxiety
I have been trying to think of what to write about lately. I am afraid that all my blog readers will desert me for not offering more consistent entries. I already bemoaned how busy I have been lately, so I won't repeat any of that. I am trying to arrange more interviews, but am finding it difficult to schedule.
I haven't had any difficult miscarriage days lately, probably because work has consumed me so much. Sarah had a bit of a difficult evening yesterday, though I was at work so I wasn't around to experience this with her. We are actively trying to get pregnant again. I guess that's some news worthy of a blog entry, isn't it? How do I feel about the prospect of Sarah getting pregnant again? Well, most simply: excited and terrified; a kind of joyous nervousness. I have said before that if I could only be told that one of these pregnancies would go full term to a healthy birth, I could withstand the emotional and spiritual impact of more miscarriages. That is to say that the most difficult part of pregnancy for me now is not knowing whether we will ever not have a miscarriage. What if I just think more positively, can we have a baby then? Many people tell us that they have no doubts that we will have children of our own one day. Part of me is calmed by this optimism and another part of me runs and hides because if they are wrong, then somehow it's like I also take on the burden of their not-knowing. It is immensely painful to witness my own failing faith, let alone being privy to the potential for any one else's diminished faith that Sarah and will eventually have children.
A couple days ago, I was imagining Sarah and I playing board games with our children in our living room. We had designed a cooperative board game about vegetable gardening.
I haven't had any difficult miscarriage days lately, probably because work has consumed me so much. Sarah had a bit of a difficult evening yesterday, though I was at work so I wasn't around to experience this with her. We are actively trying to get pregnant again. I guess that's some news worthy of a blog entry, isn't it? How do I feel about the prospect of Sarah getting pregnant again? Well, most simply: excited and terrified; a kind of joyous nervousness. I have said before that if I could only be told that one of these pregnancies would go full term to a healthy birth, I could withstand the emotional and spiritual impact of more miscarriages. That is to say that the most difficult part of pregnancy for me now is not knowing whether we will ever not have a miscarriage. What if I just think more positively, can we have a baby then? Many people tell us that they have no doubts that we will have children of our own one day. Part of me is calmed by this optimism and another part of me runs and hides because if they are wrong, then somehow it's like I also take on the burden of their not-knowing. It is immensely painful to witness my own failing faith, let alone being privy to the potential for any one else's diminished faith that Sarah and will eventually have children.
A couple days ago, I was imagining Sarah and I playing board games with our children in our living room. We had designed a cooperative board game about vegetable gardening.
Thursday, March 29, 2007
sorry it's been so long everyone
Its been almost a week since my last entry. Just one more of these 50+ hour workweeks to go, then hopefully I'll have more time to spend on this blog. I had my second interview (not including the pilot) this past Monday morning. My most immediate impression of this interview was that the emotion that the participant brought to the interview was surprising (why it was I don't know) and courageous. I had forgotten to bring tissues and a resource list to this interview. I tried to be more aware of myself when I was asking questions this time. As I have transcribed the audio recordings, I am noticing how much trouble I have making my questions come out clearly and concisely.
As with last the last interview, a lot of this participant's story resonated with my own. The participant began crying within 5 minutes of the beginning of the interview and cried off and on. It was difficult, once again, to maintain that "boundary" rather than simply telling him that I had also experienced what he was describing or that I had also cried for hours upon thinking about the same thoughts he was sharing with me. There were a number of times that I sensed my facial expression stating what my mouth was not being aloud to voice. At times, especially when the participant was crying, I didn't know how to respond. I wanted to hug him, I wanted to thank him for crying, I wanted to stop the interview because I was afraid it was too painful. I never wanted him to stop crying, not once, but I was consistently afraid that he was worried that I was judging him. Fortunatly for him, whether this was true or not, it didn't stop him from letting out his tears. I wanted to cry myself, but my tears were not manifesting outwardly this time. My experience has been that there are times when my tears are all there only they just don't come streaming down my cheeks.
There were two things I noticed from this interview that I will mention here. The first I didn't realize until today when I began transcribing and heard the participant responding to my opening question about his experience of miscarriage with his recounting of what his wife went through. Hearing this made me realize how entwined the stories of fathers who have experienced miscarriage are with their wives. I suppose on one level, there is a couple that is experiencing this life event, but it still seems oddly not the father's experience when they tell me "their" story. At least initially, that is. I guess I need to wait and see if this is really a trend or not.
The second thing came to me as a message when the participant was talking about knowing when the child became a child inside the womb. What came to me was that, regardless of what medical science or religions say, the child's life begins no later than when the parents' hopes begin to form within them.
Sarah and I are planning on getting our tattoos in a couple weeks. I'll post some pictures after we get them. The lady who is doing them is very interested in the meaning and ritual of tattoo art. According to Sarah, who spoke with her, this woman is very excited about our tattoos and why we are getting them.
I wish I felt like writing more, but I don't. Sarah and I are having a bit of a rough night tonight. Not so much with each other, rather more in the way that the miscarriages tend to creep up on us and bring us down.
As with last the last interview, a lot of this participant's story resonated with my own. The participant began crying within 5 minutes of the beginning of the interview and cried off and on. It was difficult, once again, to maintain that "boundary" rather than simply telling him that I had also experienced what he was describing or that I had also cried for hours upon thinking about the same thoughts he was sharing with me. There were a number of times that I sensed my facial expression stating what my mouth was not being aloud to voice. At times, especially when the participant was crying, I didn't know how to respond. I wanted to hug him, I wanted to thank him for crying, I wanted to stop the interview because I was afraid it was too painful. I never wanted him to stop crying, not once, but I was consistently afraid that he was worried that I was judging him. Fortunatly for him, whether this was true or not, it didn't stop him from letting out his tears. I wanted to cry myself, but my tears were not manifesting outwardly this time. My experience has been that there are times when my tears are all there only they just don't come streaming down my cheeks.
There were two things I noticed from this interview that I will mention here. The first I didn't realize until today when I began transcribing and heard the participant responding to my opening question about his experience of miscarriage with his recounting of what his wife went through. Hearing this made me realize how entwined the stories of fathers who have experienced miscarriage are with their wives. I suppose on one level, there is a couple that is experiencing this life event, but it still seems oddly not the father's experience when they tell me "their" story. At least initially, that is. I guess I need to wait and see if this is really a trend or not.
The second thing came to me as a message when the participant was talking about knowing when the child became a child inside the womb. What came to me was that, regardless of what medical science or religions say, the child's life begins no later than when the parents' hopes begin to form within them.
Sarah and I are planning on getting our tattoos in a couple weeks. I'll post some pictures after we get them. The lady who is doing them is very interested in the meaning and ritual of tattoo art. According to Sarah, who spoke with her, this woman is very excited about our tattoos and why we are getting them.
I wish I felt like writing more, but I don't. Sarah and I are having a bit of a rough night tonight. Not so much with each other, rather more in the way that the miscarriages tend to creep up on us and bring us down.
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