Miscarriage, Part 2

I found out I was pregnant again on October 13th. 

Because of my anxiety and my previous loss, 

the doctor got me in for a sonogram and blood work immediately.

Again, sonogram and blood levels were where they should be. 

Everything looked great.

Two days later, I got my blood work done again to make sure 

everything was doubling as it should.

I called for my results and was told I needed an appointment. 

They hadn’t needed to give me an appointment with my last pregnancy. 

I thought maybe they were just being difficult.

I drove to the clinic after work.

“You need to make an appointment.”

“But I’m here now. Why don’t you just tell me?”

“Someone will be with you shortly.”

I sat in the waiting room for an hour, stubbornly believing 

that it couldn’t happen again. 

Maybe it was ridiculously good news and they wanted to tell me in person. 

I bet that was all. 

They had seen how devastated I was after the last one, 

and now they just wanted to congratulate me.

My nurse called me into a sitting room.

Pictures of newborns hung in frames all over the wall. 

I wondered which one my baby would look like…

“It dropped, honey. From 600 to 60. You’re miscarrying again.”

I instantly felt like my heart was being run through a meat grinder. I howled.

“I want to go home. I need to go home. 

My husband can’t get to me- our other car is in the shop. I need to go home.”

She wouldn’t let me leave until I had calmed down enough to drive. 

She stayed with me, too. 

For probably half an hour she sat in that office and held me.  

I texted Paul what had happened, then I left.

I walked in.

We cried together again, holding each other. 

I remember feeling like if he let go, 

I’d collapse.

It happened that weekend. I lay in bed on a heating pad, just waiting. 

Then it hit. The cramping and pain held steady around an 8 or 9 for three days. 

I slept and cried off and on, I sifted through blood and clots. 

Each time I crawled back into bed, empty-handed.

Then I returned to work.

I began re-reading the Harry Potter series. That’s actually a pretty 

ambitious overstatement. I began re-reading The Sorcerer’s Stone. 

A couple weeks went by of me reading, little by little. 

It was good for me having something to do other than work, 
having another world to escape to. 

I listened to the audiobook 
so I didn’t have time for my mind to wander while I drove.

I did okay until Harry found the Mirror of Erised. 
Looking into this mirror, he can only see his heart’s greatest desire. 
Orphaned at one year old, Harry saw his whole family. 

It was all he ever wanted.

Then, in my head, as clear as a memory, 

I saw Paul and me and our boys. 

We were all smiling, radiating happiness. 

I cradled a baby in my arms, a tuft of 

fuzzy red hair poking up over a purple blanket.

A car honked. 
I swerved back into my lane and pulled over to the shoulder. 

My heart collapsed in my chest. 

I shook, crying, pounding the life out of my steering wheel.  

I yelled at no one.

“What did I do, huh? Am I being punished?! I did everything right. EVERYTHING!”

I don't know how long I sat there, 

waiting for the black hole in my heart to engulf me.

My mom called. I told her where I was.

"You have to get home. 

Go home and rest and grieve, 

but you have to keep going right now. 

Baby, you have to keep going.”

I pulled myself together enough to get home, then I went into that dark 

room with the red ball. I let the pain engulf me. I let it wrack my body, 

course through my veins, and leak from my eyes until I fell asleep.

For both of my losses, I had to go back to my OB at least twice to get 

blood drawn. I had to sit in that waiting room watching happy couples 

smiling at sonogram photos, women holding their bellies as they dreamed 

about seeing their little one for the first time. I sat looking at women walking 

in with brand new babies, love and joy pouring from their faces. 
I wondered who among them had lost a baby.

Who had experienced that fearful excitement that comes with a positive test?

Who had gone through their whole pregnancy fearlessly, 

without having a worry about whether 
or not they would still be pregnant the next day?

Who let themselves dream beyond the next doctor’s appointment?

It only took twice for my first one. The first draw was 14, the second was 0.

After the second miscarriage, 
I asked my doctor if she was really going to 

make me go through a third one before doing any sort of testing. 
I knew it was manipulative. She was just following procedure. 

Still I asked, 

“How many of my babies have to die before somebody gives a damn?”

Dr. H ordered the whole gamut of blood tests. 
Everything that could be discovered through blood 
that could cause miscarriage, they did. 

I gave twelve vials of blood that day at the doctor’s office. 

She said people normally get it all done over a few trips, 

but I told them I wanted to know as soon as possible. 

Do them all now.

Those results took a few weeks. When they arrived?

“Everything is normal.”

It was a mixed blessing. 

Nothing in my blood would keep me from carrying a baby.

I still didn't have an answer or a reason.

My doctor encouraged me to wait until I’d had a cycle (period) 

before having unprotected sex again. I laughed.

“Well that’s the absolute last thing on my mind!”

A few weeks later, it went to the forefront of my mind.

And a couple weeks after that, 

on our 1 year wedding anniversary, 

I got another positive pregnancy test.