. . . you never know what you’re gonna get.
I never had any idea what having a miscarriage would feel like. I think that I thought it wasn’t that big of a deal . . . shamefully, I thought that, since the baby was never actually born, it was simply a sad ordeal that moms and dads went through quickly and got over in a matter of days. Why would it be so devastating? You were only pregnant for a few weeks, anyway.
I was wrong. Clearly, until you have one, you never know how it will feel.
I can try to tell you. First, it’s overwhelming. You know it’s happening . . . then the doctor confirms what you don’t want to hear . . . and then the arrangements are made to have any necessary medical procedures done to help your body end the pregnancy. For me, it was fast. The bleeding was noticed at 3:45 pm, I was at the doctor within one hour, and before the end of the business day, I was told that I was carrying a baby that was no longer alive. By 11:00 am the next morning, I had gone to the surgical center, been put to sleep and had my D&C, and was back at home in my own bed snoozing off the buzz from the anesthesia. I wasn’t pregnant any more. It was all so fast, I cried some . . . but I wasn’t really able to comprehend what was happening.
Next, you try to forget about it. It was only minor surgery . . . I was in and out, with really not much for follow-up care . . . I felt like I should kind of carry on as usual. Don’t wallow in it, that is for sure. I let myself lay around for one day, then the next I was out and about, celebrating a friend’s birthday and everything. This doesn’t seem so bad, after all . . .
The third day is the hardest. By then, you start to think . . . hey, this WAS sad. That WAS a real baby . . .even if only 11 weeks into the pregnancy. That was our baby. By the third day, you catch yourself remembering that you ARE NOT pregnant any more. Oh yeah – I don’t have to rearrange those plans or skip that engagement because I’m NOT pregnant. When we have the baby . . . when the baby is born . . . oh, wait, never mind. Those thoughts come in and out and you realize that you ARE mourning the loss. It was more than just a surgical procedure and all of the formalities with the doctor. You had a baby, and now you don’t. It is truly something to grieve . . . even IF it wasn’t born yet. It was very much a part of your family from the minute the stick read, “Pregnant” (we did the digital test . . . you fill in your own pregnancy test experience here).
I think that the next several days pass in a fog. For me, I was not upset . . . I went about daily life . . . but it did catch me off guard a few times, and the sadness of it all would set back in. When I’d see a pregnant woman, I would guess how far along she was and what time of year I would have had a belly like that. Honestly, the second week is much worse than the first. By then, I really felt like I should be moving on . . . again with the “it’s not that big of a deal” attitude . . . but I couldn’t. I wanted to be sad about what had happened to me – to Jim – to our family. And I was . . .but it was hard because I didn’t really want to let others know that, 14 days after it all, I was still crying about it. I didn’t tell anyone – not even Jim – and I just was mopey and mean. Today is 18 days after, and I still fight back tears. I didn’t know it would be like this.
When will I get over it? For me, I don’t think I’ll really get over it until I am pregnant again. It’s stupid – but feel like I have something to prove. I know I don’t have something to prove to others . . . but I have to prove it to myself. I want to know that this was just chance, fate, a fluke . . . that we can and will have more children. That it wasn’t my fault. In the back of my mind, I’m still wondering if we’ll ever get pregnant on our own. With this baby, it was so amazing to have the “do it yourself” experience. I want that again – but this time with a happy ending. I don’t know that I’ll be able to put this behind me until those questions are answered.
So, to help myself forget about the sadness, I try to get on with things. We are busy with the new house and with our fall activities. Meg is fantastic, and I spend time loving her to bits. But the emotions that this miscarriage have created in me are always right there, under the surface, waiting. WAITING – like we are now.
That was my experience, anyway. My miscarriage was unique to me and to my family. Others have shared theirs with me – which is very helpful in all of this – but no two are the same. Even if they are different, there is comfort in knowing that I’m not alone (as much as I may feel like I am). Like that box of chocolates, you never know what you will get. Honestly, I hope you never do.
I never had any idea what having a miscarriage would feel like. I think that I thought it wasn’t that big of a deal . . . shamefully, I thought that, since the baby was never actually born, it was simply a sad ordeal that moms and dads went through quickly and got over in a matter of days. Why would it be so devastating? You were only pregnant for a few weeks, anyway.
I was wrong. Clearly, until you have one, you never know how it will feel.
I can try to tell you. First, it’s overwhelming. You know it’s happening . . . then the doctor confirms what you don’t want to hear . . . and then the arrangements are made to have any necessary medical procedures done to help your body end the pregnancy. For me, it was fast. The bleeding was noticed at 3:45 pm, I was at the doctor within one hour, and before the end of the business day, I was told that I was carrying a baby that was no longer alive. By 11:00 am the next morning, I had gone to the surgical center, been put to sleep and had my D&C, and was back at home in my own bed snoozing off the buzz from the anesthesia. I wasn’t pregnant any more. It was all so fast, I cried some . . . but I wasn’t really able to comprehend what was happening.
Next, you try to forget about it. It was only minor surgery . . . I was in and out, with really not much for follow-up care . . . I felt like I should kind of carry on as usual. Don’t wallow in it, that is for sure. I let myself lay around for one day, then the next I was out and about, celebrating a friend’s birthday and everything. This doesn’t seem so bad, after all . . .
The third day is the hardest. By then, you start to think . . . hey, this WAS sad. That WAS a real baby . . .even if only 11 weeks into the pregnancy. That was our baby. By the third day, you catch yourself remembering that you ARE NOT pregnant any more. Oh yeah – I don’t have to rearrange those plans or skip that engagement because I’m NOT pregnant. When we have the baby . . . when the baby is born . . . oh, wait, never mind. Those thoughts come in and out and you realize that you ARE mourning the loss. It was more than just a surgical procedure and all of the formalities with the doctor. You had a baby, and now you don’t. It is truly something to grieve . . . even IF it wasn’t born yet. It was very much a part of your family from the minute the stick read, “Pregnant” (we did the digital test . . . you fill in your own pregnancy test experience here).
I think that the next several days pass in a fog. For me, I was not upset . . . I went about daily life . . . but it did catch me off guard a few times, and the sadness of it all would set back in. When I’d see a pregnant woman, I would guess how far along she was and what time of year I would have had a belly like that. Honestly, the second week is much worse than the first. By then, I really felt like I should be moving on . . . again with the “it’s not that big of a deal” attitude . . . but I couldn’t. I wanted to be sad about what had happened to me – to Jim – to our family. And I was . . .but it was hard because I didn’t really want to let others know that, 14 days after it all, I was still crying about it. I didn’t tell anyone – not even Jim – and I just was mopey and mean. Today is 18 days after, and I still fight back tears. I didn’t know it would be like this.
When will I get over it? For me, I don’t think I’ll really get over it until I am pregnant again. It’s stupid – but feel like I have something to prove. I know I don’t have something to prove to others . . . but I have to prove it to myself. I want to know that this was just chance, fate, a fluke . . . that we can and will have more children. That it wasn’t my fault. In the back of my mind, I’m still wondering if we’ll ever get pregnant on our own. With this baby, it was so amazing to have the “do it yourself” experience. I want that again – but this time with a happy ending. I don’t know that I’ll be able to put this behind me until those questions are answered.
So, to help myself forget about the sadness, I try to get on with things. We are busy with the new house and with our fall activities. Meg is fantastic, and I spend time loving her to bits. But the emotions that this miscarriage have created in me are always right there, under the surface, waiting. WAITING – like we are now.
That was my experience, anyway. My miscarriage was unique to me and to my family. Others have shared theirs with me – which is very helpful in all of this – but no two are the same. Even if they are different, there is comfort in knowing that I’m not alone (as much as I may feel like I am). Like that box of chocolates, you never know what you will get. Honestly, I hope you never do.
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