The Day of My Miscarriage
Somehow the day coming to a close makes this all feel worse. Like today was a nightmare but tomorrow I have to wake up in the reality that I lost my baby, that I am no longer pregnant. I hesitated washing my blood soaked underwear because I thought “my baby might be in there.” I shoved them amongst a load of all work out clothes. As if hiding them between the pieces of clothes that make me feel most normal will also hide the tragedy that today brought.
Each time I felt more blood leave my body, my hope that all would be okay dripped away with each droplet. As they wheeled me down a narrow cold hallway to get an ultrasound, I smiled at the people walking by. If I could just convince myself, if I could think positive, maybe baby would be there safely nestled in my belly. But the visions of me telling my husband our baby was gone were so vividly pushing pass those where I saw a heartbeat on the scan. As the technician pressed into my belly and I looked up at the tile ceiling in the dark ultrasound room, I knew. And I knew she knew. She pressed so low on my pubic bone I knew that’s not where baby rest. My nerves were like burnt sparklers having exploded then left as charred dust so worn out from the waiting and knowing without knowing. I bought a “Promoted to Big Sister” 24-month onsie that still hasn’t arrived in the mail. What was waiting for me when I arrived home was a blank baby book I had bought so I wouldn’t forget to do all those things you do with your first. It’s in bubble wrap sitting on L’s top shelf.
It’s funny how I don’t want to go to sleep because I don’t want this day to end as if each day that goes by my baby is that much more distant.
I put the first and only ultrasound picture from my 8-week check up in a folder that has a paper listing my 12-week appointments.