The Aftermath

First reaction: anger. I was so angry that we had just told everyone, and now we'd have to immediately deliver the news of our loss. I was angry at myself for thinking I was still pregnant for three weeks after the baby had died. Just as I had failed to recognize my pregnancy when it began, I completely missed any signs that it was over.

The news of the miscarriage had a memory-altering effect. Though I now realize that my body had continued to believe it was pregnant because the baby was still inside, for the first few days, I could not remember consciously believing I was pregnant in the preceding weeks. I knew that I had thought I was pregnant; but because the cold, hard facts confirmed that our baby was dead and had been for at least a few weeks, I could not remember honestly believing in my heart that I was pregnant. It's very difficult to describe that sensation. It creeped me out.

I now recognize my altered memory as a psychological defense mechanism. I was protecting myself from feeling a strong sense of injustice. I kept myself from asking "why?"--at least of God (sure, I wanted a doctor to tell me why)--and thus protected myself from strong, uncontrollable emotions. Within two days, I was saying to myself and others: "Bad things happen to good people. There's no sense in asking why. It's not about what is deserved because we all deserve death. Our baby died and it's very sad. The end." But I knew this was not to be the conclusion of my grief. I felt eerily well-adjusted, so much so that I found myself waiting for the other shoe to drop. I wasn't letting myself miss being pregnant. I wasn't allowing myself to feel robbed of having that "baby belly," of giving birth in August, bringing home a newborn, or experiencing all the joys of parenthood. I couldn't think about these things yet.

I focused solely on starting again, on conceiving another baby soon. I thought, if we could just get pregnant again before this first baby was due, then I could see this as two children who could not have lived at the same time. A modification of "it's all for the best." I don't believe it's all for the best, but good things can happen after bad. I knew it wouldn't be good to think about replacing our lost baby. Sooner or later the grief would surface and I would have to face it. I didn't think I was keeping it buried, but I was. I was thinking about "replacement." I had my eyes on the future because it was too painful to consider the present.

I spent a lot of time on thenestbaby.com, on the Miscarriage/Pregnancy Loss community message board. It helped me feel like one of many. Miscarriage is extremely painful, but it's a common, almost normal, end to pregnancy. The ladies on that message board know what to say and are happy to give support. There I found much comfort as well as information. I asked the others about the D&C, and the responses helped me to realize I needed to have it done. I had started to bleed much more, but it would be impossible to tell how long it would take to "pass" everything. It finally dawned on me that I had already been carrying a dead baby for weeks--perhaps it would be easier to heal emotionally if I didn't have to go through the potentially drawn-out physical pain of a natural miscarriage. I called my doctor's office and scheduled the procedure for the following Monday morning.

Throughout the weekend, I continued to have cramps and bleeding, like a bad period. I continued to (unwittingly) suppress my grief. All I could do was move forward, and the only person I know how to be is myself, so I laughed; I talked about things other than our loss. Erich and I spent a lot of time with my family--it was easier to be away from home and with other people. I started keeping a journal and poured my thoughts into it daily. I heard of other women (my grandmother, a friend of my mom's) who had had miscarriages many years before and now couldn't much recall the details. I hoped and believed that would be me one day. We'll have our four kids in our lives filled with love and joy and I might have to be reminded of the one we didn't get to keep. I still hope that is the case, but I can't imagine forgetting.

The D&C was the turning point, mentally and emotionally. But I shall save that for another day.