The Miscarriage

I am glad to report that Nate and I both have successfully travelled through the long and treacherous stages of grief, and have finally arrived at the long lost island of acceptance.  It was a perilous journey full of doubt and frustration, but we made it and are so relieved and stronger for it.  So that’s the emotional side of a miscarriage.  Let’s talk about the physical.  Although, I will warn you, it’s not for the faint of heart.

So we go to the doctor for another ultrasound to confirm that nothing has changed or grown in the past week in order to be sure it’s going to be a miscarriage.  This will be my fifth ultrasound in two weeks.  And they aren’t the ones on your belly like you see in the movies.  When you are this early in pregnancy, they have to use a camera probe up in your lady business.  Oh, the joys of being a woman.  And the doctor asks if I mind an intern sitting in because, “This is a teaching hospital.”  Sure.  You now what, let’s invite the whole waiting room in here.  I’m sure we can all learn something.

So once we confirmed that there was no baby, the doc gave me three options.  Option one: Wait to miscarry naturally which is obviously the least invasive, but could take 2-3 weeks to start, and then last another 2-3 weeks after that.  Well, I’d like to let my body do it’s thing, but let’s be honest, I can’t spend the next 3-6 weeks terrified of wearing a skirt to work because I might flood at any minute.  No thank you.  Option two:  Take some pills to force my body to miscarry which is a little more invasive, and a lot more painful, but starts within 12 hours, and lasts about a week or two.  Option three:  Get what they call a D&C which stands for dilation and curettage.  This is a short surgical procedure in which they shove a vacuum type instrument up your whooha and suck everything out.  Absolutely NOT.  The doctor assured me that it’s essentially painless during the procedure because they drug you up, but that you just have cramping afterwards.  No way Doc, no sugar-coating.  Give me the pills, but please send me home with something stronger than Motrin.

I figured I could tough it out in the comfort of my own bed with a heating pad, watching Vampire Diaries, and eating popcorn and brownies.  And that’s exactly what I did.  Although, it wasn’t as relaxing as it sounds.  First of all, the pills do not go in your mouth, as if this whole process isn’t unpleasant enough.  Second of all, the doctor didn’t warn me of the worst symptom of all, which was that I just feel BEAT up.  I guess that’s supposed to be obvious.  I mean, you are basically poisoning yourself.  I was so weak and shaky that Nate had to escort me to the bathroom all 25 times that day.  But besides that, I spent the entire day in bed.  And I haven’t been able to do that since I was pregnant with Mav, so I’m not gonna lie, it was kind of nice.  Day two was half as bad as day one, and so on.

So this whole thing got me thinking about how men tease each other, “Don’t be a pu$$y.” But actually, BE a pu$$y.  That thing is tough.  It literally performs the miracle of life like ain’t no thang.  Forgive me, but what can your twig and berries do that’s so fantastic?  And for all you men who think pregnancy and female stuff is gross — well, I was gonna say grow some balls, but we’ve already established that that’s not super incredible.  So grow some ovaries and woman-up, because we are amazing in all that our bodies can do.  Just sayin’.

But I digress.  So emotionally we have healed, and physically I am on my way.  There are just some lingering awkward social situations that will probably be around for a while.  Because even though you and your hubby have lived through this and are peacefully on the other side, it’s a really sad thing that people don’t know how to react to.  So for example, you’re in the furniture store browsing for some bunkbeds, and your husband randomly tells the sales guy you plan on having another baby.  I have no idea why he said this.  Like if he had a momentary lapse of memory about the pending miscarriage, or if he was already thinking about trying again.  Either way, I was caught off guard when the sales guy looked at my belly and said, “Congratulations.”  And I said, “No, I’m not pregnant.”  But then I realized that that was a lie because technically I am pregnant with a nonexistent baby.  But how am I gonna explain that to the sales guy.  So I just smile at him and then give Nate the, “You started this awkward conversation, you finish it,” look.

Or while at a friend’s house, Nate pulls up a selfie I took because I wanted to document how horrible I looked that day.  And he shows it to our friends in an attempt to embarrass me like, “Haha, these random pictures Raquel takes pop up on my phone via the iCloud.”  And then without a beat, I respond, “Well excuse me for looking like crap the day I miscarried, you insensitive jerk-off.”  And I’m hysterically laughing because I know I just made Nate swallow his words.  But our friends just go blank faced and try to pretend they were distracted by the TV.  Awkward.  Well, it has been very sad.  But after so many days of crying and denial and every other emotion, you just want to laugh about it and liberate yourself.  Because if you can’t laugh about things that are completely out of your control, life’s just not as fun as it should be.


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