This week, I became another, more rare, one. Three miscarriages in less than a year.
When the doctor first said the words, I was calm, collected. His voice was very professional and steady. It took me a minute to really grasp what he was saying. I heard the words and could comprehend the sentence, but how these words applied to me was lost. It's hard to know how to feel when you find out you lost something so precious even though you never really knew you had. I had no other choice but to accept it.
I asked all the right questions. What did the blood work show? Do you have the results from the biopsy yet? What is our next step? I always respond to crisis by functioning. And respond quite well. And that is what I needed to do now. Figure out the logistics of what is going on.
When I called my husband, he thought he misheard me. It was not the news or the answers we were expecting.
The hardest part has been trying to figure out how I feel about this. I can't seem to find the right words to help wrap my head around it.
How did I not know I've been pregnant twice? Granted, both times, I approached a good friend and said, I feel like something is going on here. Then I was immediately let down by thinking I was wrong. Leading me to believe I didn't know my body as well as I thought I did. It shook my confidence.
Since last time - well, now, the *first* time - I've wondered why I hadn't gotten pregnant. The first time it took two months. It was the idea I held onto in order to get through the first loss. Now, I was going on nine months. Intellectually, I knew this was nothing to be worried about. Emotionally, disappointment crashed into me every month. I reminded myself how lucky I was to get pregnant so easily, and it will happen. Apparently, it did. Twice.
I struggle with trying to understand how it is so hard to get pregnant. From the first time we learn what sex is, we immediately equate it with pregnancy. Never is there a conversation or mention about miscarriages or infertility. Those who go on to be impacted by such hardships lack the education needed to process these incidents both physically and emotionally.
I held myself together well when I first learned. I talked to my husband, my boss, and the lab tech in a very controlled tone. Getting business done as it needed to be done. It wasn't until I got ahold of my stepdad that I couldn't be strong anymore. The tone and empathy in his voice let me be vulnerable.
And, I'm still hopeful, damn it.