three and counting

No one tells you so many things about what it’s like to try to create life and fail repeatedly. I have a feeling if they did that no one would ever embark on such a mission because of how heart breaking and confusing and frustrating it is.

No one tells you the symptoms for miscarriage is the same as for pregnancy is the same as for if it’s ectopic is the same as for is the same as for….

Or that you’ll bleed for what feels like years.

No one tells you how miraculous it is that anyone has a baby in this world because of how many things need to go right. And so while you understand how normal it is for it to go wrong, you still feel as though you are bereft of miracles. 

No one teaches you how to manage loss of something you never had while still staying hopeful one day you’ll actually have something alive and tangible and full of love to show for this endlessly hard process. 

No one tells you about the wrestling your heart will do when loved ones around you begin having children, fighting between overflowing joy and deep sadness.

No one tells you how much you will miss having sex for pleasure and joy and connection rather than as a desperate plea to the universe to make you a mother. 

No one tells how much you will hate television and movies and books because of how often pregnancy comes up in human stories, or how resentful you will feel passing by a baby shower or a father with his daughter on his shoulders or a woman nursing in the park. “Fuck you” you will think, and hate yourself for it.

No one tells you that the more miscarriages you have, the less interested your community becomes. Once you get to three it’s kind of your thing. It isn't their fault. They get used to it, and so they rush to your side to support you a little less urgently each time, even though you need it more. They get used to it. And so do you, but from the bottom of a deeper and deeper well. 

People do tell you to hang in there. To wait a couple of days for the results, to be optimistic, to talk to this doctor, to ask that clinic, to call your insurance, to put it in neutral, to wait and see. Kaiser Permanente will tell you to wait, and wait again, talk to that person, they’ll tell you to wait, and then lose your x-rays. They tell you it’ll happen, not to worry, not to give up. They say “at least it was earlier this time” and “well it’s good your body is taking care of you" and "savor this time without any dependents." They say all sorts of things that sound like a foreign language. A kind tone, but ultimately nonsense to your ear.

I wish someone had told me, but also I’m not sure it would change anything if they did. I do wish I knew more stories like mine, rather than not know another person who’s been where I have. Someone who knows what it’s like to feel more lost with each step you take. Maybe it would have made me feel less lost to see footsteps ahead of mine.

So I am telling you. In case you need the sound of my footsteps to tell you someone has been here before. Someone who has been broken open by the process of trying to have a baby, with no promise they will eventually. And hopefully, when you see my foot prints on the ground leading forward, it will mean that I made it home.