I had a miscarriage. It’s so hard for me not to think that miscarriage is just some fancy word intended to conceal the bitter, ugly truth. There was a baby. That precious baby died.
Here are the facts.
On October 18th I took a pregnancy test. I thought it had come out negative. After days passed with no appearance of my period I dug back through the bathroom trash can. On October 21st I saw a little blue line in the box that indicates a pregnancy. Thin and light, but undeniably visible. I was pregnant. I waited for four hours to tell my husband. I was a blubbering mess. This is all we had ever wanted. Jacob and I were going to be parents to a tiny, little human.
Here are the emotions.
On October 22nd I woke up in a pile of blood. Much heavier than my normal period and much more painful. I sat in shock for a moment. I got out of bed, cleaned myself up, and crawled back in. It had become very clear in that moment. I was not pregnant anymore. I whispered the news to my husband - not because I was trying to be quiet, but because that’s all I could manage. I fell beside him and wept. I wept so hard and so fiercely. I couldn’t find the control to make it stop. I wasn’t able to move or speak. Only weep.
Here is where I am at.
We knew for twelve hours. There was a baby living inside of me and now there is not. I couldn’t feel it. I couldn’t hear it. I couldn’t see it. But I knew it. There was no doctor’s confirmation. But I knew it. There was only a barely positive test. But I knew it. I used to look on women who had miscarriages with so much sadness. I am now one of those women. I weep for their agony. I am so broken, so clueless as to where I go from here. How do we grieve? The last time I dealt with death was June 8, 2008, when my very best friend committed suicide. I didn't know how to deal with it then and I certainly don't know now. I walked through campus today completely and totally alone. It didn’t matter how many people passed me or stopped to talk to me. I was alone. I know they don’t know my story. But I felt their pity anyway. I couldn’t connect with anyone. I am the girl who had a miscarriage. They don’t have to know to make me feel like such an outsider. I know.
I so desperately wanted to be a mom. We had hoped it would be a boy. We had dreamed of what his nursery would look like. We had a list of names. We still have these dreams for a future child but everything is different somehow. Our hearts are broken and we are so lost.