I had a miscarriage, resulting in a D & C. My doctor was great, my husband was supportive, and my mom came in town to be with me for the D & C. My brother, a pilot, even happened to be in town out of random luck the day before I had my scheduled D & C. (This has happened only 3 times in nearly 10 years of living here, so I do wonder whether someone upstairs was sending me some extra support/ a distraction.)
I remember wondering whether I’d ever have a baby, whether I would ever get to be a mother. My husband and I mourned the loss of our baby that never was. The timing was horrendous, with my miscarriage occurring three months before I had to take my preliminary exams for my Ph.D. I talked to my dad (a counselor) each day as I struggled to focus on the two books per day I needed to be reading and writing about. It all sucked. And it was worse because it seemed like my period would never start again–that I would forever remain childless.
And then I got pregnant 6 months later, before I even had my first period after having the D & C. And now I’m the mother of two beautiful girls, the first of whom could not have been placed on this earth if that first baby was born. The timing would have been impossible.
Was I devastated when I had a miscarriage? Yes. Did I cry in the bathroom after family members asked when I’d get pregnant like my cousin, who was only two weeks further along in her pregnancy than I should have been? Of course. Did I recover from it all? I did. My miscarriage taught me that some things just are. The miscarriage just is. I get nowhere by overthinking it. It just is. It is part of my life, my experiences, and it has greatly contributed to both the fear I had in my other pregnancies (which both had similar spotting as occurred in my first) and the complete and utter gratitude I have toward God for having two healthy, thriving children.
I still wonder what the first baby would have been like, and I know rationally that he or she would have probably been born with serious birth defects. (My doctor eloquently and succinctly stated that nature is efficient with quality control, so to speak.) I would have loved him or her just the same. I hated when people said, “Well, you can have another one,” because I wanted this one.
The miscarriage just is. Strangely, I’m richer for that experience, although I certainly don’t ever want to repeat it or wish it upon anyone.
So there you have it. I have no enlightening words. All I offer is the perspective of someone who’s been in your shoes, who’s cried the same tears, but who now has some distance and an ability to say that I can’t imagine it any other way.