After seven weeks of pregnancy in May 2010, I had a miscarriage and life hasn’t been the same since. If I had my way I would be sitting on my lonely yet comforting island – the couch – in my blacked out living room. But my mother and cousins keep pulling back the drapes and forcing the sunlight on me. My mom and a friend of mine take me to Florida for the weekend. I am distracted. But wherever I go, the emptiness in my stomach – where my baby once lived – comes with me.
So, I seek the leaves for answers. They don’t tell me anything. I call for God, but He doesn’t seem to hear me. And I find myself both angry and fearful of Him anyway. On the one hand, I’m furious God took away my baby. On the other, I wonder if He’s punishing me for something I’ve done (although I don’t know what). I’ve never felt so alone; it’s like the whole world is set on fast forward and I’m in slow motion with no hope of catching up.
From the moment I saw the word “pregnant” clearly written on my digital pregnancy test, I was all roses and lollipops. “A miracle,” I thought. Finally, after months and months of trying to conceive and a disturbing fertility test that had shown I had a 3-centimeter fibroid tumor in my uterus and a 5-centimeter cyst on my left ovary, we were going to have a beautiful baby of our own. It was our turn.
For one week – although I felt weaker than ever and my face was pale and covered in acne, and I couldn’t breathe because my breasts were so sore – I was the happiest I’ve ever been. Then, the bleeding started and the torture picked up where the fertility testing had left off.
At first, the blood seemed to be harmless spotting, and the doctor helped me pass off the backaches and light cramping as implantation troubles. Still, I worried and cried and went back and forth to the doctor, sometimes twice in one week. The doctor said that women who experience first-trimester bleeding have a 50/50 chance of having a full-term pregnancy. Everyone, including my husband and me, was positive my baby would be a survivor.
Each time I returned to the doctor – even on a Thursday morning when the blood gushed from me while I was in the shower – there was my baby, growing and strong, on the ultrasound monitor. On week six, despite the continuous bleeding, we saw a heartbeat. I was in love.