Betrayed

Today was supposed to be a happy day.  I had been planning on telling you that I had my first ob/gyn appointment and that we are nearly 12 weeks pregnant.  Ben and I were both so excited.  And it’s been so hard keeping it a secret.   But I can’t write that post.

I can’t write that post because I have had a miscarriage.  My body has let me down.  I feel betrayed by it.  Not only did I miscarry, but I apparently did so weeks ago.  Yet, my body continued to act pregnant.   I feel duped. 

I am sad beyond words and I am angry.

My body betrayed me. 

It let me pass by that eleven week point and feel confident that I would make it to the second trimester.  We were nearly there!  It allowed me the time to think about how to write the “announcement” post and how to tell our friends and family.  My body allowed me the time to sort through the boxes of baby gear that have been in storage for the last couple of years.  It let me daydream about setting up the nursery.  It let me bond with the baby I thought was growing inside.  My body gave me the time to wonder if it was a boy or a girl…and we will never know. 

And, Ben.  Poor Ben.  He was so strong today – my rock through all of the poking and the prodding and the ultrasounds and the waiting and the crying.  I can only imagine how he must feel.  Like someone just yanked the rug out from underneath him.  He wanted this baby so badly and, yet, he has to be the strong one.   It’s not fair to him.

Why am I sharing all of this with you?  Why would I post something so painful and personal?  Because I can’t actually bring myself to talk about it….out loud (sorry if I’m screening calls).  Because I am hoping by putting this “out there,” by acknowledging this in writing (if not through actual voice), that I can get it out of me.  That I can throw it out and move on.  That maybe I can find closure and heal.

To all of my friends who have ever miscarried, I can only apologize for whatever inadequate words of “comfort” I offered up at the time.  Because now I know that’s exactly what they were:  inadequate.  And I am sorry.

I understand the facts and that this was not a viable pregnancy.  I understand the biology behind this, but my emotions don’t give a shit about science.  I know that many, many women have miscarriages (15-20% of pregnancies end this way) and that I am not alone.  I am not unique, nor do I deserve any special attention.  In fact, I am extremely lucky because I already have a wonderful, healthy child. 

But it doesn’t make me hurt any less.  

It does not make getting up and going to work tomorrow any easier.