Wednesday, July 9, 2008


One of my favorite bloggers posted about having a miscarriage. It made me reflect on my own loss. Having had 2 miscarriages myself I know exactly what she is going through. The pain, depression, the asking of "why God." It's not an easy thing to go through. Even though deep down you know that there was a "reason" that it happened, it still doesn't help you come to terms with the loss any easier.

My first miscarriage happened in 1997. I was 24 years old, living in Hawaii while stationed at Schofield Barracks. I was dating a man (I think I just heard a thousand lesbians shriek) and he was the only man I really ever loved. It wasn't an accidental pregnancy but it wasn't planned either. We took our chances knowing what could happen. I was around 12 weeks pregnant when I started experiencing a lot of cramping. I went to urgent care where they informed me that I had a bladder infection and the doctor assured me that the baby was fine. All the while I had a nagging feeling that something more was wrong as my "cramps" were coming 6 minutes apart. I was given antibiotics and sent home.

After another week of the pain not letting up I went back to urgent care and after an exam they sent me to the hospital just to make sure everything was okay. It wasn't. I had an ultrasound and I couldn't see the screen, but the tech told me that we were going down the hall to use a different machine that she couldn't get a good picture on the one we were using. But I saw my boyfriends face, I knew something was wrong. During the second ultrasound, the tech turned the screen toward me so I could see and she said "I'm so sorry honey, there is no heartbeat." I could see the baby on the screen, I saw the head and body and you could definitely see the outline of the hand and arm that was raised as if to say "Hi, mom. Sorry I can't stay." I cried. I wailed and I cried more.

The doctor came in a repeated the ultrasound and confirmed the techs diagnosis. At that point he said "You can either wait this out and let your body dispose of the contents of your uterus or we can schedule surgery." Contents of my uterus. I will remember those words until the day I die. Contents of my uterus. Not fetus, not baby. I hated him for being so cold. I opted for surgery. I had already been in pain (in labor if you will) for a week, I was ready to get it over with. I was scheduled for the surgery a week later, I would have to endure the contractions for another week and then recovery time.

On the way home I kept thinking that there had to be no greater pain than losing a child. I thought I would never recover. For a brief moment I thought about grabbing the wheel of the car and slamming us into a tree so I wouldn't have to feel the pain anymore. The feeling passed. My boyfriend dropped me off at my apartment and left me there. Alone. My friends didn't call, or come by. I later found out that they didn't know how to approach me. Fuck that. Go see your friend when they are hurting, sometimes just a hug works and you don't have to say anything. I went through this completely alone. Or at least that is how it felt and still feels.

A week later, my boyfriend drove me to the appointment. I was wheeled down the hall, was instructed to lay on a gurney and they started an IV. They told me I would start to feel groggy but I felt nothing. One minute they were talking to me the next I woke up. Alone. In pain and bleeding. It was over. I couldn't believe it was over, I felt so empty. I was taken into a recovery room where my boyfriend joined me. No hug, no hand holding, we just sat there waiting for me to be able to leave. When we left he took me home and left me. Alone. Again. I know now that he just didn't know how to deal with this himself let alone help me through it. Little consolation, but at least I know that he wasn't just being an asshole. I had to return to work just 3 short days later.

One co-worker came up to me and I am quoting her and I'll never forget these words: "Can you tell me what you did wrong, because I want to have a child soon and I don't want the same thing to happen to me." What I did wrong. I wanted to scream and yell at her that I did nothing wrong and how dare she say something like that to someone who had just lost their baby. She was on my shit list after that. I could care less if she didn't mean to hurt me, I was hurt none-the-less. I didn't yell at her. The reason? I was in the Army, she was of higher rank. An NCO, so I kept my screams to myself, but if I could do it over again I certainly would. She gave birth to a healthy baby 11 months later. Cunt.

My ex-boyfriend and I are still close. I speak to him or his wife a couple times a month. They just had their 5th baby boy last month. I'm very happy for them. This post made me very very tired. I'll save the other story for another time.


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