As women, we’re taught there’s only one thing to really fear — the missed period.
I’ve missed a few periods in my day, all were unexpected misses. And all, but the last one, were missed dearly. I never thought I’d miss my period as much as one does in those panic-filled hours and days as you pray that you’re not pregnant, then resign to being pregnant only to learn you are in fact not pregnant.
In my life I’ve missed other things, too: appointments, people, boyfriends, friends, classes, the sunset over the lake. The list of missed things in my life is probably the most varied list I could come up with. It’s also quite long.
Now, I get to add another thing to that list. Missed miscarriage.
See, about six weeks ago, I began bleeding while on holidays in Cuba. As it turned out, that bleeding was the start of a miscarriage. However, the miscarriage never finished. Which means technically, I have a missed miscarriage to deal with.
It’s almost unfair, isn’t it? I had the worst of both worlds: bleeding for about three weeks straight, and now I still have to go in for surgery to get the fetus — who wasn’t strong enough to survive, but is strong enough to cling on to my womb for dear life — removed.
Like the first half of my miscarriage that happened while my husband and I were away on vacation in Cuba, this part couldn’t come at a worse time, as my husband and I plan to move cities this weekend.
I lost my baby at nine weeks. This Sunday would have been when I hit nineteen weeks, had I stayed pregnant. It’s hard to wrap my brain, and my heart, around that this thing inside me has been not alive longer than alive. And that it’s still with me.
Life is a funny thing sometimes. I never really wanted to be a mom. I never really thought I’d really know how. Sure, I’ve warmed up to the idea, but being a mom is still something that terrifies me. My miscarriage has been a rough time for sure. It rears its ugly head at inconvenient times, but for the most part I count myself lucky. I’m sad about what has been lost, but am also able to see a bright side.
I don’t know what tomorrow will bring. I’m scared, but hoping this is the final step to saying good-bye to this part of me that just won’t let go. I know there is a brighter future ahead. And that’s what I’m holding on to until tomorrow at 9:15.