I wrote a blog post about the miscarriage, but I don't think I'm going to post it. It was good for me to write it out, an exercise I've done since I was a little girl. I wrote about it, and now the story is out of me, and I feel ready to move forward a little bit more every day.
I will say that it was much more dramatic than I had expected. When I miscarried at around 5 weeks, it just felt like a slightly heavier, slightly crampier period. Miscarrying at 12 weeks is a whole different animal. After being in severe pain all day, pain that a Percoset prescription didn't touch, Jason took me to the ER, where I praised the staff who got me in and hooked me up to a Dilaudid IV within 20 minutes. A miracle. I even wrote the hospital administration an email telling them how great everyone was.
I think the experience scared Jason pretty badly - I couldn't talk, I couldn't do anything except moan. It's made me rethink whether I'm really going to have a hippie no medication birth after all.
It feels monumentally unfair that I went through the first trimester and essentially experienced labor, and in the end we're left with nothing.
Still, we're moving forward. It's put a bit of a damper on the holidays. I've been moody, as Jason will tell you. Tears are right under the surface for the entirety of my days. Not just sad tears, though. As we move toward Christmas, every hokey attempt at sentimentalism that in past years I might have been able to ignore has been making me well up and think, "That's just so lovely!"
So if you see me crying, it's not necessarily a bad thing.
We got a Christmas tree and decorated it, and that helped. Jason filled the house with poinsettias like he does every year, and I pulled out my stuffed snowmen and teddy bears dressed in Victorian Christmas garb (they're adorable!), and that helped. A couple of days ago, I felt like myself for the first time in ages.
We're moving forward and we'll keep trying, because it would be nice to have a child or two to share this life with.