Not Viable — Thoughts about my miscarriage
The doctor is still talking but all I can hear is those two words, burning in my ears. My pregnancy, the one my husband and I had been trying for for the better part of a year, the one that made us cry tears of joy when the stick finallyfinallyfinally showed two lines, the one that already had us mentally arranging our home office into a nursery, is “not viable.”
The doctor is still talking. She’s saying that I need to have more blood work done to see if the pregnancy will end on its own, or whether they’ll inject me with a chemotherapy drug to speed things along. Chemo. Jesus.
The next day. I’m at work, sitting on a comically large maxi pad that could easily be used as a flotation device in event of emergency, staring at a blinking cursor. I opened a new browser tab and then immediately forgot why. When the bleeding first started and I Googled “Am I having a m” the auto-fill suggestion was “mental breakdown.” Yes. Definitely.
In a lot of ways, I’m having the best miscarriage that you could have: I wasn’t very far along. My family has been so supportive. I have literally the best husband in the world. And at 32 I’m still pretty young. I know it will get better. But right now it’s not better. Right now it’s awful.
Statistically, I probably know a hundred women who have had miscarriages, but before I started telling people about mine, I could only have named three of them. Miscarriage isn’t available in Facebook’s list of Life Events. Nobody talks about it. Which is fair, because “So this one time, when I had a miscarriage…” kind of kills the buzz at a cocktail party. And everybody has a right to keep their private stuff private if they want to.
But I need to talk about it. I need you, and everyone, to know that I lost a pregnancy because I need your support. Everyone I’ve told about this has been incredibly kind and, aside from ginger ale, kindness is pretty much the only thing keeping me going right now. I also know that at least one person reading this will lose a pregnancy at some point in the future, and when she does, maybe this will make her feel a little less alone.
Miscarriage is incredibly common, and it’s incredibly hard, and I’m working through it one day at a time.