The M word.

Miscarriage.

Any woman who is pregnant, trying to become pregnant, or has lost a child shudders hearing this word.

I believe that it is something that most women don’t think about until it happens to them–and none of us think it will happen to us. It’s just something that “poor other woman” experienced.

My mother suffered 2 miscarriages. Many women in my childhood church had as well. My next door neighbor. I was no stranger to the possibility of it, but never imagined it happening to ME. Even the OBGYN doctors don’t really talk about it–til it happens.

I don’t think it is not spoken about more freely because it is a taboo topic, but because no one wants to think about it happening. Let’s be honest, do you want to talk about a dead child?

Now here I sit on my couch. Its quiet.  No children making noise or distracting me from writing. As much as I enjoy these quiet moments, I would trade them in a heartbeat for the 2 kids I should have running around and being noisy.

Most of this blog is centered around Nyla Rose, not my first pregnancy with Riley J. I used to feel guilty that I didn’t think about Riley as much. I had to let that guilt go, Nyla was such an emotionally, physically and mentally traumatic event right on the heels of loosing Riley that I never really got a chance to grieve.

That doesn’t mean I love Riley any less, or that I wouldn’t trade my life to have him/her back.

I knew I was pregnant with Riley for 5 beautiful days. Nick and I had been trying and I got pregnant pretty quick, I had only stopped birth control 2 months previous. I was so excited. I called friends and Nick told the guys at work. I had the little tracking app on my phone telling me what part was developing every day. Riley was growing ears that day that I miscarried.

I remember getting up that Friday morning for work and heading to the bathroom. That’s when I saw the blood. Not a lot, but not just a little bit either. My stomach sank. My OBGYN reassured me it could be “implantation bleeding”, and I was going for bloodwork that day anyway to check my HcG levels. They would call me later.

All the girls at work assured me it would be fine, but I just had this heavy feeling in my stomach–I knew something was wrong. I put my hand on my belly and whispered “hold on little one. Just hold on.” I went home from work and took my dog for a walk. It was past 5pm with no call from the doctor. I called the on-call provider and explained nicely that I NEEDED the results of the bloodwork. I paced around my apartment till my phone rang. To be honest, I don’t even remember what was said, I just remember sinking to the floor, tears pouring out of my eyes. My hand was on my mouth so I stifled whatever sounds I was making since I was still on the phone. The one phrase I do remember is the doctor saying “If you hadn’t tested, you would never have known.” I guess she meant those words as comfort, but I still to this day think in my head “But I DID test. I DID know. So how the fuck is that supposed to help me?”

Unfortunately, miscarriages are common. I have two friends that have each experienced one within the past 2 months. But it fucks you up. Make no mistake on that part. You spend the rest of your days thinking “what if?” No matter at what stage you lose your child, you are faced with the gut-wrenching, seemingly endless torture of grief.

Just know that if you have ever experienced a miscarriage, it is not your fault. You loved and wanted that baby. Her or she will be a part of you forever, and you will always be a mother.

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