Eviction Notice

"I have your results...are you sitting down?"

The nurse didn't have to say another word. The weight of what was about to be said hit me like a ton of bricks. The anticipation was making my heart race.  I had known in my gut all weekend that this news was coming, but the hope to be that "50% of the time it's nothing" was still alive.

"Your levels dropped so dramatically between Thursday and Saturday that they are now in the levels that we definitely consider to be negative.  I am so sorry."

I couldn't breathe.  My entire body went numb.  The nurse was still talking to me on the other end of the phone...something about when the bleeding stops...something about my next cycle "because this isn't a cycle, obviously..."  I could hear her, but I couldn't.  My brain had completely shut down.

"So, call if there's pain or major saturation. Call if there's still bleeding in two weeks.  Two regular cycles and you can try again.  Just...just try to have a good day, dear."


It's been a week since that phone call; it's been 10 days since I woke up to the sight of blood.  I still shiver when I even think about the word: MISCARRIAGE. My body just decided on its own to serve an eviction notice to the tiny human starting to grow inside of me.  Rejected. Thrown out in a sea of blood. It's like my body said, "Meh, this isn't looking promising...let's just end it now before things go any further."  We had already started picking out names (Rosilyn or Rowan were the winning votes so far).  I wanted to shout the news from the roof tops from the day I got that second positive: who knew such joy could come from the word "Pregnant" showing on a little screen of a stick that I peed on?

I've been thinking a lot lately about the 5 Stages of Grieving.  Casey says that they were originally developed in regards to people facing their own mortality and were not intended to be used when you are enduring the loss of another.  Regardless, I have hit all of them at some point over this ordeal, so I think they are relevant and have helped me focus my thoughts better.

1. Denial:  This was the emotion everyone helped feed.  "When I was pregnant with Casey I bled on and off for months!  Thought it was my period and didn't even know I was pregnant until my stomach started growing!"  "I had a friend who had bleeding and it turned out just fine!"  "I bled with my pregnancy, but it turned out I had two uteruses, so that kind of makes sense."  "Well, let's just hope for the positive!"  I knew the moment I saw that blood that it was not a good thing, but I let myself live in denial that entire weekend I waited for the blood results. I let the fact that the transvaginal ultrasound didn't find any signs of life be just because it was so early. I let the "low, but still enough for positive for pregnancy" initial blood results on my HCG levels be dismissed as maybe it was a boy this time and that effected my hormones differently.  My morning sickness disappeared, but I didn't want to eat anyway...must just be how things will go this time. It took the abruptness of Monday to really get me out of the denial.

2. Anger:  I am angry at myself for everything. I am angry at my body for giving up. I am angry that I am overweight. I am angry at all of the baby-related ads on Facebook.  I am angry at pregnant strangers. I am angry at all the people who have said stupid things like "Sometimes God just takes care of things for us," and "Well, didn't you just find out you were pregnant like a week or two ago? Why is this such a big deal?" I am angry at my co-workers who complain about pumping or breastfeeding. I am angry at Baby Center for spamming my email. I am still angry at least once or twice a day. Why?!

3. Bargaining:  The only thing I can come up with for this one is that I begged my husband to agree we would try again. I don't really get how trying to bargain with anyone would fix anything.

4. Depression:  I can't shake the feeling of sadness and disappointment I feel. I feel alone, even when I am not. I will start crying at the drop of a hat. I am exhausted. Nothing tastes good. I feel hopeless. I have to force myself to laugh. I start to feel overwhelmed with darkness, so I force myself to go sit in another teacher's classroom or go out for a walk on the walking track. I want to stab myself in the chest every time I talk to someone about my girls and say "my youngest" in reference to my two-year old because I feel like I'm already forgetting about the baby that was inside. I keep replaying songs that reference loss or death to try to make myself feel better. I feel so empty.

5. Acceptance:  "Trust your body.  It knows what it's doing."  "Isn't the body an amazing thing? It recognized something was wrong and it took care of that for you. It's doing all of the work on its own." "This just happens. It's nothing you did or could have done."  The most common cause of miscarriage is that there is a chromosomal abnormality that your body detects early on and causes the body to reject the embryo.  I would never wish to have a baby that could not live a full and healthy life, so I have to accept that there must have been a reason my body did this. It's hard to accept it, but I must so that I can move on. "It takes time." That's what I have to remember right now: I am not going to just wake up one day soon and instantly feel better. It's a process.

So, there it is.  Not as elegant as I had hoped to write this, but it's all out now. Tomorrow is a new day, another chance to see the sun and hopefully take a step forward into the light. Maybe tomorrow the heartache will subside for a minute or two more; maybe the pain and darkness will be marginally less. All I can do is just keep swimming and just keep breathing...