Second Verse, Same As The First.

Yes. I’m coping with beer. I know this is not healthy.

If you’ve clicked over from Facebook – this is the post I wrote after my last miscarriage in September of 2012. We decided after that to stop trying to have more children because my heart couldn’t take anymore loss.
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Two interesting notes.
1) I’ve never had two consecutive baby-producing pregnancies.
2) I’ve written “We had a miscarriage” blog entries four times before “live baby check” appointments and ended up not needing them. The one time I didn’t do that because I was home with a sick kid? I need it.

Yep. So, today I had what repeat-aborters like to call a “Live Baby Check” appointment. I’ve had several of these, as you know. But this one? Showed no live baby.

When I got to the doctor the ultrasound tech was the one who I had last time I had a miscarriage. I thought, “Well, if I’m going to get bad news, I’d rather it be from her.” It’s sad when you’ve had enough bad ultrasounds that you ranked the techs as who’s the best to get the bad news from.

I knew immediately. You know when they don’t tell you “There’s the heartbeat!” that it’s bad. But then when she says, “I’m going to get the doctor so he can see how big the hematoma has gotten,” you just start crying. Which I did. Because I’m not a miscarriage virgin. I know the drill. Baby didn’t measure anywhere close to what it should be and there was no heartbeat. Evidently the hematoma just kept getting bigger and the poor guy didn’t have a chance.

I’m heartbroken. Obviously. But I’m also very robotic about it. Even 5 years from my last one, I still go right into autopilot mode. Walking around with the thought in the forefront, “I have a dead baby inside of me,” but that thought not actually touching the surface of my heart. It’s there, clear on my mind. DEAD BABY. But my heart is automatically separated from this fact. Like it was every time before. I’m surprised I still remember how to do that.

Evidently having a miscarriage is like riding a bike. You never forget how to do it.

I go in Wednesday for a D&C. And I just pray that my body doesn’t decide to take care of things itself between now and then. I’ve done that before, miscarriage this far along on my own, and there are few things worse than that. At least the D&C is a clear end without me in hysterics on the floor of my bathroom.

I keep apologizing to everyone. I’m devastated that E has to break the news to his friends. I feel like I should have to do that since it’s my crappy body that can’t sustain a pregnancy. I hate that my husband is heartbroken. I keep telling everyone, “I’m sorry,” and I know that’s stupid. But it’s just another thing I do on autopilot. Apologize for my shitty reproductive system. Most of the time with the shitty periods it just affects ME, but when it comes to pregnancies, it affects everyone.

So I’ll say it once to get it off my chest: I’m sorry to you all too. I’m sorry we all got our hopes up. I don’t feel bitter. I don’t feel angry. I’m just sad. And while my brain is not really connected to my heart right now, so that I can still function normally for my family, I can still feel the pain in my heart. It hurts through my toes and into the tips of my hair. If I let it get too close to the surface I can’t breathe.

So I push it down and just wait a bit. I just have to get through Wednesday. Then I can process the grief in bits at a time.

And drink several beers in between each bit.