Sadness

The pregnancy miscarried.  It's official.  The bleeding turned into cramping.  The cramping turned into more bleeding and incredible discomfort all throughout Tuesday and Wednesday night.  I slept very little, and wiled away the hours on the Internet, Googling my symptoms, looking for a glimmer of hope in a situation that was all too obvious.  

I knew on Saturday when I spotted a nickel-sized dot of blood that I had lost the pregnancy.  My body knew.  Every pregnancy symptom had just magically disappeared the week before, and I had known as early as two weeks ago.

And the facts are all written in black in white.  It happens all the time to all different aged women, and it happens for no reason in particular.  It just happens.  As disturbing as that is, it's true.  I can't deny nature, because frankly, nature is far more perfect than I am.  I am trying to accept that this miscarriage happened for a reason.  Most of them happen because of a chromosomal abnormality.  Your body just rejects what is not a viable pregnancy.  That actually offers more comfort than the thought of the miscarriage happening because of something specific I did, like a fight with my husband that stressed my body out.

The doctor's visit wasn't a happy one, and the doctor actually concerned me more than comforted me.  She mentioned the requisite facts and figures, and reiterated the possibility of having an unhealthy baby with birth defects and problems because of my age.  When I asked her for some encouragement, she continued to mention the possibilities of mental retardation and autism for women of my age.  For the rest of the meeting, all I could focus on was how incredibly old I felt.  I left feeling dejected, concerned, scared, and upset.

But my stubborn streak still fights it's way to the top of the emotional tide that's swelling inside my stomach every time I doubt trying to get pregnant.   I was born "sticking to my guns," and I suppose it's always been considered a negative characteristic to anyone who's been unfortunate enough to have had a confrontation with me.  I rarely give up the ghost, and it's definitely lost me more friends than I've gained.

I don't know how this detrimental pugnacity that used to get me in so much trouble is saving me now, in a time of complete upheaval...but I suppose I'm grateful to have it.  I hope it will carry my sorry old hide out of this ring of fire and fear.