No matter how small…
This is Cora. Beautiful from the start. I stared at this picture endlessly while pregnant.
I’ve never had a miscarriage.
How can I pretend to know what it feels like? How can I write about it?
My pregnancy with Cora was my first and only.
While I was pregnant, I spent my entire first trimester in constant fear. Several times Google convinced me I was losing the baby or had an ectopic pregnancy or a fake pregnancy or a gazillion other things.
One night after a particularly emotional day when we were moving, I threw a hissy fit. I was about 7 weeks pregnant. I was frustrated about the move. Moving stresses me out. I do that sometimes. Throw a fit. We were moving, and I worked myself into hysterics, and I plopped on the floor and cried and cried.
Ben came and scooped me up after letting me cry it out for a bit. We were driving back to our new apartment when I felt it. I knew I’d started bleeding. I didn’t tell Ben but ran into the bathroom to check. I ran out and told him to take me to the emergency room.
I remember that car ride. I remember being so frightened for my baby. So in love with my baby. I didn’t know she was a she. I didn’t know she was Cora. I remembered thinking I didn’t know what I would do if I lost her. I remember thinking I couldn’t do this. Couldn’t lose my child. She wasn’t planned. We weren’t ready, but my child was growing inside of me, and I was a mother.
At the ER, the doctor and nurses were nice, but couldn’t tell me much. I was only 7 weeks pregnant, didn’t have insurance, and hadn’t had a prenatal visit. The bleeding had stopped, lasted only an hour or less, but I didn’t know if I was still pregnant.
I went home to Dr. Google (always a bad idea) where I found articles swaying me both ways. After a few days, I found one of those pregnancy crisis centers that agreed to give me an ultrasound. The woman I met with was so cruel on so many levels even before the ultrasound. This was my first ultrasound, she looked around for a while and said “well it must have been a miscarriage, I don’t see anything, but I’ll look around for a supervisor in case for a second opinion” and left the room. My heart stopped. My world stopped. But, then someone else came in, found Cora, and my pregnancy was absolutely normal from there on out.
In fact, a little bleeding, like I experienced that night is quite normal. Not usually a reason to go to the ER, but this was my first and only pregnancy, I didn’t know that.
My point, I’ve never had a miscarriage. Can’t pretend I know that pain. I only had a small taste of the worry and couldn’t handle it.
Almost daily, someone that has miscarried writes saying they don’t know my pain, can’t even imagine.
I always say I don’t like to compare suffering and grief. I can’t understand the awful ache of miscarriage.
Though a form of this post has swirled in my head for months, I wrote today because a I cried for a friend that had a miscarriage. She's been trying to get pregnant for a long time. She was so excited to be pregnant. I was so excited to learn she was pregnant. And, now I'm so sad for her. I can't imagine how she feels.
From an outsider’s perspective, I hate how society as a whole treats women that miscarry. I feel like these women are given a week or two to feel a little blue and expected to “try for another one” and get over it.
I can’t say for certain since I’ve never felt it, but I’m betting it’s a pain that lasts a lifetime.
And, if any of you ever need to talk about it, I’m here.
I’ve wanted to write and tell you this for months, since I was pregnant.
I’m so sorry.
I didn’t know quite what to write, but I knew I had to write something.
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