So, this post is going to be personal. And if you know me because we work together or something…maybe you don’t want to read it. It’s going to be major word vomit. It’s going to be TMI. But this is why I have a blog. To get these things out. To find others who can commiserate and make me feel less alone and more like just anyone living their life.
I took a pregnancy test the day before Christmas Eve. It was positive. As were the next 5 I took over the course of two weeks. I felt nauseous even before the positive test. I knew. We were happy.
I’ve been so nauseous. Feeling so many symptoms. The past 3 weeks haven’t been easy, but neither were they with Abby.
This morning I went in for an ultrasound to check out some minor spotting I’d been having, and to solidify the due date. I had it done at the hospital instead of the clinic, as the clinic was booked out quite far. Since we were at the hospital, the tech was not allowed to show us what she was seeing, but said she’d share the results with a doctor and they’d be in touch.
The doctor on call called me as I was driving Abby to daycare after the appointment. She told me that what they saw was a gestational sac, about 7 weeks along. Perfect, I thought, as that’s what I am. She went on to tell me that that was all they saw. Just a sac. No embryo. Nothing inside. I had was is referred to as a blighted ovum. There was no baby.
I was trying not to cry and also trying to keep the car on the road and trying so hard not to alarm Abby that anything was wrong. The doctor kept talking, saying words like D & C, miscarriage, tissue, but I felt like I was underwater. I asked her how sure she was. She said 90%. I asked if I could get a second ultrasound. She said okay. All the while, I wished nothing more than if I could be talking to my midwife and not some on-call doctor I’ve never met before.
I somehow kept my shit in line and got Abby to daycare. I don’t even know if I said goodbye. I just put her down and walked out. I called my husband immediately and the floodgates opened. Instead of driving to work, I drove straight home. My bosses are quite possibly the worlds greatest, most understanding, and loving people on the planet.
I’ve spent enough time on Google to know this isn’t my fault. That this should only happen once. This pregnancy wasn’t meant to be, but my body is carrying on anyway. Part of me has false hope that the ultrasound was wrong. That the tech just wasn’t looking in the right spot. The other part of me wishes this was all over. I don’t want to keep carrying a baby that isn’t. I don’t want to feel pregnant even though I’m not. It’s not fair.
I don’t know where to go from here. I keep crying without warning. I don’t know how I’m going to even look at Abby when she comes home without being a mess of tears and thoughts of what could have been. I don’t want anyone to talk to me about it because I want to pretend that this never happened. But all I want to do is talk to people who can tell me this happens and I’m not alone and it will get better and that I’ll stop crying. And then I feel selfish and horrible because so much worse happens to people when they’re pregnant and in reality I didn’t even lose a baby, because there never was one. Even if there was one in our hearts.
Like I said. I’m sorry if you read this and suddenly you’re wondering how to act around me the next time you see me. That you wish you didn’t know this about me. I wish I didn’t know this about me. So for both of our sakes? Pretend it didn’t happen. Tell me fart jokes and how much you can’t stand Fruit Loops and I’ll tell you how I just watched the whole first season of Girls and it’s awesome and I’ll feel so much better knowing that everything is still the same. That’s the way I need it to be in my brain.
Please – if we’re friends on Facebook or the Twitters or anywhere else, let’s keep this on the down-low. I know I probably shouldn’t share if I don’t want this everywhere, but this is my emotional outlet. Try to keep the conversation here, if there is one.