Not So Bad

It wasn't bad, as miscarriages go.
Sure, there was the pain; the ripping-you-apart-twisting-hot poker-to-the-uterus pain. There was the knowledge that dripping down her legs was the hopes and dreams shed held for the dead thing inside her. Another would-be child: dead. Another child she couldn't keep alive, leaking out like any other bodily fluids.
It wasn't that bad though.
This one was so different from the last one. This one she'd felt the pains and when the blood began to flow she knew. She knew better than to hold false hope.
This time she was not huddled hemorrhaging under a tree in the sand on a remote island in the Bahamas far from any hospital.
This time she was in her mother's home, a mere hour's drive from excellent medical care. She'd felt the tearing away, the dropping feeling, the loss of Connection, and known. She took the time to almost ceremonially bathe and prepare herself. She told her mother she was going out for awhile and calmly climbed into her car. She drove and calmly switched radio stations. She drove and calmly switched lanes. A tear leaked out, and she woodenly pushed it away. Another burned it's way down her cheek. Then, because there was no one in the car, no one to hear her lose her control, then, she screamed...and screamed...and screamed. She screamed until only hoarse pathetic croaks came from her lips.
At the hospital she parked a couple hundred feet away from the doors and was greeted by staff more suited to a hotel lobby in their polite manner than an emergency room registration desk. Within a few minutes a kind and patient staff member had taken her medical history, confirmed address and payment info, and gently fasted a patient ID band around her wrist. Five minutes later she sat in a private room in an interview with her nurse, Charissa. Charissa took blood, installed an IV line and brought her a stylish gown and blankets. Within ten minutes the doctor on duty rushed into the door, and seeing her doubled up with pain asked did she want something for the pain now or after a sonogram to check for the presence of a fetus. Then he checked the blood tests results in my chart and ordered the nurse to go get a dose of Dilaudid and Zofran for the patient. He spoke to his clipboard, "this blood work says there's probably nothing in there to worry about hurting now."
When the heat of the narcotics and anti nausea med spread throughout her body a few minutes later it wasn't only physical pain they numbed. She welcomed the temporary euphoria and absence of emotions.
The rest was a haze of sonogram probing, long dimly lit hallways, and the doctor referring me to a specialist later in the week to rule out ectopic since her "uterus is empty".
So was she, she thought.
She walked back through the emergency room lobby shortly after and the registration staff waved sadly.
She sat in her car in the parking lot and sent the few texts she needed to. She and her Rasta Man hadn't told anyone but a few close family.
She drive feeling empty, angry, and cold.
So very cold.
That night she dreamt dark dreams of screams and mountains and tornadoes.
It wasn't bad this time miscarriages go.
This time there wasnt a seven hour wait soaked in her own blood in a room full of unfriendly people with even more hateful staff. Nope. Not so miscarriages go.


  1. Oh darling. How does one even respond to such a difficult experience. I'm so so sorry.

    I am glad you have family to take care of you now, and I really hope they can figure out what might be acting up, and fix it for you.

    We are here, your blog friends, if you need us. And if you need to share to someone with many friends in the same situation, I am here for you.

  2. So very, very sad to hear this Sarah. Wishing you and your Rasta Man heart's ease.

  3. I am so sad to hear of such agony and sadness. I don't know what to say other than you have my love and my thoughts as you and your Rasta Man go through this. I hope that soon they are able to determine what is wrong and be able to help you.

    You are a beautiful soul with such a strong heart and spirit and my own heart breaks for you, but I know that some day, some how, you will have that gorgeous little one you dream of.

  4. Thank you all. Much love. Hope to be able to start blogging regularly again soon.

  5. I am so very sorry! So very, very sad! Sending you and your Rasta Man a very Big Hug and Much Love!! We are here for you!!!!

    1. Thank you darling. Hugs back to you. I don't know what I'd do without the support of our little online circle. Y'all are amazing.

  6. My heart aches for you, your Rasta Man, and your babies... May they play together in the Summerlands, watching over mommy and daddy.

    There is such sadness in this post, but also a trickle of hope. As it is suggested, there is no such thing as a "good miscarriage". The loss of life and love and attachment always breaks the heart a little. But I'm glad you weren't alone in the middle of nowhere this time, with beasts circling around... not helping.

    I wish I could hold you close to me. I wish I could make things better. But in this case, wishing isn't enough... I will keep, your Rasta Man and your babies in my thoughts. ♥♥♥♥

    1. Thank you sweet witchy writer. Our little blue babies will soon form their own tribe in the summerlands. I can see them with Wild locs, bare feet hiding in the trees giggling and planning mischief.


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