The M word.

No one wants to talk about the M word. Miscarriage. It’s a dirty little secret. And that’s shitty.

I had a miscarriage in September.

Miscarriage is a weird word. It makes me feel like I did something wrong. I mis-carried. I made a mistake. Was it a mistake? No. No, I didn’t do anything to cause it. No, it’s not anyone’s fault.

When you are in the middle of miscarrying, it feels a lot like a period on steroids. It’s very painful. The painful part kept me from dealing with it emotionally. My emotional reaction to having a miscarriage was super delayed. I mean, I was sad during the process. Is process the right word? I don’t know. I was sad. I ate ice cream. I ate a lot of tortilla chips. I watched like 87 hours of NCIS. Don’t judge me, I was in a bad place and we don’t have cable.

But the pain was my focus. Just breathing and sleeping and getting through the approximately 3 days of misery. It helped that we had told some family and close friends. My dad and my sweet friend sent me flowers. My mom brought me food. It’s weirdly comforting when you are having a super shitty week to know people love you. And they are sad for you. And they hope you are okay.

About a week later, the sadness came. A lot of tears. And tears for no reason sometimes. And a bad mood for no reason. And general grumpiness. And all actually for a reason that I didn’t realize at the time.

But a few months later, I am okay. I am pregnant again and basking in the misery of morning sickness and, so far, a healthy pregnancy.

The thing about a miscarriage is, once you have one, you are never the same. I think it made me tougher. It made me a little cynical. And a little more open. It’s actually really common. Some Google searches say 20% of pregnancies end in a miscarriage. Some say less, some say more. But that sure as hell makes me feel better.

I told a few people after it happened and it turns out a LOT of people I know had been through it. So I told more people. And more people understood. And that made me feel better. And then I told even more people because I thought, if those people ever have one, then they know they can talk to me about it. And I also said thank you to people who shared their experience with me. Because it’s so shitty. So shitty. And it’s so nice to know you aren’t alone. And there’s nothing wrong with you. And it will be okay.

There are no guarantees. I am not guaranteed a baby this time. I hang on to hope and remain incredibly anxious in between all of my doctor’s appointments. Four weeks feels like a million years when you want to hear a little heartbeat. But I do know, on the other side of it, that life goes on. You do survive. And you are not alone. Not even freaking close.


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