Not What I’d Wanted to Write

Today was my 31st birthday, and I had planned a really special surprise that I’d been eagerly awaiting for several weeks. I was so excited to give myself the gift of going on Facebook and this blog to tell all my friends and family that Ryan and I were going to have a baby early next July. Our first doctor’s appointment was supposed to be yesterday, and we were going to share the good news today.

Instead, I’ve spent the last several days “losing the baby,” which is about the most awful euphemism I’ve ever heard.

Yesterday, in particular, was truly brutal – I guess I can be thankful that it was yesterday and not today. The worst of it is over, physically, but there’s still a lot of heartache, disappointment, and a nagging sense of surreality that I’m sure will linger for some time.

This was a very dearly desired baby – we’d even been trying fertility treatments – and I can’t really begin to express how badly this loss hurts, but I have Hope in a death-grip and can only pray that by my next birthday there will a different story to tell, instead of “I am 31 years old, and childless”. It has been a long bad spell for my family and myself, and it sometimes becomes difficult to have faith that things will get better… I guess I thought we were due for some good news, but apparently it just doesn’t work that way. Which, of course, I know.

The good news, of course, is that it is statistically unlikely that we’ll have a repeat episode (knock on wood) and that we now know that we can do this, so it’s just a matter of doing it again. I know that I did nothing wrong, that there was no stopping this from happening. We’ll have our babies. Just not this July.

BTW – I’m sorry, Becky, for prevaricating when you asked how the fertility treatments were going… and Kirsti and Gina, I think you must have suspected when you kept asking how I was feeling… the true answer was, “I’m happier than I have been in several years,” and I wish now that I had just gone ahead and told you why instead of holding out for an arbitrary deadline.

Anyway, I’m still not 100% certain I want to send this out into the online universe – aren’t miscarriages supposed to be one of those things you don’t talk about? – but something inside me seems to think that I’d like y’all to know… so I guess I’ll chance it. I can always delete the post, right?

Love y’all. Take care of each other.

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13 thoughts on “Not What I’d Wanted to Write

  1. Shit, Kate. I am really sorry. The only thing I can say is that this totally sucks and it’s not cool and it’s not fair, but I have faith that good things will come down the line. Love you bunches, lady. You are way too awesome, and I am blessed to have you for a friend.

  2. Kate, I am so sorry for your loss. I can only imagine how heartbreaking this is for you and Ryan. I’m glad you shared this with the people who love you as I know you will have lots of support and many prayers now and in the future. This won’t make it any easier but I know countless women who have suffered miscarriages and gone on to have successful pregnancies and lots of babies. You will be one of them. Stay postive, take care of yourself and bask in all the love that surrounds you.
    Give Ryan a big hug and tell him Krissy loves you both very much. If I can do anything for either of you, please let me know……Kris

  3. Oh dear, I’m so sorry to hear this news. Thanks for seeing fit to share with those of us who read your blog. Miscarriages aren’t “supposed” to be kept private, and I’m glad you let us know so we can pray for you and support you from afar. I’ll be looking forward to a happy announcement sometime in the (hopefully near) future. 🙂

    Happy Birthday, too. Thirty-one will only get better from here!

  4. I’m so sorry to hear (read?) this. I didn’t even know you two were working on starting a family. You’ll both make excellent parents, when the time comes.

    This may come as no comfort what-so-ever, but I have read that often times the body rejects a fetus when something isn’t right, kind of a throwback to our cave man genetics. So perhaps this was a blessing in disguise? I don’t know, I’m totally just throwing out anything I can to help make your day even an inch better.

    You Rock. Keep your head up, good things are coming your way.

  5. Tears. This account is all too familiar. I went on fertility drugs after Logan and I tried for nearly a year to get pregnant — with no success. After one month on the meds, we were pregnant — but I miscarried before the first trimester was over. It broke my heart. I remember crying at night and trying to slip out of bed so that I wouldn’t wake Logan, which turned out to be a futile attempt. I remember sobbing into his chest, repeating over and over the only words I felt to say: “I wanted that baby. I wanted that baby.”

    But I did not despair, and I think you are wise to keep that death-grip on hope. 🙂 God loves His children and is mindful of them; I can even attest that He’s willing to hand out a miracle or two (or a thousand). Take care, Kate. You and Ryan will be in my prayers tonight.

  6. Kate, I am so sorry to read about this. I prayed for you and Ryan as soon as I read this. What you say about holding on to Hope with a death-grip rings very true to me. I know what it’s like to be in a situation where you choose to fight for and believe there is hope, even when it doesn’t seem logical.

    I hope this doesn’t seem like a platitude. But this verse has been my life lately.

    Lamentations 3:20-24:
    My soul continually remembers [my affliction] and is bowed down within me. But this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope: The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. The LORD is my portion,” says my soul, “therefore I will hope in him.”

  7. I know, from experience, that there’s nothing that any of us can say to you that will make this hurt less. That being said, we’re out here, rooting for you, and if there ever IS anything that I can do, just say the word and it’s yours.

  8. I love you and you’re both on my mind. I’m afraid I’ve learned that I can only offer two things in times like this: a very cuddly and booblicious hug (I’m built for comfort, what can I say?), and wildly inappropriate comedy relief. If you are in need of either, let me know. I may need to send a surrogate boobly hug, but I’m sure I still have some connections in Boise.

  9. I’m so sorry, Kate. And I’m glad to hear that statistics are now on your side. Even though, as a gal who took too many English courses and too few math courses, the concept of statistics means very little. 🙂 However, as a gal who took too many English courses and too few math course, I also know a thing or two about the ways that stories end… and this isn’t the end of this story. Love you.

  10. I’m so sorry for the loss of your child. Infertility is a godawful struggle, and every minute of it has the potential for great hurt. Sending you lots of warm thoughts and support.

  11. Miscarriages don’t have to be private. Grieve in the way that makes you feel whole and forget about what’s acceptable to others are you.

  12. Pingback: Uncollected Thoughts « Did You Have Juice?

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