A Very Special Blossom

So. I had a miscarriage on Christmas Day. Good times.

I got someone to see me yesterday morning. The nurse checking me in asked me how my Christmas was, and I squeaked out "um..." and started bawling. Ugh. The doctor did an external ultrasound and couldn't see anything, but wanted to do an internal one just to be sure. He didn't have the means to do it there, so he sent me over to the hospital. Before we left, we had to get Sascha's blood drawn for some bullshit sadistic lead/anemia testing, and she lost her tiny mind to such an extent that when it was over she threw up all over me. So we went home, I changed my pukey clothes, and went to the hospital for the internal u/s. The radiology tech was very quiet for a long time. Only when I asked did she say she saw an empty sac.

So I don't know if I was pregnant in the first place. I don't know. My mom says this is a good thing (being the pro-life Catholic that she is), but the truth is, that there was never any baby just makes me feel stupid for ever thinking there was one. I don't feel the least bit guilty, like I did anything to cause this; I think my science background helps me understand cell development and genetics enough to know better. But I do feel (irrationally, I'll admit) like I was one of those crazy women who lies about being pregnant to get attention. I feel stupid for crying wolf, and jumping the gun in my excitement. I want to just forget this ever happened and move on.

Nick got me a necklace for Christmas that depicts a family with two parents and two children. I think I'm going to put it away, lest I look like the looney that pushes around the empty baby carriage. Heh.

I'm okay, but I think I felt a lot better about it yesterday. I woke up kind of sad, and of course way more crampy than yesterday. And I'm really tired today. It's half past noon and all three of us are still in our pajamas, teeth unbrushed. Nice.

I am working to focus on the positives. I have a perfect, healthy, daughter. It happened over vacation, giving me more than a week still to compose myself before I go back and see my young, fertile co-worker who is due in April. I can focus again on getting back in shape (he-e-e-ey... wait, is that a good thing?). This is a zillion times better than finding out that there's some kind of genetic freakshow going on at 22 weeks. Compared to that family in CA that had the crazy Santa shooter? This is less than a speck of tragedy. And when I was checking in at the hospital, the receptionist was giving the woman next to me directions to the cancer center. I thought "well, if I had to pick which position to be in right now..."

We are actually going out with friends tonight, and I'm looking forward to ordering this amazing raw tuna appetizer this restaurant is known for. Maybe I'll have two. And of course several glasses of wine. See, lots of bright sides. And now Nick and I can try again to time another baby for the spring. And I don't have to miss the beginning of the school year, or plan sub lessons for my September geology unit (which is really hard... I was sort of dreading that).

I think the hardest thing about this has been other people's reactions. I could tell the doctor was struggling to tell me, like he expected me to be hysterical, and I was like "it's okay, listen, I'm fine." I had to console him, in a way. Everyone is so sweet and so supportive. I don't know why that's hard; maybe I am just that socially retarded. I don't want to talk to anyone on the phone because all of the "ohhh... awww..."-ing will make me cry and make my head hurt again from all the crying. And then that makes people uncomfortable because they don't know what to say, when really, everything everyone has said is perfect. My dad is really upset about this, which is heartbreaking but shocking because he sort of kept our pregnancies at arm's length. I feel bad having to be the buzzkill, the bearer of bad news. Making jokes about it (like the title of this post) helps tremendously, but I don't know if it makes other people uncomfortable, you know? Yesterday Nick said I could do whatever I wanted that day. I picked a few things and said (half-joking) "Tomorrow I'll be back to normal!" Nick said in this drill-seargent voice, "you have twelve hours to grieve!" That made me laugh for the rest of the day.

I know I've mentioned this before, but I read an article in Oprah a few years ago about this couple who would celebrate bad news. So last night my mom and I went to Whole Foods and picked out some great stuff and she, Nick, Sascha & I had dinner in front of "Mamma Mia" turned up extra loud with a couple bottles of wine, starting with the best bottle I had. It was just what I needed.

I don't want to sound like I'm in denial and all happy-crappy, everything's-just-fine, because it isn't. But I am okay. Not great, but okay. We still have a week off school so we're planning some nice things to do, and that helps a lot.