It has been nearly three months since we found out that we miscarried. I was 11 weeks and 5 days, but our baby only measured 9 weeks and 6 days. Shocked? Of course. Saddened? How could we not be? But mostly, I was scared. A million questions rushed through my mind before I even let the words "I'm so sorry but there's no heartbeat" sink in. What happens next? What did this mean for our future? Was there something I could have done? Is there something wrong with me?
The hours leading up to my D&C were rough. Sadness took a back seat to my fear. We were in a new country with minimal support. I had just gotten back from America the day before. I had just left my family. I had just landed in London with a positive outlook on being pregnant in a new and unfamiliar place. And now this. It couldn't actually be happening. Thankfully, my incredibly amazing and supportive husband took his usual A game up to an A++ and was there with me every step of the way making me feel comfortable, loved, and even making me laugh.
Following the surgery is when it all really set in. I still felt pregnant, I still looked pregnant, and I still wished, with all of my heart, that I was pregnant. We arrived back home to our flat, which was filled with a pregnancy pillow, the beginnings of a blanket that I was crocheting, blue and pink onsies, and mostly, filled with our visions of bringing our baby back from the hospital to this place that we now called home.
I cried the first time I drank a sip of wine, hesitated the first time I lifted raw sushi into my mouth, and I flinched as D placed his arm over my belly to give me a hug in bed. I had worked so hard over the last 8 weeks to adjust to the pregnancy Do's and Don'ts and now to throw them all away felt wrong and unimaginable.
At the time of my miscarriage, I only knew of one other person who this had happened to. Of course, I've heard the statistics of how common miscarriages are, but still, I felt so alone. Women tend not to discuss their miscarriages. It is perfectly understandable. It's hard to talk about and to dredge up the memories of a horrific time in your life. But, I want to share mine. No need to protect my anonymity, either. If by spreading the word that I had a miscarriage, at 28 years old, could shed light or bring comfort to someone in need, then it is more than worth it. I realized quickly, as I shared with friends and family, that I actually knew quite a few people that have had miscarriages. I was simply unaware. As sad as I felt for them, it brought me comfort knowing that I wasn't alone anymore. Miscarriage is a common occurrence and it does not mean half of the things we think that it means in our state of panic and fear.
It took weeks before the tears dried on my pillow at night. And although, with the help of our visitors, I quickly bounced back to living my pre-pregnancy life, I still was dealing with a lot inside. I am still healing at this very moment. My feelings evolved from anxiety (which could have very well been my hormones), health-anxiety (Was something wrong with me? What's that coming out of my v****a?), and sadness. I'm working overtime to mourn the loss of our baby girl. But, it's been a therapeutic journey and I'm learning so much as I go along. The most significant? I am stronger than I think and I am not alone.
I hope and pray that one day we will be blessed with the opportunity to bring our baby to whatever place we call home. I know it will happen. I'm choosing to have faith.
♪ Somehow, somewhere, I'll see you again
But until then, I've got dreams
of loving you ♪
