LJ Idol Week 6: Heel Turn
*Trigger warning for miscarriage. Though nothing graphic
This isn’t a happy story.
I thought it was going to be. It started out the way.
It was Christmas Eve. We were packing up to go spend the night at my sister’s so we could be there in the morning when the kids woke up. There were margaritas and Kahlua in coffees and mimosas in my future.
But I needed to be sure.
I took a test. Waited for the one line that meant no.
There were two lines.
I didn’t believe. I stared at it, waited for the second line to disappear, rubbed my eyes to make sure I wasn’t imagining it.
It was still there.
I took another test, a different brand, just to be sure. I felt like I couldn’t breathe. My hands were shaking. This one would show a plus if it were yes, a single line if it were no.
It showed a plus.
I raced down the stairs, yelling for my husband.
“I’m pregnant.” I shoved the tests at him. “I’m pregnant!”
“What?” He stared at me, looked down at the tests. “You’re pregnant?”
“I’m pregnant!”
“You’re pregnant!”
We laughed and hugged and kissed and cried. And then we finished packing and headed to my sister’s, where she and my brother-in-law got to know the news too. The only ones who would get to know the news. Mostly because they would have noticed once I turned down those margaritas.
It was magical, amazing. Our Christmas miracle, we called it.
I made an appointment first thing Monday, and they set it up for four weeks later.
It was the longest four weeks of my life. I just wanted to be sure, just wanted to see for myself.
But I was tired all the time and I was nauseas all the time and the thought of food made me want to throw up.
We were so happy. We started planning. Maternity leave and vacation time. Names for a boy and names for a girl. Nursery themes. The stuff we needed to do and clean and buy in the next eight months.
Every day, I read the three mobile apps I had downloaded the night we found out. I logged everything the apps told me to log. I took my vitamins and we went on daily walks. I gave up caffeine and anything else that could be remotely considered bad.
But it was okay. Because it was worth it. Everything I had wanted for so long was finally happening.
I couldn’t shake that anxious feeling, though.
“It’ll be fine. I know it,” my husband said.
“I’ll feel better after I hear the heartbeat,” I said.
The morning of my doctor appointment finally arrived. I was more nervous than I’ve been in a long time. Way more nervous than I was on my wedding day.
“A couple more hours, though,” I told myself, “and we can finally tell our parents and a few close friends.”
The doctor came in. She set everything up.
There was a baby. I could see it.
There was no heartbeat.
She kept looking. But it wasn’t there.
The baby measured at about seven weeks. It had died sometime last week, and I didn’t know.
A missed miscarriage, they call it, where the baby dies but there are no symptoms.
I made it to the car before I cried. I managed to call my husband and my parents before I broke down sobbing.
All those plans, all those dreams, all those hopes.
I wanted this so badly, but sometimes life offers the cruelest heel turn of all.
Note from me: I felt bad last week when I wrote this entry because people were so nice and I knew what had happened after, but I thought I would have a happy news update in a couple months. And then this happened.
And I’m sorry for the depressing post. I thought about just bye-ing out, but then I thought maybe this could help me cope with it. So we’ll see.
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