I sat down to write a blog about the physical pain of miscarriage because there’s a lot. And it’s awful. But it wasn’t shaping up, and I think it wasn’t writing itself like I wanted because I can’t separate the emotional pain from the physical pain. I’m just constantly in pain, but I’m never sure which one is going to hit at any given time.

With every cramp and every time I go to the bathroom, I’m reminded that this isn’t just a regular period. This is happening because my baby is gone.

My baby is gone.

I keep thinking that once the physical pain goes away then I’ll deal with the emotional side of things. I’m trying to compartmentalize something that’s impossible to compartmentalize. The pain sucks, but it doesn’t matter. What matters is that my baby is gone.

I’ve done this before, right? I’ve grieved for things. Even really big things. I’ve grieved my infertility, and I thought grieving this miscarriage would be similar, but I’m finding it much harder. Say what you want about embryos, fetuses, etc. to me, they are all babies. That raspberry sized ball of cells in my body had eyelids and was forming hands and feet. He (or she, although Husband is convinced it was a boy) was a little person. It’s so much harder to grieve a person than to grieve an idea or an abstract concept like fertility.

My baby is gone.

There was a baby. A little baby who died inside of me. How is that a thing anyone is supposed to be ok with? How am I supposed to just go on with my life like everything is ok when it clearly isn’t? It’s not ok and I’m not ok and this whole situation is not ok. Nothing is ok. The only thing that is remotely ok about my life right now is Vinny, Z, Husband, my parents, and other family/friends who have reached out to us.

My baby is gone.

I haven’t left my parents’ house. I don’t want to go anywhere. I don’t want to do anything. I don’t want people to look at me and know. I don’t want people to look at me and not know. I don’t want to endure people telling me they “don’t know what to say” or how horrible this whole thing is. I know it’s horrible. I’m living it. And I know all of these people mean well, and I’m glad they say something. I just hate having to talk out loud about it. I hate having to say the words “my baby is gone” or “I’m having a miscarriage” out loud. In fairness, I hate writing them too, but it’s a little less real than using my own words and having those words come out of my mouth.

My baby is gone.

I feel like a failure as a woman. I mean, I got over my feeling like a failure for being unable to get pregnant, but now that I actually got pregnant and lost the baby, I feel like an even bigger failure. I can’t explain it because logically I know I’ve done nothing to cause this, but I can’t help but think somewhere someone must be punishing me for something. Why even allow me to get pregnant if you’re going to take it away? I know I asked this already, but I still don’t get it.

My baby is gone. And I don’t know what to do next.

 

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