How to survive a miscarriage

Start by keeping a straight face when the doctor tells you he wants to check your pelvis for “fetal parts.”

Fetal parts.

Sob silently as you lie back. Look away when the nurse sees your tears and puts a box of Kleenexes on your stomach and says she’s sorry.

Tear off your blood pressure cuff. Incoherently mutter about going home now now now. Call your mother. Pretend to listen to the “home care” instructions the nurse gives you and take her stark handouts without listening as your mind whispers my baby my baby my baby.

Clutch your empty womb. You will do a lot of this.

Rationalize all the way home how it was only six weeks. It’s not like you were full-term. You’re lucky, lucky lucky lucky. It could have been SO much worse.

Cry at every stoplight so the reds and yellows crush into a violent orange blur as your husband pats you awkwardly on the knee. Pretend you’re NOT crying so your child in the backseat doesn’t get more upset, too. You two will cry together later.

Go home and nap and cry and nap and cry and try to eat even though everything tastes like cardboard. Wrap your arms around your midsection as if you could hold something that’s not there.

Take a shower and wonder where she went. Down the drain? In the wastebasket with the pads? You think of people who claim that children “choose” their parents and realize that she must have chosen you, changed her mind because you’re so screwed up and left you. You weep with the water as it swirls in the tub and mocks your open womb-space.

Tell everyone you’re fine. Listen to them say how brave you are, how well you’re taking it. Receive well wishes via email, text, phone from people you haven’t told yet and either A. ignore them because you have no idea what to do with them or B. replay with the barest messages you can with trembling fingers. Make plans to “try again,” to look towards the future, to do anything but sink into this cesspool of raw stinking burning pain.

Try to work, to take care of your child, to clean your house, to make good art. Take a walk.  The song with her name (had she been a her—it was too early to tell, you’re so very lucky) pops into your head and you are grateful that your tears probably match the sweat coming down your face and you walk, the song on repeat as your entire face is wet and yes, it was such a great workout, thanks for asking. You feel dizzy and sick and like neither matters.

Feel your face crumble every five minutes; squeeze your cheeks through your teeth and flatten your mouth to make it stop again. Repeat.

Photo courtesy of Wikipedia