six weeks

Lots of people have had these moments. Each story is different, but the actual moment isn't all that unique. Sitting, waiting the 5-10 minutes. Emotions flooding, nerves shaken. Some people want it, others don't. A positive or a negative, two lines or one. Waiting, watching the window, praying another line appears or hoping there isn't one. Whatever the story, many people have been here before.

Enough time elapses and only one line appears. My husband lets out a sigh of relief. I am unconvinced. I know there is something different about me. "Are you disappointed?" No. Disappointed is the wrong word. I just don't believe it. I decide I need to take another test, this time first thing in the morning when the sample is more concentrated. It might be too soon to tell, but I know.

I know, but I'm in denial and choose to not get another test. It's almost Christmas and family will be here shortly. I don't have any typical symptoms, but I am different on the inside. Something has changed within me. Two weeks later I wake up tired, ill, and achey. I had injured my back recently and decided it was that which was causing me pain. This pain was different though. It started out like a dull, annoying pressure. As the day went on, it was getting less easy to ignore. It became sharp and moved from my low back into my pelvic area. I had lost my appetite. I was trying to not ruin the family outing, but by lunch I insisted on going home. I laid down with ice on my back, silent tears running down my face as it became more intense. Now I could feel it in my thighs, every few minutes becoming increasingly more difficult to bear. The pain would come in waves. It would start in my lower back, come around to the front, deep in my body, and reverberate down my thighs.

I must see a doctor; they don't give me a choice. Silently I think to myself that this feels a lot like how I've imagined labor to feel. Still in denial, I did not verbalized what I thought was going on. The ER doctors speculate appendicitis; it is ruled out. They then turn to the possibility of a pelvic infection; the labs say otherwise. I assume they do a pregnancy test and since nothing is mentioned to me about it, I assume it's negative. My body is still violently trying to get rid of something. The morphine does nothing. They seem uninterested with my case and admit me for pain control. A doctor tells me my cervix is dilated, but no one answers my questions about why. They send me home with pain medication on Christmas eve.

My follow up appointment a week later does not lend much answers, except that in the ER they did a urine pregnancy test, which the lab said was inconclusive. They should have then done a blood test, says my primary physician. She is worried about a life-threatening ectopic pregnancy. I'm sent for more tests and that is ruled out. I finally have the courage to ask what had been on my mind: was this an early miscarriage? I'm given a political "we can't say that for sure" answer. No one wants to give potentially bad news when they aren't sure. I'm given the sense that because there is no life-threatening condition and that they can't definitively say, they want me to just drop it and not concern myself with the ugly "m" word.

I go home and share with a few select people what I believe. It's difficult for me because I believe in science and medicine and like things to be black and white. This situation isn't and it makes me uncomfortable. When I mention miscarriage, my family is sensitive and asks how I feel. I tell them I'm indifferent. I don't have the right to feel anything because I know nothing. I question if I'm trying to fill in the blanks to make myself feel better.  I wonder if I feel this way just because I didn't get answers about what was going on with my body.

When I can't get it out of my head, I begin to do research. I reach out to other women. I listen to their stories. Slowly, I allow myself to believe my intuition. I take in all the information and give myself permission to feel the things I'd been holding back. First it's relief that I'm not pregnant. And then shameful guilt that I felt that way. Then, quietly the sadness creeps in. I go through all these cycles alone, never mentioning it to anyone except a few anonymous women online. I process it all internally, sometimes resisting and fighting with my inner dialog. Two months after the incident, I finally confess to my husband all the things I'd be going through. He tells me I don't need a doctor or labs to give me the answers; I already have them. He gives me the confidence that I know my body better than anyone else. He tells me to talk to someone about it.

I do. I talk to a friend who also had a miscarriage. She helps me find peace. She tells me that the wide range of emotions are normal. She tells me her story and that makes me feel less alone, less awkward, less silent. I am reminded of the old saying, "A woman becomes a mother when she becomes pregnant. A man becomes a father when he sees his baby for the first time." For some reason I feel like I should be more like a man; that because I didn't see or know this child, I shouldn't have such strong feelings. Sweetly my friend says, "You were a mom for six weeks." And that's what I need to hear. It all makes sense and comes together for me. I was a mom for six weeks, my heart and body changed. For whatever reason, it was for only a short amount of time, yet the change still happened. Although I am feeling like my normal self again, for six weeks I was a different woman because of the life growing inside of me. I may be forever changed because of it, but it's a change that probably only I can detect. It was my secret, my intimate six weeks with a life only the most intuitive parts of me knew existed.






Late edit: I began to share this post privately among friends. I was overwhelmed at the amount of friends that have had similar experiences. Early miscarriages are very common and it seems that many women deal with them silently. The reactions also seem to be similar: flippant attitudes from the medical community, women dealing with a wide range of emotions from relief to grief, and difficulties between husband and wife because of a huge difference in how men and women experience the situation. It was because of this response from other women that I decided to post this publicly. Perhaps the sharing of my story may help others find peace.