today while driving i was, naturally, thinking about my blog and ideas i have for future posts, etc.  i presently love blogging and love keeping my eyes peeled for things to write about…i ask you, what more exciting thing could one be pondering while careening through rush hour traffic?  nada.

 

okay, back to my point—incidentally, a life-long friend recently described me as “a bit of a rabbit trail-er”…maybe you haven’t noticed that about me yet, but it’s true.  see?  there i go again.

 

i guess i’m stalling and stammering a bit because what i’m trying to say is that i think i feel ready to tell the story of our first miscarriage.  and even as i type the words “our” miscarriage, i become aware again of the ambivalence i feel around sharing the miscarriage at times even with my huz, much less offering my tender, raw, enraging, and sacred experience to others.  and yet, the sharing and remembering, the feeling heard and remembered, are  precisely what aid me in my healing process.  but it’s still a challenge for me to go there at times.

 

but today i mostly want to…so here we go.  i’ll start at the beginning.

 

thinking back, i don’t remember ever really wanting to have kids.  i have many memories of myself thinking and saying that i do not want to become a mom.  i thought i was too selfish, i thought i’d screw the kids up, i thought i’d never find a man i’d want to be inextricably linked to for the remainder of my days (whether or not our marriage survived), i thought i’d miss out on my career aspirations and goals.  and i still think these things many days.

 

somewhere around my mid-twenties i distinctly remember a friend/mentor watching me interact with her child and telling me i’d be such a good mom one day.  i had a  teeny-tiny  little bud of a response, buried under years of telling myself the opposite, which was: “really, you think i could be a good mom?”  that is one of my first conscious memories of a growing desire to mother a child.  granted, i was single…still didn’t think i’d find a man who would compel me to marry, etc.  but i began to vaguely consider the idea with curiosity and felt a teensy bud of desire.

 

fast forward to a year and a half ago-ish…my huz and i were at long last on the same page–we both felt ready to have a baby.  ironically, even before i knew we’d be on the hunt for our fertility, i’d always say, “if we have kids” or “if we are able to”, as opposed to when.  it struck me as a great irony in life that we work so hard (using contraception) to prevent something (pregnancy) that we don’t even know for sure can happen in the first place!  of course, i didn’t really think we’d be one of those couples, but here we are. 

 

so, we ditched the contraception and thought we’d start off by not-trying-not-to-get-pregnant.  that felt less scary to us.  lo and behold, we got pregnant on our first real try (i know, for those of you reading this who have great difficulty conceiving, this is probably difficult to hear me say without feeling some degree of frustration or rage…i don’t blame you.  vent it.  i know we are in many ways lucky that at least we can conceive….sadly, there is no equity in the world of fertility–no rhyme or reason as to why some conceive while others struggle to conceive…or why some conceive easily, but can’t sustain the pregnancy…or why some ovulate regularly, while others are desperate to ovulate….there’s no equity and it sucks uniquely for each of us). 

 

as it turns out, i was a couple days late, so i rummaged around in our closet for a pregnancy test i’d bought a few years before during one of my many pregnancy scares (mostly made up in my head and all of which were a clear negative).  i peed on that stick and even though i didn’t have my glasses on i could clearly see the two lines and  i knew what that meant!  my first response was, “holy shit.  what have we done?”  i was scared and i felt hot all over from the adrenaline and fear that was instantly coursing through my veins.  i was still in grad school at the time and had an early morning class to attend….i sat there in the room feeling like i had the biggest, scariest, coolest secret inside me, ever!  i was becoming a teensy bit more excited by the minute.  it was president’s day, parking was free, and i was pregnant—what a day!

 

two of our good friends joined us for a celebration meal and dessert/coffee…we shared a toast to our new little one.  i rushed to the store that afternoon to buy a journal….i wanted to remember each detail, thought, feeling, hope, desire.  i was becoming increasingly more and more excited about the possibilities.  we tried to be selective about whom we told–afterall, you never know what might happen that early in a pregnancy, right?  but we had no reason to believe something would go wrong and we were overwhelmed and so we told…everyone…

 

i wrote in the journal; my huz drew a sign to welcome our little one to the world, which i held in our first photo-op later that night.  we took pictures of me, because we wanted to be one of those couples who have pics for every month of the pregnancy—starting from the beginning.  it was day one for us, although our little one was already 4w1d and we were feeling good.

 

three weeks and one day later, on march 11, 2008, i woke up a bit later than a usual week day morning…stumbled to the bathroom and had the shock of my life (next to the day my mom died). 

 

blood.  lots of red blood.

 

i went back to bed.  i thought maybe i could lay down and pretend i didn’t just see what i saw.  lay down, i thought.  keep it all inside.  but i could feel it gushing out.  i knew what was happening.  you see, i’d already been a bit worried in the few days leading up to this horrible morning because there’d been the faintest pinkish streaks of blood when i’d use the bathroom.  but according to all of my internet sources (reliable as they are), these things happen…nothing to worry about.  the day before i woke up to bright red gushing blood, i saw a little bit of brown blood, but again, these things happen…nothing to worry about…in fact, i’d better not worry because worrying might cause me to miscarry…no worrying.  do not worry about a thing.  it’s going to be just fine–don’t worry!

 

guess what?  i worried…a lot.  scared of the worst case scenario coming true.

 

and it did.

 

we rushed to the er where they can’t do anything for early miscarriage (lesson learned—the next times we just stayed home where i was comfortable and could at least have ice cream and watch trashy reality shows) and we endured hours and hours of exams and pokes and prods…doctors and nurses imploring us not to worry.  are they nuts?!  blood and clots flowing…oh, don’t worry…50% of women experience bleeding in pregnancy and still go on to deliver healthy babies…or maybe you had twins and one of them died, but the other is still going strong…or…or…or.

 

guess what?  i really did miscarry.  around 10:30 that night, about 12 hours after the bleeding began, our little blueberry passed from my body.  i held it.  we tenderly touched its little sac.  we cried.  my huz played the song he’d been writing in preparation for its arrival…the half finished song played for the unfinished little one.  we laid it to rest in a little coffin made by ziploc.  i felt proud of us for tenderly caring for this little one until the end.

 

later that week we had a bit of a memorial one evening with a few of our dear friends.  i’d made a painting in the day or two following to help me express the grief and sacredness of the moment our blueberry passed, and we had our sign that my huz made for our monthly picture taking posted on the easel above my painting:

 

memorial pics

 

we call this little one our blueberry because we’d been tracking the size of it through one of those on-line pregnancy sites that compares your growing embryo to a grain of rice, a lentil bean, a blueberry, etc.  ours was supposed to be the size of a blueberry the week i miscarried, though now i know it more than likely died well before making it to the blueberry stage, but i don’t care…it’s our blueberry to us.

 

IMG_1120

 

by the way, we aren’t ready to bury it yet.  so we wait.  we wait until the day comes that we feel ready…ready to let it go…bury it…be parted, yet again.  we’re not there yet.

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