Friday, September 12, 2008

The End of Our Pregnancy

Thia Cook
Originally uploaded by Linux Chick.

First thing’s first. I’m sorry for spending so long away, only to return with this downer of a post. I regret that it will be anything but uplifting, so I apologize and invite you to NOT read any further.

After I wrote this, I debated about whether I should even post it. But, I found other women’s stories so comforting, even if they were just venting that I decided to throw it on here for the world to judge. Who knows? Maybe someone will come across it Googling and hopefully walk away feeling a little less alone.

So, here’s what I wrote. It’s unedited, so be warned…

Yesterday, I wondered if I should be writing all this down. That if things did not work out like we hoped things would, if I would look back on yesterday’s moment and somehow be envious.

The thought was ridiculous at the time, I was so rapt with worry about the future of our unborn that any news (yes, even the most terrible of news) would have been a relief. Anything else I may have felt, I can’t remember now.

Today, I wish I could write all the things that yesterday I couldn’t bear to. But, I’m unable to grasp anymore the optimism that I used to cling onto: that everything might work out okay and the baby might somehow make it through this pregnancy.

The Miscarriage
I knew it was all ending, and soon. I sat on the toilet with the balls of my feet and palms of my hands against the tile floor. I was sweating and I wondered if I was going to throw up. There was pain. And with the pinching, everything in my body betrayed me and worked to expel our precious little one.

When it was over, I gripped the shower curtain beside me and sobbed. 

Suspecting this would happen for nearly two weeks, didn’t really help. Knowing that 20% of all pregnancies end this way didn’t help. I was devastated.

I couldn’t speak. Crumpled on the floor, it took me almost an hour to tell J what happened.

Aside from the bleeding, nothing in particular is different about today. An hour ago, I washed my face and looking in the mirror, I started to put on my make up. The routine should’ve felt more familiar than it did. It's after all just another day, but I was surprised that with all that had happened, I appeared totally unchanged.

But everything had changed.  I looked down at my flat tummy, knowing it would never grow and grew angry.  I wanted to yell at it: 'What's so wrong with you that you couldn't keep the baby!?  You look fine!  You're not sick!'

It’s utterly impossible not to feel that you’ve failed in some terrible and very fundamental way.

I must’ve aged a thousand years today.