Wednesday, July 25, 2007
When it was first happening, I decided I wasn't going to write about it. I didn't want to cheapen the experience, I didn't want the loss of my pregnancy to become blog fodder. But now it's over, really over - and I'm okay.
When we found out I was pregnant we were surprised, and sheepishly pleased. This baby would have been our closest space yet, 18 months apart from Zalman. We started thinking about juggling school tuition and midwifery payments. We calculated that we'd have our baby in February. We wondered if we could hack it, parenting five young children.
I called my midwife, who was surprised and happy for me. We scheduled our first appointment for a later time. I felt Yaakov and I had a secret with G-d, a warm little secret growing inside.
I was craving protein and started eating more. I began taking my pre-natals and extra iron. I'd cast furtive glances at the calendar, at the cryptically circled date for my first appointment. Even my calendar was in cahoots with me.
I started bleeding on a Friday morning. I sighed with a heavy heart and went back into the kitchen. Breakfast to make, lunches to prepare. I finally had a moment alone with Yaakov. "Oh no," he said, crestfallen. But I was too busy that day to grieve. I had challah to make, a million things to do for shabbos.
Yet at every moment I knew: My precious secret was bleeding out of me.
As the days passed, I wanted to tell everybody. I wanted to tell the Publix cashier. The UPS guy. It was weird that people were interacting with me like nothing was amiss. It was strange being nonchalant with the world.
I did make it to that appointment with my midwife, but it wasn't a prenatal visit. She was taking my blood, confirming the miscarriage was complete. She comforted me.
In retrospect, the miscarriage was a blessing. I was off the wall emotionally, my anxiety was through the roof. Though I'm sure the miscarriage exacerbated them, they're feelings I deal with all the time. After the miscarriage I finally decided to get help.
Perhaps a part of me had to die, so another part could ultimately live.