I’m not pregnant anymore.

We knew this could happen – it happens to about one of every five women but it’s not talked about very often.  It was with that statistic in mind that I had been talking about the future using terms like “if everything works out” or “if this future-baby sticks around”.  But then we went in for our first ultrasound on the last day of September, and we saw the little flicker of a heartbeat at 160bpm, and the future-baby became real.  The way I talked and planned and felt shifted.  It was a small, but significant shift.  Future-baby was small, but significant.

I’m positive by nature, but I felt absolutely consumed with love and awe for the world.  Matthew and I spent four days in the Airstream at the beach to celebrate our second wedding anniversary.  I was ten weeks pregnant, and ready to sail in to the second trimester.  I had a bin of hand-me-down maternity clothes waiting for me at home.  Everything was unbelievably terrific.

I’m going to describe what happened next.  We’ve been sharing all of our experiences, and we’re sharing this too.  I don’t think it’s too graphic, but it might be hard to read.  It’s totally okay to stop reading here if you want or skip to the last three paragraphs.

I was getting ready to meet Matthew for tango class when I started to bleed.  “It’s probably nothing,” I thought, but decided to call my doctor anyway.  Just to be safe.  I felt my panic rise as I waited on hold for the nurse, and then the midwife.  I texted Matthew: “I wish they would just say ‘nothing to worry about.'” Instead they told me to come in first thing the next morning for a fetal heart check.

That’s how we found ourselves getting an ultrasound the morning of October 15, which happens to be Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day. With my heels up in stirrups covered with cute autumnal oven mitts, we peered at the black and white screen.  The absence of the heartbeat was obvious. I felt love radiate off the somber ultrasound tech as she told us to wait while she talked to the doctor. It wasn’t spoken, but all three of us understood.

We met with the doctor, and then a nurse who gave me several big, wonderful hugs as she explained what would happen the next day when I went in for the procedure that would help my body handle the loss and reset. Then Matthew and I called our parents and cleared our schedules for the rest of the week.  We got the dog and went for a long walk in the Arboretum. We ate pizza and watched a three-hour movie that had been on our list for a long time but had never had time for.

That night I started to miscarry. I knew what was happening, but it was scary and painful.  Matthew told me to call the doctor, who mercifully made an exception to the “no food or drink after midnight” directive and told me to take some ibuprofen.  I was able to sleep after that.  “Was that it?” I wondered in the morning.  But the next day at the “Special Procedure Unit” they told me I should still have the procedure.  Our nurse took very good care of us.  We never saw another patient although I know they were there.  It was sad and matter-of-fact but it wasn’t scary or painful.  I went home and napped.

I feel different now in a way I wouldn’t have imagined. I had thought that I didn’t really feel pregnant. But now I definitely feel that I’m not pregnant.

I wish it didn’t have to end but I’m glad it’s over.

Now we heal.  We are sad, but strong together.  I am so SO grateful for Matthew, who has been 100% present with me and making it safe for me to be present too.  We will try again when it’s time, in a few months, but right now we are feeling the sadness and letting the tears fall and holding each other tight and being gentle.  The world is still beautiful and filled with love, I am still in awe.