This post will be about our first, and hopefully only, miscarriage.
Eric deployed in 2011, returning in 2012. I got pregnant in February of 2012 but sadly miscarried at 8 weeks. It was…difficult.
My memory of that day is very clear but also dream-like. I can still feel the icy pain of the IV in my arm since the resident didn’t angle it right into my arm (still dislike you, resident… I know you didn’t do it on purpose but man I didn’t need that). I still think of every call to my mom asking about the bright red blood and if I should go to the hospital but her constant reassurances that I’m fine, there’s nothing to worry about, its normal! I’m glad we’ve PCS’d since then as I don’t think I could handle being pregnant in that same ER where I stood and felt.. everything just go. I can hear that doctor’s mocking tone as I said it’s hard to sit in the ER for three hours when you can feel your baby being miscarried and he replied with “oh, only three hours? you should feel lucky it’s been such a short time!”
When we got home, Eric and I stood in the shower and I made him cry. I made him feel what had happened over the past 8 hours because he only saw me. He only saw his wife, whom he had barely seen in the last 12 months, sobbing in bed while being poked and prodded by random people who acted fairly unimpressed by my condition. He knew his baby was gone but he refused to feel it because I was in pain. But I made him feel it and we stood in that shower for an hour as he sobbed. I hated seeing him hurt but I hated the thought of him trying to be the rock by himself more. This was OUR child, not just mine.
We decided it was time for a break. That baby wasn’t planned but he/she was loved in the short time we knew they were there, and we knew we couldn’t do that again. He threw himself into work, I threw myself into school, and we threw ourselves into our marriage. While the heartbreak of that loss will always be with us, we grew tremendously as individuals and as a couple.