On Friday, August 10 at 6:10 p.m. I had a miscarriage. I was five weeks pregnant and was standing in the check out line at Target waiting to pay for my bath robe and rain boots for my son. The lady who was in front of me in line asked me if I was OK. I looked down only to see that I was standing in a pool of blood. I was at a loss for words, so I told the cashier, who had a horrified look on her face, that I thought I was having a miscarriage. The lady who so kindly asked me if I was OK, had taken off and was no where to be found. She must not like blood.
Luckily, my husband was out in the car, so I called him and he came in and helped me out as everyone in line stared at me in utter disbelief. We weren't far from the hospital, but was stopped by every red light. I was poked and prodded at the hospital only to be told what I already knew, I had miscarried.
I think I had an out-of-body experience. I knew there were some issues with my pregnancy, but had thought modern science was wrong. Clearly, I knew my body better than a blood test or an ultrasound did. Everytime the doctor told me my pregnancy was not looking good, I would hold on to the hope that he was wrong. Even after I had the ultrasound at the hospital and lost what seemed like gallons of blood, I was certain the ER doctor would tell me that lo and behold there was still hope.
I struggle with being relieved that a baby never developed (I just had a gestational sac), but also wondering what my child would have looked like. Would it have been the girl we wanted? Would she have had big blue eyes and curly blonde hair? That's the thing I can't seem to get past.
I feel like it's a cruel thing our body does to us. It makes us feel like we are pregnant -- I had cravings and nausea, all the classic pregnancy signs -- but then only to spit out our beloved child like a piece of bad meat. Where's the justice? Where's the humanity? Where's the compassion?
Today is Day 3 and I still have a hard time saying the "M" word outloud. I can type it, but I have a hard time saying it. Actually, I should correct myself -- I have a hard time saying "I had a miscarriage." I'm hoping with time I'll be able to say,
"My name is Alex and I had a miscarriage."