I found out about 3 weeks ago that I was pregnant.
I found out a week ago that I was miscarrying that baby.
I've gone through about every emotion I can imagine in the past three weeks.
On September 1st, due to extreme user error on my husband's part, we had a condom malfunction.
Shit, I thought, I am pregnant now. No way, said my husband, reasoning that I had just finished my period like three days earlier.
But I knew better.
His family has a fertility problem. They are way fertile. Like way way fertile.
And so I took tests. Probably too many tests, all said negative. And finally on the 17th I got a pregnant result. Even though I suspected I was pregnant, it blew my mind. I had decided firmly against having any more children. I had been bugging my husband to get a vasectomy (its outpatient for guys, in-patient for girls, plus I've already had enough pain associated with that region of my body thank you very much). And now I was pregnant again. My husband was overjoyed. Maybe I will finally get a girl, I thought.
This had to be a gift from God. We used protection (even if used poorly), I was no where near ovulating (at least so I thought), and here I was pregnant anyway. God must have great things planned for this baby.
The reactions from many friends and family were not great.
I got asked if I had considered the day-after pill.
I was asked if I was pro-life.
I got asked if this meant my husband and I were staying together now.
Maybe this is a similar reaction that many people get, but it was jarring. I wasn't proclaiming- I'm pregnant what should I do? Instead I was saying I'm pregnant.
I'm not throwing everyone under the bus. Many people were excited or feigned excitement. That definitely helped get through the bad reactions.
Now I was rearranging all of my life plans, as one would when faced with a life-changing decision. Baby names, how to procure baby items similar to what I had just finally cleared out of the basement and donated, midwife appointment, sleeping arrangements for three kids instead of just two.
And just like that, it was all over.
Normal spotting turned into bleeding. I called my midwife, and her secretary walked me through what to expect with a miscarriage. She had just suffered one at around 6 weeks, like me. Not like me, I thought. This is not what is happening. This is just from stress.
Stress? Oh you mean like your family member coming out of detox, which set you and your husband back $1350, only to drink himself near death for the following 11 days. The phone call that you have to hurry home so your husband can go check on him, since he's incredibly intoxicated worrying about people trying to kill him if he doesn't place a bet. Your husband having to leave you to call the midwife and inquire about your bleeding so he can pick his family member up from the psych ward that he has checked himself out of, claiming he was never suicidal and his .37 BAC level was not a form of self-harm. Trying not to sob in front of your visiting friend and your children when you get the news that you are miscarrying, and your husband is at the pharmacy trying to get meds for his family member's DTs (but thank God that my friend was visiting. I'm sure she didn't thoroughly enjoy being in drama central while there was psych ward/drinking drama and miscarriages, but she was invaluable.).
Even when we were getting the ultrasound and the tech said there was nothing in my womb, when I got up from the table and noticed excessive blood on the sheet, my husband said he was still holding out hope. When I got the numbers back and my hCG level was 32 (what it would be, say, soon after conception), he said he was still hoping. I allowed myself the thought that maybe this was not happening. Two days later, I went in for more labs and the numbers came back at 14. That's when I stopped hoping.
This was happening.
Or is happening.
From the lack of anything in my womb, it happened weeks ago.
How long have I been kidding myself that I was pregnant?
Then came the fun task of telling everyone that I was no longer pregnant.
Now I understand why people wait til 12 or 13 weeks.
I had two healthy beautiful little boys. I'm lucky. Some women can't conceive. Some spend years trying to get pregnant, coping with miscarriage after miscarriage. If I had been 9 weeks or more, I'm told the pain of miscarrying would have been a lot closer to labor instead of a bad period. I'm lucky, I guess.
I don't feel very lucky. I feel messy. I have too many emotions. Mournful, angry, disappointed, embarrassed, bitter, relieved, guilt, pain. I can't sort through it. I didn't have the time to mourn it properly with my husband, as he was moving the belongings out of his family member's house, trying to clean it up so the girlfriend could get some security deposit back. It's kinda too late to mourn it now, as he's a guy and he's over it. His vasectomy has been scheduled for about a month now, and I definitely don't want to try again. I didn't want another kid, but having one taken from me has me wondering what I'm supposed to feel.
What's God's plan with all this?
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