Miss Carry

What the hell is that supposed to mean anyways?

Mis Carry…mis carriage.

The words..the word made no sense to me. It wasn’t like I was carrying anything wrong, holding it upside down or backwards. It wasn’t like there were instructions I didn’t follow. In fact, I had been far more careful and deliberate about everything that went into my body during this pregnancy than I had during my past pregnancies with my daughters. This time I wanted to do everything perfectly as it would probably be the last time I would have the chance to. I went for a walk every day, I ate organic, no sugar, no caffeine, yoga almost every day.

I followed the flipping instructions!

I conceived on March 1st (I am fairly sure). 10 weeks later, while napping with my youngest I started to miscarry. I knew what it was the second I felt the twinge. All along I had felt like something was not quite right. I had told everyone, including my midwife, over and over. Everyone dismissed my concerns as paranoia.

During yoga I would chant “stay with me, please stay with me” in my mind. My own little mantra. But it did no good.

I wasn’t prepared. It happened on a Saturday, so I called the on-call doc and told him what was going on. He told me I could either go to the hospital or wait until Monday. It was up to me.

It was up to me….What the???

I went to the hospital.

After hours of waiting the doc came in and attempted to do a pelvic. He couldn’t find my cervix. The blood made everything difficult. Well, he didn’t tell me that but women know when the clamp is clamped.. and well, let’s just say “he failed to clamp.” Instead of telling me that he was unable to do what he had to do, he told me that my cervix was closed and all was probably ok. This was followed by a gush of blood that he tried to brush off as “nothing to worry about.”

The ultrasound disagreed with the doctor.

I went home with nothing and was told I could call my doctor on Monday and “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

No instructions, no insight into what was to come. I figured it would be like a heavy period that would last a couple of days.

Sunday I bled but felt ok until it was time for bed. That’s when it got rough. It reminded me of contractions. I cried, took lots of Ibuprophen, and eventually fell asleep. When I woke up the next morning I had officially “miscarried”. I guess that is what you would call it. No one had told me what it would be like. If I had known, I would have not gone to the bathroom.

I would have had something to bury, or burn. Something to say goodbye to. I needed to say goodbye to that little piece of me that I would never know.

We don’t talk about these things.

I don’t talk about it anymore. Now that the anguish is subsiding and the blame game has failed. I don’t talk about it anymore.

I don’t want have a baby and I don’t talk about it anymore.