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January 2012
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March 2012


The backs of both my hands are covered in bruises. They are starting to heal, morphing into splotches of blue and green and red, like topographical maps. I earned the bruises at the hospital on friday.

I didn't want a D&C, didn't want anything to do with the hospital or anesthesia or finality. My body didn't want to let the baby go, and I could see its point. But the doctor kept warning me with words like "sepsis" and "asherman's syndrome" and "hemorrhage." Clay told me, "I know you don't want this, and I don't want to pressure you, because you're the one who has to go through it." But I could see he was scared for me, and most of all I was unbelievably weary at the thought of more possible drama, so I consented. 

At the hospital one nurse put an IV in my left hand, and another tried to take blood from my right, blowing a vein. I don't mean to make them sound bad, the nurses, because they were so very kind. But my veins weren't cooperating any more than the rest of me was. I watched the back of my right hand puff up, and I didn't even care. I'd just seen some paperwork that described my pregnancy - 16 weeks, 6 days, and I was awash in anger that I'd never be able to say 17 weeks. 

The anesthesiologist explained that because I was so far along, he would have to consider me as having a full stomach. So after I was put under, he put a balloon in my throat, along with the breathing tube, to protect my lungs should I vomit. When I woke up, my throat was raw. For days when I spoke, my voice came out in a thin, whiny whisper. I hated the sound of it, so weak and pitiful, underscoring everyone's worry about me. 

My voice is mostly back, although I find I have little to say. And the bruises are healing. As the colors shift and recede, I find I am sorry to see them go. Somehow it seems more true to be bruised.

There is no easy way to say this.

I've lost the baby.

I hate the terminology, you know? It doesn't really work. I lost the baby? It sounds careless. I've had a miscarriage? Hardly a word that encompasses the ultrasound image I saw yesterday, of a tiny body curled up, looking like a still baby bird, perfectly formed in every way we could see...except for the eerie stillness. And so shall I say that? The baby died? 

That is too horrible, and I can't say the words.

But I don't suppose there is any words that would make it easier. Yesterday I went in for an ultrasound, at what was supposed to be 16 or 15 weeks gestation. Clay was with me, because I knew something was wrong. I'd demanded the appointment, unable to wait anymore for my scheduled ultrasound on Thursday. I lay on the table and gripped Clay's hand. The room was too hot. 

Of course, I've already told you what we saw. The doctor adjusted the picture and asked me how far along I was supposed to be. I stammered on an on about 16 weeks strictly by dates, but my cycle tends to be long, so we thought closer to 15 weeks. It was like a nightmare, where you can't make yourself say the words that make sense. 

And on the screen, my tiny, still baby, curled up and motionless.

"As you can see here," he motioned a circle on the chest, "there is no heartbeat. The size is what we'd expect to see in a twelve to thirteen week pregnancy. I am so sorry."

And oh, I am sorry too.

I keep wondering where I was, what I was doing when that life winked out.

"It's not your fault," Clay says. And yes, I know. I know. Only...what was I doing? How did I not know? 

Last night we lay in bed, forehead to forehead, whispering. Tears leaked endlessly onto my pillow.

"Our life is good," I said, and Clay agreed. "It really is., I don't know how I will ever stop being sad and live it again."

Clay says that I don't need to worry about that right now, and that maybe, for now, being sad is what we are supposed to do. I hope he's right, because it's about all I can achieve today.


My latest best idea

I had a BRILLIANT idea today. I'm good at those. The ideas. I have one that's worth at least a million dollars, I swear I do. It's the doing anything about the ideas that I lack. 


My idea starts here: have you ever gotten one of those magical boxes of Kellogg's Frosted Mini-Wheats (who doesn't love these? You are dismissed) that had a little extra frosting? So when you pour the milk and the shredded wheat part gets a little soft, the frosting still maintains a gentle crunch, making your cereal-eating experience well nigh perfect?

Well, here's my idea! Kellogg's should TOTALLY make Extra Frosted Mini-Wheats! I would buy them. And I think you would too. Come on, you would, wouldn't you? And on Facebook, we would all complain about it, "OH did you see this TRAVESTY of a breakfast cereal? Who needs MORE FROSTING in this world? What we need is EXTRA WHEAT Mini-Wheats!" 

And then they could make the extra wheat kind too, so when I pour myself a bowl of the extra frosting kind, I can take it and hide in my room to eat it. And when the kids bang on my door to ask if I'm eating the cereal with the extra frosting, I can bellow back, "NO! Go eat your EXTRA WHEAT MINI-WHEATS!"

Kellogg's is welcome to take my brilliant idea for free. That's how much of a giver I am.

And to answer your questions: Yes, I am feeling a bit less nauseated. What are you eating RIGHT NOW? Are you going to finish that? And no, I am not going insane, even though it is snowing and there is supposed to be something crazy like a foot of snow by morning and Tre's school is already cancelled. I'm fine. 

And FULL of good ideas.