It’s been a week


Five days since the D&C and one week since “This just isn’t right.”

Eight weeks almost to the hour since the pretty blue + sign.

I’m expecting (and expected) to feel something soon.

I just don’t. People ask how I am and I fight the urge to shrug. This is denial. This is what denial feels like.

Being pregnant didn’t feel real in the beginning. How could you possibly wait for something for so incredibly long, and then learn on a whim, pure whim, that you’re waiting was over? There’s no way this was actually happening to me, to us. It can’t be.

And now, being not pregnant doesn’t feel real. I mentioned to Dave that I was in denial, and his first question was “Do you think you’re still pregnant?”

No, that’s not it. Maybe I’m in denial that I was ever pregnant in the first place. “Honey, you were pregnant. You saw the ultrasound. There was a baby in there.”

Ugh… okay. That’s not it either. I’m not in denial that I ever was, and I’m not in denial that I still am. It took me an hour to articulate how I feel.

I feel like this happened to someone else. I feel like this dream come true turned living nightmare was just that. An awesome dream that turned into an awful nightmare, and then I woke up and life was normal again. Except that I can’t take a bath or have sex for… nine more days. But who’s counting?? I really want both of those things to happen, BTW. This is my blog, my raw feelings, and my overshare. I want a bath and sex with my husband. Deal.

I mean, rationally, I know that the last eight weeks of my life actually happened, and that it’s not just June 11th.

It’s just impossible to believe that this happened to us. This happened to us. Not our friends, not someone one of us knows from work. Us.

Maybe it’s early. Maybe I’m in shock. Maybe I’m not in denial and I just accepted our fate really well, really quickly.

Maybe I should have gone into psychiatry instead of library science.

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3 thoughts on “It’s been a week

  1. It has been a year since my m/c at 11 weeks. A year this Saturday. I dealt with the news very well at first. I came home from the hospital, I watched the TV, had some food and then my husband sat me down and made me face it. I didn’t want to. I really, really didn’t want to. Even a year later, I can’t say out loud that I had a miscarriage. I can type it, I can think it but I can’t say it.

    It doesn’t help (at least I didn’t think so) but you are not on your own. You need someone that you can say all of the “inappropriate” things to. I had a work colleague who had been through this so many times and she never judged me when I wished it had happened to other people, when I railed against the fact that my sister and my best friend both got pregnant. She let me say exactly what I was feeling whether I really meant it or not and it really helped to just get it out, even if I took it all back a moment later.

    Chin up. I won’t say it gets easier. But it gets less hard.

    • Thank you for this. I’ll take less hard. I’m okay with less hard.

      I’m still solidly in avoidance mode, and gracefully my husband is allowing me to process (or not) in my own time. I’ve had a few minor breakdowns in closed offices, and I find that I can’t honestly answer the heartfelt “How are you”s.

      I can’t say it either. The closest I can get is “It just didn’t work out.” I can type the words in all their permutations, but I can’t say them out loud.

      Comments mean the world. I didn’t write this intending to hear anything but internet crickets, and knowing other people understand this miasma makes me feel less out of control.

  2. How are you getting on? We found getting away helped a lot. We went to one of favourite places and just escaped everything for a little while whilst we got our strength back.

    I’ve had my year’s anniversary now and although I was dreading it and I did do a bit of crying, it wasn’t nearly as hard as I thought it might be. I think maybe because I decided not to dwell or mope.

    Strangely, MCs seems to be something that people just don’t talk about but it’s amazing how many people have had one. I work in an office of 11 people (2 of whom are male) and now four of us have suffered a miscarriage and we had no idea about each other until I had mine. It’s a taboo subject and I really don’t think it should be. We lost our babies, our children. Why shouldn’t we be allowed to talk about it freely? If our baby had lived, even for a few hours, it wouldn’t be so taboo. If it had been a relative that had died, we would be expected to talk about it. So why not with our unborn angels?

    A year on and it still annoys me that we are expected to suffer in silence for fear of making others uncomfortable.

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