This isn’t going to be a post about my kid. This one’s all about ME. I had a miscarriage a little while ago. While I won’t go into detail about what my bathroom looked like (it was gross) or about my shitty doctor (he told me to stop using midwives due to my advanced maternal age), or about my ride in the ambulance (I felt important when they finally turned the siren on), I would like to share a few things with you, if you don’t mind.
On one hand, I never thought this would happen to me; on the other, I was always expecting it to happen. I am immediately reminded of a female comedian somewhere out there, who told a pretty brutal joke a few years ago that went like, “well, I guess this is MY rape.” I’m not comparing miscarriage to rape, by any means, I just understand that strange feeling of knowing that, maybe perhaps someday, this shitty, terrible thing might be a possibility. It sucks. It doesn’t make it any better. So, I wasn’t really surprised when they told me that, at 13 weeks pregnant, my fetus measured at 9 weeks, without a heartbeat. I didn’t ask, why me? That’s just silly. I was more like, how did I get to be the shmuck who didn’t realize she hadn’t been pregnant for over a month?
The first major realization after having a miscarriage: I have never felt more disconnected from my own body. If someone from the future had come back and told me I was about to have a dead fetus inside me for four weeks, while still having pregnancy symptoms, yet at the same time having no symptoms of a miscarriage, I probably would have been a wee bit suspicious, and then I would have immediately written a letter: Dear Reproductive System, What the fucking fuck? Why do you consistently, without fail, continue to fuck with me when I am not looking? I have clearly been betrayed by my own body, having never been more surprised at all the hideous surprises that have come out of me in the past week.
Second thing: This experience is nothing like having a healthy, successful, pregnancy. It’s about 10 mazillion times more traumatic, emotional, and painful than giving birth. I don’t expect anyone who hasn’t been through it to truly understand. This attitude has, unfortunately, made me want to avoid anyone who is pregnant or who has just had a kid. Sorry. Nothing I can do about that. I’m just not going to talk to those guys for awhile. I feel really bad about this, but I’m also quite confident this feeling will pass very soon, and I will go back to creepily rubbing pregnant bellies and sniffing newborns any day now.
Third thing: why does noone actually talk about this? This attitude seems so 1985. I understand the need for healing, for privacy, for emotional detachment from other people (see above), but I honestly don’t understand this creepy desire to ERASE the pregnancy. That seems like it may do more harm than good. Since I had already told so many people about my pregnancy, I was forced to be honest and share what had happened. In retrospect, I am thankful that so many people knew — tragedy actually does brings people together, and these same people are the ones who are going to get 25-year-old-drunk-with-you-and-make-dead-baby-jokes (if you’re ready).
And lastly… don’t be an asshole. If a friend has a miscarriage, call or text her. Constantly. Come over if you can. Don’t send a text like, How are you. That is too vague. You may as well say, I have two eyes. Cancel your plans, buy some beer, get her out if possible. And not just for the first few days. Maybe check in after a week, when the shit really hits the fan and she has to go back to work and pretend like nothing happened cause everyone is too weirded out by the fact that she was pregnant last week and now she’s just… not.
And now to lift your spirits: Halloween costume ideas!!!…. enjoy?
|Bert and Ernie|