I Just had a Miscarriage and I’m so Sad

So I debated about writing this and posting this entry. I couldn’t decide, do I really want to share my miscarriage with the world? What will people think of me revealing the rawest saddest part of my life?  Nobody wants to talk about miscarriage. It is a terrible loss and the pain that comes with the experience is one you are expected to bear alone. That’s why they say don’t tell until after the first trimester. So you don’t have to tell people you lost your baby. Generally speaking you have no idea which of your friends had a miscarriage until they have a healthy baby or you have a miscarriage, then you find out. I am not a secretive person, I am an oversharer to the extreme, I can’t hide my emotions or thoughts and if you looked up blabbermouth in the dictionary, there I would be, Facebook is the worst, I write anything on there just like most people, but I have been quiet because I just had a miscarriage.

It has been two weeks since we found out that the pregnancy wasn’t viable. We went for our first ultrasound and we saw our little blob and we heard its heartbeat, and it was the happiest moment of my life, really. I was so relieved, I was so worried that something was wrong, that I had a blighted ovum, that nothing would be in there and  we had told many of our close friends and family that we were expecting. I was worried about this exact moment, of having to tell people I had a miscarriage. But there it was, heart beating, filling the ultrasound room and us with happiness and excitement. They gave us the pictures and I immediately sent a text to my mom and brother and sister. For the first time since I saw that plus sign on my home pregnancy test, I felt happy. I was freaking out about being pregnant, feeling so guilty that I wasn’t happy with the news, my first thoughts were, shit, I can’t drink booze anymore, or smoke weed, or eat sushi, or lox. I’m never gonna be able to lose weight again, I’m just gonna be some fat lady with a baby. Our fun life is over, no more crazy vacations or last minute romantic getaways. No more me being number one to my new husband. No hot springs for like a year. No booze, no pot(those two really kept coming back to me) no over easy eggs. I felt like we had ruined our lives, even though we wanted to have a baby. We planned for it. We didn’t think it would happen so fast, three months after I went off my pill. When I had gotten my period the first three times after trying to conceive, I felt relieved with a tinge of sadness. More fun! More booze! More trying to make the baby! More living and enjoying our new life in Denver, I had just started this blog so I could write about bars and restaurants and fun stuff to do. We were loving living in our nice house,  having fun with our nice friends, throwing parties and just enjoying ourselves.

I had gotten cast in a community theater production, my husband wasn’t concerned with me getting job, I just felt so happy. Then bam- pregnant. When those hormones hit me, they bitch slapped me and my husband and anyone that got near me. My poor mother came to visit and I can’t imagine she had any fun at all.  I was in a TERRIBLE mood. Everyone and everything irritated me. Then I started feeling nauseated, no vomiting just a constant gross feeling, slightly alleviated by eating and drinking lemonade. Then I was overwhelmed with sadness and lethargy. And the scale kept going up and my pants got too tight so fast.  My nipples hurt so much my husband almost became the victim of domestic violence with one touch. Then the farts, the terrible farts. Friends assured me these were good signs of a healthy pregnancy, and even though I was so worried something bad would happen, a tiny part of me was getting excited, thinking about the little life growing inside me.

I was convinced it was a boy, because I wanted a girl baby. I was thinking of names, and all my dreams for the little shit. I imagined him with curly blonde hair, because that’s what his daddy looked like as a baby and blue eyes. I thought he might get a hint of my brown skin, tan, I thought. He will be tan.  I thought he would play piano like his daddy. I thought he would laugh like me and have big feet. I knew he would fart a lot because he was gonna be our baby and his mama and daddy are always blowin’ it up. I thought he would be smart and good at math because I picked a mate with a big brain. I thought he would be kind like his father, I thought he would say “fuck” at preschool because his mother couldn’t stop cursing. I thought my parents might move to Denver just to be close to my little guy. I had dreams and hopes, and when we heard that heartbeat, I knew they were going to come true. And suddenly I didn’t care about all the stuff I was miserable about giving up, I didn’t give a shit about having a glass of wine or smoking a joint, I was suddenly so certain that it would be worth it. And we sat in the waiting room cuddling and giggling and looking at that ultrasound.

When the doctor told us that we were only 6 weeks along and we should have been 8 or so and that the yolk sac was too large, I didn’t understand. It wasn’t until she said, “I think this is not a healthy pregnancy and you will most likely miscarry.” It was like being punched in the guts. All the air went out of the room. Something was wrong, and all I could think was, how can anything be wrong? It can’t be true. I turned to the Internet, I spent all my time googling, trying to find stories about women with enlarged yolk sacs that had healthy pregnancies. But there weren’t any.  We knew we were going to lose the baby, but we kept hoping it wasn’t true. That somehow our little baby would make it, would be a miracle. But we knew. And it made it all the worse. Waiting for that week to pass until we could go for our second ultrasound. I scoured the blogs and message boards about miscarriages and enlarged yolk sacs, and I cried and cried and cried. I didn’t want to talk to anyone, every text and message, made me sick. Why wouldn’t people just leave me alone like I asked? It hurt too much, it hurts too much.  I have never felt sadness like this in my life. My heart has been broken many times, I have buried loved ones, but this grief I am going through is the most painful thing that has ever happened to me. And I feel like no one understands. Only those women on the message boards, and friends who have told me they too, have had a miscarriage. But I can’t even talk to them, I can’t talk to anyone.

In the midst of all this I was in a play. And the show went on, I held it together for 3 hours a day that week before the second ultrasound. I was able to get through the rehearsals and performance. But it was exhausting. Acting like I was okay, like my pregnancy was still healthy, like my little blonde curly haired baby was going live. The rest of my day was spent in tears. Then I got picked as an extra at the last minute, to be in a commercial, shot the day after we had the second ultrasound, the  ultrasound that told us our baby had died. And I went. Because it was all strangers, and no one knew me and no one had to know that I was pregnant and that I was miscarrying,  that I had an appointment for a D&C in two days. At an abortion clinic. It was a break from all day crying. A distraction from the pain. A one day reprieve.

The commercial was shot on Tuesday. We went to the clinic on Thursday. Bullet proof glass in the reception area, I saw a couple leaving as we sat in waiting room, her man holding her arm, holding her up her as she walked out, looking devastated. All I could do was cry. As I’m writing this, I am thinking, why? Why do I want to share this? And I keep coming back to the blogs I read, before I went in, so I would know what to expect. And women told their stories and it helped me, and I suppose I want my friends and family to know what it was like for us, to know how much we are suffering and hurting right now and that’s why I can’t talk to them. That it’s easier for me to write this and tell my story to the world rather than just them. I think maybe I just want to get it over with, maybe I could have just sent an email, but reading other women’s stories has been helping me get through this, and if one other woman going through a missed miscarriage gets one drop of comfort from me, well, that’s enough.

The D&C  procedure was short, they give you some kind of anti anxiety sedation that makes you loopy as hell.  And then they suck out the contents of your uterus. And your little spark of life is gone. Just like that. Except you keep bleeding, so you are reminded every time you go to the bathroom. And you still have pregnancy symptoms  even though your baby is gone. And you keep bleeding and spotting. And crying. And people telling you that they are thinking of you doesn’t help. And pictures of babies and and seeing pregnant ladies on the street and my friends’ children just reminds me of what we lost. And yet…scrolling through Facebook somehow helps. I see funny videos, and joyful moments in my friends lives and that is all the social interaction I am up for, clicking a like button. It’s a break from the crushing guilt I have. That it was something I did that made my miscarriage happen.

Logically I know, they happen all the time. That it’s just a life that was not sustainable. It’s just nature. It’s bad luck. But I’m tortured by the drinks we had before we knew, the pot I smoked, the coffee I drank, they said one cup was fine. But maybe it’s not. My 36 year old eggs. My high anxiety and stress levels. My hot sweaty workouts. Something I did. I am haunted. I am overwhelmed. I am grieving. And if you’re reading this out there because you googled, “miscarriage”, or “enlarged yolk sac”, or D&C you can know you’re not alone. I don’t have anything to say about how I made it through. It’s too fresh, but the pain you are going through is a pain that so many women go through and it doesn’t feel okay to talk about it, at least not for me. If you are a friend of mine or a family member reading this, I hope this helps you to understand what we are going through, why it’s so painful, why I don’t want to talk. To you it’s a miscarriage, a lost pregnancy. A fetus that wasn’t meant for this world.  But to us, it was our baby. We made a little life and it died. We heard its heartbeat and we heard its heart stop. It is a shock and a trauma and I am just trying to make it through the day. I didn’t ask my husband how he would feel about me writing this or posting it. Maybe I’m afraid he wouldn’t want me to, he’s a private person. But to me this feels like the first step to healing, it feels right even though I know some people will judge me for sharing like this… but writing has always been a coping device for me, for the worst parts of life, scribbled in a diary, but today I am sharing something private with the public- I had a miscarriage and I’m so sad. And if you had one too, I’m so sorry and I hope my story helps in some small way.


12 thoughts on “I Just had a Miscarriage and I’m so Sad

  1. I’m one of the infertility bloggers from mom.me for The Conception Diaries. I clicked on over to your blog and this was the first post I read. Well said. God I just read this thinking this could have been me writing this. I lost my baby last year and felt the way you did, that it’s tough to talk about it with someone who hasn’t been there. So very well-written post. You nailed it.

  2. I read your entry as well and I felt like, should I comment on it? Is that weird? I was very moved by your piece and your blog. And as always, I’m left with the feeling, why the fuck is it so hard to make a baby? It looks so easy on t.v.

  3. This was posted a while back, but I feel I need to comment on this to let you know that this has made me feel a touch better. My miscarriage came as a complete and total surprise. We had a pregnancy that was going well and my husband was unable to attend the next appointment because of work, which was no big deal because everything was fine..that was the appointment that I was told our baby had no pulse. Like you, we both had much anxiety when we found out I was pregnant and now that our tiny baby is gone I feel so terrible that I ever questioned being a parent. I have been feeling alone, and tortured by cards from family and co-workers who are telling me how sorry they are for their loss. I don’t want to discuss it…talking about it only makes it worse. This post made me feel less alone in my feelings. Thank you for posting this!

    • A.C. I’m so sorry for your loss. It’s so devastating. I wrote a lot about it for a series called “The Conception Diaries” after one of the editors read this piece. I was conflicted about doing it but for me the only solace I found was reading stuff on the internet about miscarriages. I didn’t want to talk to anyone either. If you like I can send you some of the links from my posts there. I had a long road to feeling better and that chronicles it week by week. I’ve been told it’s very helpful. Miscarriage is so painful and even though I’m 23 weeks pregnant now, I still have anxiety about this pregnancy. He moves now so that is reassuring, but still- a carefree pregnancy is not something I (or anyone who has had a miscarriage) can ever experience.

  4. Thank you, thank you, thank you for your post! It was just what I needed to read after going through the same thing. Fuck the whole hide away in your house and deal with it alone routine our society has encouraged for so long. As women, we are stronger when we come together and you have helped us do that. Thank you for your courage and honesty. You’ve helped me find some if my own. Xoxo

  5. Katie I’m so sorry for your loss and I’m glad that it helped you to read about my experience as blogs like this were the only thing that got me through the miscarriage. I’m 34 weeks pregnant now but it was around this time last year when I first found out I was pregnant. I still get sad thinking about him even with a healthy pregnancy. I was very shocked with how profound the loss was and I’m grateful that my writing about it is helping in some small way.

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  9. You made me feel incredibly normal for every thought running through my brain. This was written so long ago and could have been written by me today. You helped my soul heal a little today. Thank you.

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