I was pregnant...Receiving this news in June was kind of a big deal. My mother's birthday was in June. She had passed away two years prior, and finding out this news during her birthday month felt as though she had personally whispered in God's ear to hear our prayers for a baby. Jon and I had decided that after waiting eight years to add to our family, (our oldest being eight), it was officially time to "try" for a little one. And so we did...We found out we were pregnant in June, and were completely over the moon. We sorted through baby names. Played guessing games regarding gender. Attended multiple garage sales. Loaded up on bassinets and bouncers, all in preparation for our little light's entrance into our world.
July 4th..I'm awake. I go to the bathroom to find that I am bleeding. I am bleeding. I'm not on my period. I am pregnant. Why am I bleeding? My husband calls the midwife. We try our best to describe what we are seeing. We see blood. That's what we see. My midwife instructs me to lay down, as my bleeding wasn't heavy, AND (fun fact), there are some women who spot during pregnancy. I lay down and fall asleep. I wake to find that my bleeding is minimal and barely there. We run to the hospital, as a precaution. After a vaginal exam and an ultrasound..we see our little one is still there. Heart is beating. Life is there. The doctor who performed my exam said, "Your body is deciding whether this is a viable pregnancy. Go home. Take it easy."
The next couple of weeks consisted of me "taking it easy" and my body "deciding". I would visit the doctor again, to find a heartbeat, and our baby & my body still deciding. I didn't leave the house unless I was going to acupuncture or the doctor. I did all the "right things". THIS baby was going to happen. Surely, losing a mother two years prior and then an unborn baby was not part of my story.
Two weeks later, I'm in the bathroom, cradled at the toilet... only to see the tiny hope of the heart beat that I heard two weeks prior. This could not be my reality. This was the baby that we prayed for. This was the baby that my mother had nudged the hand of God concerning (at least it was comforting to believe so.) I sat there stunned... numb... in shock... How could this happen? How did my body fail in the one task that women are "supposed" to be able to "easily" complete? (or so I was told)...How did I fail? I ran through scenario after scenario regarding what could have gone wrong. Surely it was my fault. After being poked and prodded by three doctors. Three vaginal exams. Three ultrasounds. I had miscarried. I was 10 weeks pregnant.
One of the things that I learned through this experience is that people really don't know what to say to someone who has endured a miscarriage. Afterwards, I was met with the occasional, "I'm so very sorry for your loss" (which is the best thing to say in that kind of situation), OR I was met with my personal favorite, "Well, as least you can always try again," which for the record, is the WRONG thing to say in that kind of situation. Hearing the words, "You can always try again", felt as if the provider of that disclaimer were announcing that OUR baby and/or experience was comparable to that of a 7/11 lotto ticket... we could just simply try again. Truth is, what those dear, sweet people (carrying nothing but positive intentions) seemed to be missing, was that the baby that I carried for 10 weeks in my womb was real, and should have been reverenced as so. Yes, we could try again. Yes, we would try again. However, THAT baby deserved to be acknowledged for the light that he or she was... if even for a quick flicker.