Miscarriage Mayhem

Growing up, I always felt out of place.  I was nervous when I was among a group of girls.  I did not know how to talk about make-up and boys.  Gossip made my heart ache.  And, not until I had children, did I ever really feel like my body represented the XX in my genetic makeup.  Somewhere along the way, I found other females who liked books, silliness and hip-hop.  Then, I found assertive women who made no apologies for their actions.  These are the same women who showed me that compassion, gentleness and kindness go hand-in-hand with strength and intelligence.  Alongside these women, I found comfort and solace.  I learned to speak honestly, and I learned to speak humanly (to always use words that comfort the heart and confirm daily effort). 

Today, I am thinking about a word that is only whispered by (amazing, passionate, gifted, vulnerable) women—miscarriage.  For the last several weeks, this word started as a brief thought for me.  Then, it became a reality when the sonogram showed lack of a heartbeat.  For the last week, this word has brought depths of anxiety and sadness that I have never known.  And, for the last few days, this word meant hours of labor and work. 

As I take one step forward (and three steps back), I keep thinking of the number of women who have shared their experiences with me.

I had three before I ever had my first child.

I had two.  It was awful.

Me, too.

I am so sorry.  It happened to me.  

Me, too.

Me, too.

According to my doctor, it happens 35% of the time in pregnancies.  I have been reading and reading and reading, and some say it is 50%.  Others state it’s about 20%.  None of this matters for the women and men who fall into this horrid, dark cavern.  The truth is that it happens often, and we are left to mourn by ourselves.  At dinner each night, I will ask my girls, “What made you laugh today?”  I will also ask, “Did you feel lonely today?”  If someone would ask me this question, based on what has happened in the last several days, my answer will always, always be, “Yes.”  The words used to describe this event, “I had a miscarriage," does not, in any way, convey the feelings and thoughts I have.  To me, it will always be, “I lost my baby.  She did not make it, and I am so, so sad.”  I have been through loss before, and this death feels the exact same.  However, I have nothing to show for it.  My belly looks like I ate two, too-many breakfast tacos.  My newly purchased maternity dresses are still draped across my chair.  I did not have the opportunity to make memories with my child outside of my body. My reality was completely discounted by a black-and-white photo of what looked like a black hole.

What has brought me much comfort is the stories of friends.  They shared the horrible, physical events that transpired.  More importantly, they validated the forever emotional journey that has been placed before me.  They unknowingly consoled me when I could not stop crying entire days that were sandwiched in between productive, hopeful (and healing) work days. 

It has been strange and validating. 

It has been draining and empowering.

It has been lonely and loving. 

It has been brutal and healing.

This is my personal journey.  It is a private journey that is my own, and I have opened my heart to let those who understand help me heal.  I need the support, and I am grateful for it.  Though I wish this path for no one, I want to tell other women and men, “I understand, and I am right here with you.”  To my earth angels, I want to tell you, "Thank you for sharing your pain and your love.  I am forever indebted."  To my husband, I want to say again and again, "Your love knows no end.  You are enough.  Giving and Needing will ebb and flow, and we will walk through this hand-in-hand."