We miscarried twice before our first was conceived and born. Both were brutally painful to endure, as I chose not to have a D&C. Both times, the fetal tissue took over a week to expel and was incredibly gruesome.
We had our second with no issues, no miscarriages. Lucky us, he was conceived with no anxiety or worry.
Our third miscarriage happened about two months ago. I was at school. I decided to stay and work for the week because I could not get a reliable sub. This time, the process was excruciating. I smiled through teaching for three days while I bled until I felt faint. It was one of the stupidest things I've ever done, but I didn't feel I had the right to be upset or inconvenienced by this loss. After all, I was beyond the appropriate age for conceiving. What were we thinking?
When we told people about our pregnancy, we told very few. Our families still do not know, and for good reason. Reactions to it varied from laughter (which was awful) to concern (equally as awful.). No one was happy for us. (Or, I should say, very, very few were happy for us.) Usually the first reaction was, "What are you going to do?" We decided to keep quiet after our doctor showed us the heartbeat on the sonogram, because she looked solemn when she advised us to "not tell anyone just yet." Ouch.
The reactions also ranged when I told people about the miscarriage. I only told very close friends, people I felt wouldn't judge. They were all very kind, very understanding, reliably sad.
I also told a few friends who had recently expressed how upset they were with me for not (in their opinion) properly maintaining our friendships. Life had gotten in the way, and we had drifted for whatever reasons. None of it was personal or purposeful, but to them, it was my fault and they wanted me to atone. I told them about the issues my husband and I had had recently, and included sharing the miscarriage in a weak attempt to ward off their catharsis. They didn't flinch at the news, and now we aren't speaking. Their disappointment overshadowed my own, in their opinion. Miscarriage wasn't an excuse.
Fertility is a painful process for some, and although we were fortunate to have our children naturally, it came at a price. Three pregnancies, three possibilities, gone. Sometimes I still imagine them as children in my life, people I never had the chance to know. In a strange way, I love them as mine, even though they never came to be.
Miscarriage is a brutal process. I'm inspired by my friend, who just recently wrote of hers in a lovely post that made me so thoughtful about the topic. How can we comfort our friends who suffer through it when we have created an ignorance about it? After all, people fear what they do not understand, so let's try to understand it.
We had our second with no issues, no miscarriages. Lucky us, he was conceived with no anxiety or worry.
Our third miscarriage happened about two months ago. I was at school. I decided to stay and work for the week because I could not get a reliable sub. This time, the process was excruciating. I smiled through teaching for three days while I bled until I felt faint. It was one of the stupidest things I've ever done, but I didn't feel I had the right to be upset or inconvenienced by this loss. After all, I was beyond the appropriate age for conceiving. What were we thinking?
When we told people about our pregnancy, we told very few. Our families still do not know, and for good reason. Reactions to it varied from laughter (which was awful) to concern (equally as awful.). No one was happy for us. (Or, I should say, very, very few were happy for us.) Usually the first reaction was, "What are you going to do?" We decided to keep quiet after our doctor showed us the heartbeat on the sonogram, because she looked solemn when she advised us to "not tell anyone just yet." Ouch.
The reactions also ranged when I told people about the miscarriage. I only told very close friends, people I felt wouldn't judge. They were all very kind, very understanding, reliably sad.
I also told a few friends who had recently expressed how upset they were with me for not (in their opinion) properly maintaining our friendships. Life had gotten in the way, and we had drifted for whatever reasons. None of it was personal or purposeful, but to them, it was my fault and they wanted me to atone. I told them about the issues my husband and I had had recently, and included sharing the miscarriage in a weak attempt to ward off their catharsis. They didn't flinch at the news, and now we aren't speaking. Their disappointment overshadowed my own, in their opinion. Miscarriage wasn't an excuse.
Fertility is a painful process for some, and although we were fortunate to have our children naturally, it came at a price. Three pregnancies, three possibilities, gone. Sometimes I still imagine them as children in my life, people I never had the chance to know. In a strange way, I love them as mine, even though they never came to be.
Miscarriage is a brutal process. I'm inspired by my friend, who just recently wrote of hers in a lovely post that made me so thoughtful about the topic. How can we comfort our friends who suffer through it when we have created an ignorance about it? After all, people fear what they do not understand, so let's try to understand it.
