***
The initial wonder of what the hell you may have sat in. Something thick and black and scarlet. Has that been there since the bus ride? The office? Why didn't someone say something? The unexpectedness and untimeliness and unscheduled horror. The realization that you are bleeding. The shock. The unpreparedness. The urge to scream for Mother, though she's a thousand miles away. The shame. The primal urge to put it all back, no matter how senseless. The heat of anger. Of sorrow. Of injustice. Unfairness. Relief. Regret. Failure.
It's always the same. For me, at least. Maybe it's different for you. I wouldn't know. It isn't something we often speak of. We don't make this sort of thing public.
Hush now. Just get a hot towel and throw away those clothes. We can never get that stain out. I'll put some water on for tea and take two of these pills. Sleep now. The hard part will be over in a day's time. Maybe two. If it lasts much past four we will call in the doctor. He will know what to do.
I've never tried to get pregnant, though I've accidentally succeeded several times. I've obviously never been very good at staying that way. Which is okay with me. I have this idea that all babies meant to be born eventually are, to someone. Humans tend to be a resilient little race of beings, and come hell or high water, they tend to get born and stay alive. Mostly.
Watching something slip from your body before it's due is never easy. It hurts as much as one can imagine. As much as any part of being a woman, of being a mother, hurts. It hurts bigger than your body. It isn't quite entirely physical, although your body is involved to a large degree. Bigger than the world, because that's the size of your soul.
Sometimes your baby is so tiny you can barely find her, if you are brave enough to look. She easily gets lost in the sauce, as it were. You think you catch what may possibly be her arm, and you reach down to hold what could be a tiny hand as a way to say "goodbye, I hope you found moments of happiness and love while we were together. Maybe we will find each other again in another lifetime".
Sometimes you hold your prawnchild in your fingers and you have to decide what to do with him. Name him? Flush him? Bury him in the yard? Keep him in the freezer?
Once I flushed my pinkybaby down the toilet in the dorm. Another got flushed in a truckstop just outside Baton Rouge. I can laugh about it now. Now. Because, come on. A truckstop? In Baton Rouge? Me?
I named that truckstop baby Louisa. Not after the state I was in (oh, the state I was in!) but after my great aunt who died as a child.
I named that dormitory baby Cicely. On account that she was born and died the same instant in Tyson Hall.
I never knew I was pregnant any time I miscarried. It just up and happens one day, somewhere between eight and twelve weeks into it, judging on the size of what comes out of me. That's probably a sure sign of something wrong. Even with Jake I didn't have many symptoms. Hell, I had a regular period six months into my pregnancy with him. No rest on that count.
I wonder why we don't speak of these things.
We are adults. We have sex. Pregnancy results. Pregnancy doesn't result. It's a fact of life.
Why we don't share our sorrows and mishaps the way we share our joys when it comes to the babies we birth. Some of us don't even tell our mothers, our sisters, our best friends that we were pregnant but our bodies were not able to sustain the pregnancy. "Something happened. It's over. The baby was not ready for the world. He's given himself back to the Earth."
I'm not looking for condolences, because I have exactly what I want in life. If I would've had any of the children that I lost before having Jacob I wouldn't have him. If I would've had any children after him, I wouldn't have the life I am living right now.
I'm looking for things to change. I'm looking for the shame and the stigma to stop and for there to be a rise in sisterhood and support surrounding fertility issues and miscarriages. It is no one's fault when a pregnancy isn't viable. It shouldn't be embarrassing or a mark of failure. It isn't a reflection on our partners. It happens to so many of us and maybe if we all started opening up about it we could stop feeling so damned awful and alone and guilty when it happens to us. My heart cries each time a friend confides that she can't get pregnant and she looks at her shoes and plays with her wedding ring when she says this. When she can't say the words "fertility treatment" in a crowded room for fear of a tongue lashing or a lecture about adoption (or on the flip side, when a woman can't say the word "adoption" in a crowded room for fear of a tongue lashing or a lecture about fertility treatment). Or when she can't figure out what she may have done to deserve yet another miscarriage, yet another period.
I'm not asking anyone to stand on your rooftops and yell about any difficulty you've had getting or staying pregnant. I'm just asking that we start banding together to be there for those that are going through a rough patch. It's hard when you've been through it because it all comes rushing back when someone talks about it. Old wounds reopen. Things maybe best and hard forgotten surface. No matter what Life and Mind want, the Body misses its children.
Hormones may surge.
Wombs may sob.
Many women grieve a miscarried or unconcieved baby as a lost child. A child who had the potential to be held and loved and nurtured and the potential to grow up to be anything that anyone could ever be in life. Hearing "it will be fun to try again!" or "there is plenty of time to have more babies" is not okay. Sometimes it's okay not to say anything at all. Hold one another. Let your hearts speak. They are much wiser than your brains and more verbose than your mouths.
49 degrees {comments}:
After one healthy, full term baby my sister in law is currently in the middle of her third, possibly fourth- she never took a test with one, miscarriage in the past year.
I don't even know what to say other than it sucks.
Beautiful. Sad. True.
It happened to me in college and I was terrified of what people would think of me so I didn't tell anyone. Years later I started opening up to people about it and it turned out that so many of my friends had similar stories........ who knew?
-->I think the same could be said for postpartum depression. It happens!
Ok, I'm crying at my desk! I love you!
I have seen the gaping wounds, the black holes, of infertility and miscarriage in friends and family, neighbors and strangers. I've held its shattering grief in my arms and listened to its wails while I rocked with it in some instinctual rhythmic motion, but I don't know it. I can't begin to wrap my head around it.
What I do know is those platitudes uttered by people who feel compelled to fill air time for fear of an awkward moment? They're best replaced with silence. On more than one occasion, I've wanted to reach out and strangle the shit out of someone.
Really people, if you have to say something to someone who has suffered any loss, "I'm sorry." is sufficient.
I'm sitting here holding back tears. Beautifully and powerfully written. I agree, why is it that these words are all said in such hushed tones? It's like saying, "She has cancer," in whispers. Thinking of you.
Lora, the thing I have always loved most about you is your willingness to talk about things that so many suffer through in silence. Just think how much better our world would be if everyone was honest about their experiences, if all women shared like you do...I think we'd find out that the experiences in our lives that we bury deep in our brains and allow to make us feel ashamed,afraid, whatever, are really more common than we know now. We are not alone. I don't mean to say that talking about having a miscarriage would make it hurt any less, but being able to share your experience would certainly be a healthier way to deal with your emotions.
This is incredible.
After I miscarried no one knew what to say and so they didn't say anything at all and I hated it. It was hushed up out of discomfort and taboo and I just wanted to release it. But starting off a conversation with "Hi I'm Lizzi and I miscarried this week. But I'm okay. For real. Because I knew in my gut from the beginning that this was how this pregnancy was going to end up." just gets people staring at you like you're a freak without a filter.
I still think about it. The baby and all that would have been. But I believe that things happen for a reason, and not everything is meant to happen.
Excellent post Lora. I've never been pregnant, that I know of. And I can't begin to imagine feelings any woman may have in this state. It's good to know that a hug can say it all without words. ox
What more can be said?
Beautifully done.
Beautiful post Lora.
Yes.
Let's stand together.
Damn I love how you write, Lora.
Sorry I've been MIA. Been doing a bit of traveling and not much blogging. You are the first I returned to, however.
This post is so powerful. Meaningful. Well and viscerally put. I've had three pregnancies - two of which resulted in my beautiful son and daughter. The other... well.... it haunts me as well. Going through the experience of losing a child is something that never leaves you. Thank you for putting such a human face on it.
I love you.
Very touching.
Wow. Yes. The force we could be if we would all band together instead of spending so much time looking for ways to cut each other down. It's mind-blowing, if you really stop long enough to think about it.
Hm. What to say? I have been through these waters so many times. I think I may be lucky. My friends and sisters have always shared these moments. I think we all say it "right." We say it and I think that is right.
As for me? I had one unplanned pregnancy. He is twelve and I am married.
Actually gentlemen should read this, because generally we don't know jack about this.
Yes, yes, yes. We learn more by listening than by talking. And a hug or a squeeze of the hand is invaluable.
And my kids-- old as they are, are still my babies. And till the day he died, far too young, my dad Abe called me "Abie's Baby" (youngest of three.)
You did a wonderful thing with this post, Little Missy. (I'm playing Mother Hen here...)
Wow, you make me cry, smile, and say YES! Just beautifully written. I have those same thoughts about my 3 kids and wonder at the miracle that they are who they are and the came to me at the perfect time. Love & Hugs!!!
*hug*
Yes, we need to talk. I've tried to share my experience but unless I'm talking to another woman who has experienced the same kind of loss, I get looked at like I grew a penis on my forehead. Then the subject is quickly changed to the two boys I have now. September and June are still very bittersweet months for me.
I've gone through every pregnancy thing you can think of (besides the "can't get pregnant one" cause I am most certainly Fertile Myrtle) and I've always chosen to speak openly about my experiences. I'm not ashamed of them. I feel like you do... that it all happens for a reason. I wish there wasn't such a stigma regarding this topic.
When my daughter died not one person talked to me about it. Not one. Not even my husband at the time. No one wanted to go there. And then everyone would ask me why I wasn't crying or talking about it..... what the fuck?! I just tried to talk about it and you sat there staring at me like you were going to bolt at any second...like I was hurting you by wanting to talk about my dead kid.......and how cold and stiff she was when I finally got to hold her without a million tubes and lines and shit stuck in her....and all I can think of still 9 years later is that little pink clip the nurse put in her hair after she died when she got her ready for me... whatever.
People don't want to talk about it because they are afraid of it. Pure and simple. Afraid if they stand near you long enough your bad luck will rub off on them.....
Beautifully written, I agree with Amanda... unless you've been through it people don't understand.
THey try to tell you that you should be "happy" with your two healthy children. It doesn't make the loss any easier - whether planned or unplanned.
i kinda want to wear a "my baby exploded" button so i can bond/scare others. your writing is really wonderful.
Beautifully written. I find whenever I speak of my losses I always hear from women whispering 'me too'.
i think we all need to stop hiding our troubles. Pretending that everything is fine doesn't fool anyone.
You are so right, Lora. It is seen as a stigma when really we should acknowledge that it is a part of the cycle of nature. If a pregnancy isn't viable, this is nature's correction policy.
It is still sad when it happens, but I am a firm believer that things happen for a reason.
Take care of yourself and pamper yourself a little. Hugs to you!
Oh Man. You are right. People don't talk about. Could be fear. Could be unwillingness to touch those feelings. Who knows? The one I lost I didn't even know I was gonna have until it was over. It still hurt just as bad. In an instant it was all gone. I still wonder what that child would have been like.
People do the same thing when you have a child who is disabled. They feel ashamed. They don't want to talk about the elephant in the room. They try to avert their gazes, try to ignore it. If only they'd ask! If only they'd ask me how I feel.
lora youre the best.
So where do I start? Where is the start?
I’ve been thinking of talking about this for a long time. I always hesitate. I want to speak my story out loud, and let it escape. But it’s also this very private, personal thing. So I’ve shared it with very few and grieved alone and secretly. I’m grieving again right now.
I could write pages, but I’ll keep it to this. I have been pregnant three times, every one a wanted, desired pregnancy. I have one (perfect, miraculous) daughter.
The second pregnancy was such perfect timing. My children would be 3 years apart. I was due almost exactly the same day as my first—which was also my birthday. I knew that the first trimester was always riskiest and not to get too invested, too soon. So I didn’t tell anyone besides my husband and my mom. But I was excited, so I signed up for a pre-natal yoga class. Just before 7 weeks, before I’d even had an ultrasound, I started spotting. Somehow I knew it wasn’t right. The next day, it was like I’d gotten my period. I went to the OB-GYN and they took my blood and gave me an ultrasound and confirmed what I already knew. And then I had to call the hospital and cancel my class registration.
The third pregnancy was hard fought and didn’t come until 3 years later, after 3 years of not getting pregnant, wondering why. Three years, and two surgeries for endometrial cysts. Three years and one round of IVF. This time, because it was assisted reproduction, I knew I was pregnant at 4 weeks, and began frequent blood tests and ultrasounds right away. At 6 weeks, all seemed well, and I was transferred to my regular OB for checkups. At 7 weeks, the heartbeat was strong, but the measurements were just a little smaller than they should have been, so they asked me to come back a week later. That whole week, I tried to be hopeful, but I felt that dread. At 8 weeks, there was no heartbeat. I walked numbly from the ultrasound room through a waiting room full of pregnant women to an exam room to speak to my wonderful OB. I tried to cry silently. No-one had the right to hear my grief. Several days later, I went to the hospital for a D&C.
My second round of IVF was unsuccessful. I am staring down the barrel of 40, wondering where to go next, what to feel next. I don’t know whether it’s worse to be unable to get pregnant, or to be unable to stay pregnant. But I do know that it really, truly fucking sucks to be both.
In retrospect, I must have miscarried once in college, but it wasn't until after I was a mother that I realized it - I was late, so late, on my period. And relieved, so relieved, when the bleeding finally started that I didn't allow myself to think anything but "FINALLY!"
But now, knowing my body, knowing my reproductive tendencies, knowing, it must have been. And still I'm glad it wasn't.
I'm tired of the shroud of unspeakable surrounding women and their "parts" (VAGINA! LABIA! PLACENTA! ENDOMETRIAL LINING! FETUS! BABY!). I'm tired of watching my sisters bear shame and guilt that isn't and shouldn't. I wonder why we all keep it up.
Exquisite, true and so refreshingly and persuasively put. Thank you.
xo.
Holy crap that was touching.
I'm all for talking about it. I've had two. And although I'm sad, like you I wouldn't have had The King. And that would make me sadder.
Your Day 2 closing statement gives me something to think about today as I start my new week. Thanks for a great post.
beautifully written. Thank you so much for sharing. Much love.
What a brilliant post...You will touch many women with these words. This subject is a diificult one to tackle. You did it with honesty and grace. Bravo!
I have looked at the names that have commented here. I can think of at least a dozen who SHOULD read this post.
I hope they do.
The words I have offered, in the past, to those who have mis-carried children, have never seemed adequate. I'm sure they have never really meant much. But this post says so much - maybe these words, the words of another woman, will mean something more.
I hope they do.
That one was hard to read, Lora. Thanks for writing it.
When I started trying again, a nurse in my office who gave me my flu shot gave me a stern talking to about not telling anyone until I'm 14 weeks. I find that offensive. I think these issues need to not be dirty secrets that make women feel like its their fault. I'm not quite 12 weeks. I've told lots of people. Its my body, and I didn't do anything wrong and secrets never helped anyone. (surprises are another story.)
Beautifully written. And yes, we should talk about these things freely, hell we should be able to talk about everything freely!
x
Thank you.
And I couldn't agree with you more. We need to be able to talk openly and freely about these things without being forced to forget about. After my miscarriage in '07, I actually "broke up" with my doctor at the time because of the way they treated me and the things they said to me. Like, "well, it was barely a pregnancy" and "it happens so much that it's really not a big deal" and "if you hadn't taken a pregnancy test, you probably wouldn't have even known you were pregnant and thought you were just having a weird period, so it's really kind of your fault you feel this way." They made me feel like I was crazy for being so upset because the miscarriage happened so early (chemical pregnancy, I think they call it). Thankfully I found doctors that assured me the way I was feeling was valid and normal and that I have every right to be upset. Sadly, they are in the minority - most don't want to think about the negative side of having babies. Unfortunately, it's part of it and we have to take the bad with the good.
crying too hard to comment...
How do you exist? You are...amazing.
I'm so sorry Lora. I know you're not looking for sympathy but I can't help it. I've never had a miscarriage (so far) but I know it would break my heart.
This post is brilliant and so important. It took my breath away.
I love you.
Love this post...and you are right about all of it. I think Doctors could take a lesson too. I know they are jaded because they see it all the time but telling a patient on their first appt for their first baby that "they will probably misscarry (sp?)" is not okay. I had my period too (while prego) and so did my mom and doctors still act like that is not/was not possible. Interesting...
CHEERS!!!! BRAVO!!!! I don't get the stigma surrounding miscarriages/adoption/fertility treatments...blah, blah, blah. It is what it is. Let. It. Be. Say what is necessary and be accepting. Isn't that what life is all about?!
You touched a place that I don't visit very often. I've had 5 pregnancies and my personal experience of seeing a tiny fetus in the toilet bowl of bloody water will never leave me. I too didn't know what to do flush, retrieve? I did a name and a special place in my heart.
I've just found your blog and holy wow, are you an amazing writer, so honest and to the point. I feel much the same way you do about my lost babies, that they weren't mine to have and weren't meant to be, and I wouldn't have the babies (people!) I have now if I'd had them. I say this now, but I grieved deeply for them. I will never forgive the self absorbed female doctor who said at least you have one child, one sentence after confirming that my baby was lost and scheduling the D&C. My stare must have gotten through to her because she stopped and apologized and said I guess that is little comfort, and I didn't start to cry until she patted my arm. What an ass.
I learned much later in life how incredibly lucky I am to have the two I have now, as a high tech scan showed my uterus to be bicornate, or not fully joined, so I figure the babies I kept must have been in the right spot. I almost lost my second child, spotting and cramping in the first trimester, but thanks to luck and modern hormones, have two children and I'm done with that now, as I'm old enough to be somebody's grandma since I had them so late.
It isn't something comfortable to talk about, but I watched a good friendship deteriorate when she lost a child not expected to live two weeks after birth. The gap between our levels of grief was too great to span, despite our both being lucky enough to have two healthy babies. It is one thing I suppose to be in the early term miscarriage club, and quite another, at least to her, to be in the later. She found comfort with new friends who shared her particular version of loss. It's all very sad and strange sometimes. Thanks for the honest dialogue about this.
I feel so fortunate to never have been pregnant till I was 37 years old then proceeded to have two children before 40. I have close peeps who have most children early in pregnancy and later in pregnancy, and many who fight to have one at all. It should never be a stigma on how your family is created if created at all
Beautifully written. I lost two babies (that I know of). I am not ashamed to talk about my infertility troubles or my miscarriages but I have learned it makes many others uncomfortable when I do.
I heard all kinds of helpful comments that were supposed to make me feel better. None of them did. After my second miscarriage one of my aunts sent me a card that simply said, "Thinking of you and I love you." That card and her words were what comforted me the most.
I'm over visiting from Words of Wisdom. This post is excellent and very well written. I actually have a blog called "For Your Tears" and I mail out handkerchiefs to women who have had a miscarriage or lost stillborn babies, babies who passed from SIDS/illness and those who have lost older children. There are some parts of this that I think need to be shouted from the roof tops so people understand how many babies die each year and that the grieving mother needs to be noticed, each in their own way of course.
I lost my would-be second baby @ 11 weeks pregant in 2008. I'm ok with knowing that it happens for a reason, but it still hurts, now and then. I wish more women were open and ok with telling their story.
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