I try not to focus on dates but they haunt me. I feel a buildup of grief each time I approach one. Due dates, loss dates. I only have 6 landmines a year; I know some of you have many more.
Tomorrow, last year, we lost our only baby that ever had a heartbeat. Flashes of that day are still with me so vividly. Wearing a red dress with a black suit jacket. Riding on the train on the way to work, I smelled french fries. For the first time in weeks, I didn't gag at the smell. At work the sight of blood in my underwear, just a tiny bit... but I knew instantly that it was all over. Walking back to my office and logging onto twitter. Shaking my head: it wasn't appropriate to tell twitter before my husband. Hanging up the phone and turning back to my computer and typing the phrase that I'd been steeling myself to type for weeks. I was shocked, yet I'd predicted this moment was coming and had mentally prepared for it. "Bleeding. Fuck."
The twitter support came pouring in. Slackie O. and ababy4al were especially kind. A partner at my office who I'd recently confided in walked me to my building lobby. I knew she'd had a miscarriage once. She waited with me and tried to reassure me. I told her it was over. I told her we would be adopting.
Riding in the cab to the hospital. Talking about blood. Wondering what the cabbie thought was wrong with me. Walking into the ER. "I'm nine weeks pregnant and bleeding." "And what?" "Blee-ding." "Oh."
The resident who was going to be a gynecologist. Nice to me and sympathetic... but with an unmistakable air of being pleased that he was assigned a patient in his chosen field. Checked me in the stirrups. Cervix closed. Ultrasound machine. Couldn't get it to work. Then it worked but couldn't find a heartbeat. They'd send me down to a better machine. A doctor came by to wish us well. He sought us out because he'd been there before; his wife had IVF loss IVF loss IVF loss IVF triplets. One had a brain tumor and was operated on at birth. Now the triplets are healthy and 16. Encouraged us to keep trying. He was so kind that we couldn't tell him we were exiting this ride.
Waiting and waiting and waiting but we had no anxiety because we had no hope. We knew. "The ultrasound tech found no discernible embryo." We just nodded.
Calling my parents in the ER. Calling them again as we walked home. I still can't believe this was the same day - how did I survive this? Eventually they said kindly, "We heard from your sister. Do you want to know?" I knew the answer that hurt the most would be the correct one. "It's a girl," I whispered. "Yes," they replied. "Okay." Her anatomy scan was that day.
We weighed our options. We had Ben Folds tickets that night. Maybe we should go? As crazy as it sounds, I kind of wanted to go. We didn't go. We bought a log for the fireplace. We held hands and watched the flames. I checked twitter. I had nothing to say, but I silently - gratefully - watched the support roll in.
A year later, I'm surprised it still hurts as much as it does, even while we're thrilled to be adopting and over the moon to meet our child.
And I'm still so grateful for the support that rolls in.
