LJ Idol 3 Strikes: Black Rainbow

It seems ironic to me on that darkest day that my original plans were to have gone to the Colorfest.

Instead, I woke up bleeding. I woke up to become a statistic. I didn't know that at the time.

I held out hope. It didn't have to mean that this was the end. I heard stories about this happening and everything was okay. This wasn't supposed to happen to me. To us. My husband stayed calm, trying to find that hope, as I wiped frantically. Someone had to remain calm and it wasn't me. "Go to the hospital, just get it checked out. It doesn't have to mean what we are thinking." I held on to that glimmer of hope that he was right, to those stories I had heard, and even in the back of my mind, that they would tell me I'm good and I would still be able to make it to the Colorfest. I drove myself to the hospital, repeating those words to myself, repeating my husband's words in my head.

I stumbled into the Emergency Room, trying not to sound as crazy as I felt. "Please tell me I'm not miscarrying," I pleaded with the triage nurses. "I can't, I can't, I can't lose my baby. We've tried too hard. Almost a year and a half, of trying, I just can't lose my baby."

The nurses gazed at me kindly as they took my vitals. "It's going to be okay ma'am. We'll get you checked out and hopefully you'll be good to go."

I laid there in the dark room as they did the sonogram. "How far along are you?" the technician asked me.

"10 weeks," I replied distractedly, staring at the screen, trying to make heads or tails of what was going on.

"Hmm," the technician murmured. "Are you sure? Because you're measuring 7 weeks and I can't find a heartbeat."

...

I was wheeled back to the little room to wait for the doctor to see me and to give me the news. A nurse sat with me for a little while; I guess she felt sorry for the lonely sobbing mess. She told me of her miscarriages, that 1 in 4 women will have a miscarriage. I wonder if telling me that statistic made her hope I would feel a little less alone, that I was not the only one in the world going through this. I texted my friend who told me she was going through a miscarriage at the same time I was. I texted my sister because I knew she had gone through one. The nurse smiled softly. "See, you're not alone." I'm not sure if it offered me any comfort at the time but I have found the comfort since in knowing that statistic.

"What did I do wrong?" I begged her to tell me.

"Nothing," she told me firmly. "It just happens and we don't know why. But I will tell you," she smiled with a bit of snark to her voice, "even diabetic, crack addicts have babies and if they can do it, you will too one day." I snorted, finding some kind of dark humor in that statement. She squeezed my hand in solidarity as the doctor came in to tell me the official news that I was in the process of miscarrying. He droned on about how miscarriages were not painful and it would pass, take some Tylonal if I felt any pain, as I sobbed, holding my stomach, my baby, my Poppy.

I don't remember how I got myself dressed or how I drove myself home. All I remember is sitting at home staring blankly at the walls, feeling so empty. All my dreams at that moment were shattered. I knew that we could try again, a rainbow baby, but at the moment all I wanted was my baby. My tiny little poppyseed that would now never be.

I never did make it to the Colorfest that day or since.

_____
This was written for LJ Idol 3 Strikes. 1 in 8 women will go through infertility and 1 in 4 will go through a miscarriage. I am that 1 in 8 and 1 in 4. I have had my rainbow baby following a second miscarriage who I love with all my heart but I will always miss my first two who I never got to meet.