being sad…


It makes it hard to write (or think) about anything other then the source of your sadness.

The source of my sadness is a dead baby.

Really, it was only a gathering of cells, not an actual baby yet, but it would have been.

And it makes me sad that I never got to meet it.

Ironically, I got a negative pregnancy test a week before the ER told me I was knocked up. (That’s not actually ironic, ironically.)

So, obviously, I had a sneaking suspicion that we had accidentally made a baby.

Before the negative home test I kept thinking, “I think I’ll get concurrent care with an OB for this pregnancy.” Meaning, I wasn’t feeling comfortable with just using my home birth midwife like I had for Emie’s birth. Also meaning, I knew something wasn’t going to be quite “right” with this pregnancy or baby.

Now I’m almost feeling guilty for those early thoughts about a less then perfect baby.

Honestly, when I thought about it, my mind went immediately to Down’s Syndrome and the possible heart conditions that go hand-in-hand with it.

I would also think fondly of the face of a little boy with the distinctive features of a child with DS.

I did not think I would miscarry.

I didn’t expect it.

I expected to love and cuddle a baby with a difference. I expected the beauty, struggle, and life change that would come with a special needs child.

I was already embracing how this would change me and my little family before I took that negative test.

So when they told me I was indeed pregnant, I already felt like I  knew who I was miscarrying.

I think it broke my heart.

It’s still breaking my heart.

And it fucking sucks.

Also- I may be a little crazy. Just FYI.


and then this happened.

On Monday I had a horrible death stomach flu/food poisoning/ bowel disruptor episode. It was gross and unfortunate.

I passed out that night, in my bathroom. Which is the classiest place to pass out.

Travis called an ambulance to rescue me because every time I sat up I got tweety birds floating around my head.

Back boards SUCK and HURT.

I had to listen to my baby cry for me as I was hauled out of my house.

The ambulance and ER staff were all very nice. They seemed to share in obsessing over the question every woman hears when dealing with health care professionals: Could you be pregnant?

I assured them that, no, I can’t be. Still bleeding from my last period. Thanks for asking about my girl junk, but  my SPINE is the issue right now.

After some Zofran, some Phenergan, some Morphine, and some x-rays we find out I’m not broken just strained. (Story of my life.)

The sweet nurse comes to check on me and “Hey, your labs are back! Has the doc talked to you about them yet? No? Well, I shouldn’t say anything BUT CONGRATULATIONS you’re PREGNANT!”

And I didn’t feel happy. Not for one second. I was already bleeding. I had been cramping for days. I knew that I wasn’t going to have a baby.

An ultrasound showed no gestational sac or signs of ectopic pregnancy. My hormone levels were ridiculously low.

With a prescription for zofran and another for lortab and a recommendation to see my regular doctor for follow up, I was discharged in the wee hours of  Tuesday morning.

Tuesday is a haze of pain pills, barfing, and exhaustion.

Wednesday I wake up to horrible cramping and a lot of blood. More pain pills. A doctors appointment with an asshole of an OB/GYN to confirm the miscarriage.

He does not offer condolences. He does not ask if I’m okay. He does not ask about my pain or bleeding. He does not ask if the pregnancy was planned or a surprise. I am nothing to him.

Thursday morning I get a phone call from the OB letting me know my hormone levels are even lower, confirming the miscarriage. All my other labs were normal, so no signs of infection.

He didn’t ask if my bleeding was better or worse. Didn’t ask about my pain. Didn’t care. Not his problem. Call him for another appointment after I take a home pregnancy test in a week, but only if it’s still positive.

Oh, and HEY! I can start “trying for another” whenever “I’m feeling up to it”.

Hey, doctor, fuck you.