I figure it's safe to write here since not very many people come here anymore.
And there's something I have to write.
Something I have to put down somewhere.
On August 29th, after more than 2.5 years of trying, I found out I was surprisingly and magically pregnant. Without any kind of medical intervention. Because see, I'd made a deal with God. That if I was pregnant before my 38th birthday, we'd roll with it. But thirty-eight was the absolute cut off. My birthday is September 3rd. A bleedin' miracle.
And I've felt absolutely, positively miserable in the weeks since then - upset stomach, extreme fatigue, dizziness, mood swings, food aversions, food cravings. You name it, I've had it.
Maybe even more miraculous than the fact that I'm pregnant is the fact that I've actually managed to keep it a secret (except for those who absolutely have to know). I've hidden all of that yuckiness under a smile in public and attempted to pretend that I'm fine, just fine.
I've been literally counting down the days until I could tell people. I mean, I've already won The World's Worst Secret Keeper at least fourteen times, so this was kind of a big one. I've even already bought my Halloween shirt with the little baby skeleton on my belly and that was how I was going to tell everyone - maybe not original, but in my head, I was so, so clever!
Yesterday I went in for my second appointment with the doctor wherein I'd have an ultrasound to look at the fluid on the baby's spinal cord....that's the best thing about being pregnant at 38, you get to do all of these awesome tests because of your advanced fertility age. At this point, all medical professionals are apparently just surprised your uterus doesn't fall out any time you move.
Well, you'll never guess what.
They couldn't find a baby.
Like at all.
My 38-year-old uterus contains an empty sac.
What should have been a 10.5 week old fetus is an eight week old sac.
The doctor asked if there's anyway I'd miscalculated my dates.
I'm so regular, you could set your clock by me.
I did not miscalculate.
So, what we have here is what the internet refers to as an "empty" pregnancy or a missed miscarriage (the medical term is "blighted ovum"...and that sounds ten times worse).
Who misses a miscarriage? Apparently I do.
The doctor sent me home to either spontaneously abort or to come back in one week, do another ultrasound, and if there's still no baby, terminate.
Do you know what it's like to be sent home to wait for a miscarriage?
Do you know what it's like when, with every twinge, tweak, or pain, you run to the bathroom to see if this is it?
Do you know what it's like to literally wait to see if your last chance to have a baby will go down the toilet?
Do you know what it's like to have to explain to your small children that there might not be a baby after all? And then have your six-year-old want to immediately say a prayer that in one week when you go back they'll be able to "find a body in mommy's belly"?
Do you know what it's like to break down every thirty-two seconds and have your two-year-old say, "Mama, you hurt? Mama, you sad? Mama, you stop crying, ok?"
Do you know what it's like to want to do something, anything, and have no control at all?
Do you know what it's like to not know what to do? Not know how to act?
But most of all, do you know what it's like when the world around you continues to spin and people live their lives and you sit at home with a crushed spirit and a broken heart, wishing that you didn't feel so damned alone?