The worst post I've ever written.

I wish I had good news for you.

I was 10 and a half weeks pregnant, yesterday. I woke up a pregnant woman. The worst of the first-trimester misery was over. I've been lucky that way: this time, as with the last pregnancy, I was pretty much done with the constant nausea by eight weeks. Last time I freaked out and demanded an ultrasound, convinced that the absence of nausea heralded bad news. Then of course we saw Henry in there, waving his limbs at us, and we laughed at all our silly worrying, and carried on. This time I knew better. I was so calm throughout this pregnancy, nothing like I was the last time. When I was pregnant with Henry I began freaking out approximately ten minutes after the stick showed me both its lines. A week later I developed hives across my abdomen, giant egg-shaped welts. My doctor diagnosed me with some kind of virus, but I knew what had caused it: apocalyptic Google searches. This time, I knew: Thou Shalt Not Google. I didn't unearth my pregnancy books from the basement. I took my prenatals, and I laughed at my rapidly expanding midsection. The eight-week appointment was great, and we saw the fetus in there, heard its enthusiastic heartbeat, took a picture home that showed its little limb buds sticking out from the body. I planned the announcement post on my blog. Scott and I were beyond excited.

So as I said. Yesterday, I was pregnant. Scott went to work, Henry went to school, and I… well, I went to the bathroom, where I noticed some spotting. It was spotting so tiny that I could have ignored it. I could have not seen it at all. It was an eensy brown smudge. Nonetheless, I promptly began hyperventilating. This is what I do. Because if I worry hard enough I can ward off any bad news. If I'm neurotic enough, the universe will laugh, pat me on the head, and rain disaster down on some unsuspecting sane person. I called my doctor, who was as unconcerned as any normal human being would be, but suggested that I come in, just for peace of mind. I made an appointment for the afternoon, and after that, there was absolutely no spotting. Nothing at all. I laughed at myself, at what a big deal I had made over this tiny one-time smudgy nothing.

Everything was casual and light at the OB/GYN, until the ultrasound. The first thing I noticed was the absence of movement. Maybe it's the angle? I thought. She was moving all around my abdomen, so it was hard to say. Then she began pointing things out to me. "Here, you see, here is where I should see a heartbeat." I'm so sorry, she kept saying, I'm so sorry. She began measuring. I'm so sorry, she repeated, it looks like growth ended at about eight and a half weeks.

Everything that follows is a blur. I believe the first thought I had was, "And now I shall have a margarita." It was the best thing I could think to stop myself from losing all control, but I couldn't stop it, of course, and soon I was weeping so loudly that I imagined the office staff ushering all the pregnant women out of the building. Nothing to see here, ladies! No bad news around here! Who's for ice cream? The doctor left me alone so I could call Scott, and arrange for someone to pick up Henry, there was no way I could pick him up from school in my current state. The call to Scott was the worst call I ever had to make. I kept repeating what the doctor had said. I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry. Because if I could feel bad for him, if I could concentrate on him and all he had lost, I didn't have to think about what was inside me at that moment.

Nothing much has happened since then. We're going in for some sort of super high-tech ultrasound this afternoon, which seems like the worst form of torture, but apparently is necessary before they can schedule the D&C. Meanwhile I'm having absolutely no spotting, just an occasional breathtaking pain that rips through me and reminds me of what's going on, like I need reminding. We're hoping that we get some answers from the pathology report, that we find out that there was some chromosomal defect and that we were spared unspeakable pain down the road. Anything so we can feel like this isn't the worst that could possibly have happened.

Comments

[Waiting Amy]

I am so sorry for your loss.

I have been through this twice before. And struggled desperately to have a second child. I have been lucky and now have hope again.

There are multitudes of women who suffer through this, so I hope you will not feel alone. We are here and you will find many of us on the internets for support, when you are ready.

Wishing your family peace and healing.

[miguelina]

I'm so sorry.

[VMR]

Hugs. Just hugs. But not in a creepy 'why is this strange person hugging me'. I'm a highly qualified hugger. And were you any closer to me, I'd make you some food.
xo, Vesna.

[Jessie Mae]

Oh no. I am so, so sorry.

[miguelina]

I'm so sorry.

[loonytick]

You don't have to be strong right now. That's what everyone else is for. You don't have to feel like everything is for the best, because even if it is it came in a painful and heart-wrenching way. There is no reason to apologize for feeling pulled apart. You don't need anyone's permission to mourn.

But even as you feel that way, I hope you'll be able to know deep down and in a very real way that equilibrium is on its way. Peace and comfort is coming. You *will* find a way to deal, to fit this awful experience into the context of your life.

And as you move towards that point, you are surrounded by people who love you, both in your family and in the online world. Let them and us hold and support you while you do and feel whatever it is you need to come to terms with it all.

I'll be thinking of and praying for you.

[rlj]

Oh honey, I am so sorry. There's nothing that will make this all right or the pain go away but time.
Special hugs for your precious little Henry.

[Ariel]

I'm so so sorry, Dearest Alice.
Hugs to your whole family.
I'm sending healing loving thoughts your way.

[Mick]

{{{{ALICE}}}}

I am so very, very sorry for your loss.

[Trish]

I feel like you were writing about me. I miscarried a month ago at 10 weeks and the baby stopped developing at 6 weeks. It's so hard, it sucks and damn, does it make you realize how much you want another child. From one grieving mother to another grieving mom, I cry for you and feel your loss. But, as many wise people have already stated, there really isn't anything we can say that will make it all better. Just know that you, Scott and Henry are in our thoughts and prayers.

Lots of love from Minnesota!

[Snappy]

Oh Alice. I am so very sorry for your loss. I miscarried at 8 weeks. Saddest thing I've ever felt. You never forget. I always remember that everything happens for a reason. I am sending my prayers and thoughts your way.

[Lora]

Oh, Alice. I am so, so sorry for your loss. My heart is breaking for you and your family.

[Melissa]

Oh, Alice. I am beyond sorry. I truly wish I could help. You are in my prayers.

[Lynn in Tucson]

I know you not at all and have only just started reading your blog. Please accept my sincere condolences to you and your family.

[birdgal]

I'm sorry this had to happen to you Alice. You are brave and wonderful for sharing with us. I would give you a hug if I could :).

[Meg Hatton]

This is the worst kind of loss....The thing that helped me through the most was trying to remember that there is an angel who knows my name, and even though I wished that I could be the one doing the "looking after" now it was the angel who would be looking after us...all three of us. I also hugged my oldest. A lot. And I tried very hard to be grateful for her. Please accept my sympathy. I am so very sorry for your loss.

[Michele]

De-lurking to say how sorry I am for you and your family.

((hug))

[Lynn in Tucson]

I know you not at all and have only started reading your blog but I hope you will accept my sincere condolences. Blessed be, you and yours.

[Jaynee]

My condolences to you, Scott and Henry. My sister had a miscarriage a couple years ago and I know that the next several months will be very hard for you. But I pray you find rest in the knowledge that those of us in the blog world that "know" you will be right there with you, at the ready with compassion should you need it. Give yourself a hug and allow yourself to grieve as long as you need to. And know that you are loved.

[Jim]

Oh, Alice, I'm so sorry for you all. We love celebrating life's funny stories with you, but we're not here for just the good times, you know? We come because we care about you guys, even having never met. Thanks so much for having the courage to share this with us.

The three of you are in our prayers today.
j

[WickedStepMom]

I am so sorry. I know you are going to try to make it okay for Scott and Henry but remember to take care of yourself too.

[jessica]

I'm so sorry for your loss. truly.

[Ellen]

Oh, Alice. I am so very sorry. The whole internet holds you in their thoughts, hearts, and prayers today and as long as you need it.

[Mitzi]

Wish the words could take away your hurt. I'm so sorry for you, Scott & Henry. I'll be thinking of you.

[Amy]

Nothing new to add - just adding my voice to the collective "I'm so sorry for your loss."

[slouching mom]

I'm terribly sorry, Alice.

[Sara]

Oh crap. What a hard, hard thing. I'm sorry you're having to go through this.

[Michelle]

Have never been through anything so devastating myself, so cannot imagine how you are feeling right now. Sending much love and good thoughts from my little corner of the internet.

[amy]

women all around you are supporting you in their minds and hearts. There is nothing to say- just to know that many many understand and care and a prayer from Ohio is on route. Much love to you sweet girl. Take care.

[Jen]

I am so sorry. You will all be very much in my thoughts.

[Miss Grace]

I don't think that saying sorry can really help, but I hope someone close to you is giving you lots of hugs and fixing you a nice cup of tea.

[Lori]

I am so, so sorry.

[Meghan]

Oh Alice. I'm so, so sorry.

[kirida]

This explains the twitters. I'm sorry Alice. I'm really sorry.

[notjustbarbra]

I'm so sorry too.

[ashley]

I'm so so so sorry for you. Sending you hugs and prayers....

[BethanyWD]

Alice, I just wanted to add my voice and say that I am truly sorry for your loss. Hopefully, the collective love and virtual hugs from all over the internet will help you grieve.

[Fairly Odd Mother]

So sorry. I wish there was something more profound I could say to you. You and your family will be in my thoughts.

[Bertha]

I am so, so sorry Alice.

[Carrie]

I am so sorry.

[Stefanie]

Alice. Oh Alice. Nothing some stranger on the internet can say will help. But maybe if you see the ten thousand comments to come, you will feel the overwhelming force of love and goodness coming from the people you've touched. You are not beautiful. You are beauty itself.

[Nicole]

Oh, Alice, I'm so sorry. There are no words. Just know that I'm thinking of you and Scott and Henry, and so are The Internets.

[justAcliche]

I'm so sorry. You are all in my thoughts.

[M]

I'm so sorry.

[Zeynep]

I am a perfect stranger, but I am also very sorry for your loss. Wishing strength and patience to you and yours.

[Devon]

I am so sorry. You and your family are in my thoughts today.

[Christa]

My thoughts are with you.

[Lisa]

Another long-time lurker/first-time commenter wanting to let you know how sorry I am and that you and your family will be in my prayers. I had a miscarriage at 7 weeks and the thing that helped me get through that time the most was hearing about how other people had similar experiences as it helped me not to feel alone. Thank you for being brave enough to share your story.

[Robyn Rime]

Oh, Alice, I'm so sorry for your loss. I've been where you are--a loss at ten weeks followed by a D&C. It's a hard, hard thing. Be sure to hug Henry a lot--holding my son helped me enormously at the time. I'll be sending healing thoughts your way.

[Elizabeth]

I'm so sorry. I wish there were better, helpful things to say or do, but I am sorry.