The Art of Tightrope Walking

Ordering holiday cards this year was a far more upsetting experience than I anticipated. 

I had plans. Plans that I’d send out New Year cards announcing that Nolan was going to be a big brother. We were so excited about another baby. It was early but we were starting to think about names and to think about how our lives would change in the summer. 

Then life happened. Instead of following my well laid plans, I ordered holiday cards that had a photo of the three of us sending Christmas greetings. Still a nice card, but not at all what I had expected to send.

I was in a Board meeting when something didn’t feel right. There was cramping. And when I got home, there was more than cramping. I went in for an ultrasound. They couldn’t find anything, which was concerning given that all the baby apps told me, “This week your baby is the size of a blueberry!” After several days of bleeding and cramping, my doctor called confirming what I already knew: I had a miscarriage.

They say that miscarriages are extremely common. 1 in 5 pregnancies result in miscarriage (though that rate may skew higher because miscarriages are often under reported). And I know it didn’t happen because of  something I did or didn’t do. There was nothing I could have done to prevent it. However, knowing the statistics and that it wasn’t my fault didn’t make it easier.

Ryan can tell you: I was a hormonal, emotional mess. Understandably so, however…I didn’t think I would grieve as much as I did. I also didn’t realize it would physically hurt as much as it did. 

I debated writing about this. Then I had a few epiphanies. 

Miscarriage is really common, yet no one talks about it. I can count on a few fingers the number of times I’ve heard or read people mention miscarriage. It wasn’t until it happened to me and I shared it with a couple people that I suddenly heard all of these stories of miscarriage. It’s like being in a secret club...a club that no one wants to be a member of. 

Life is just as much about the sad moments as it is about the happy ones (didn't we all learn that from Inside Out?). People share their highs everyday. Why are we so hesitant to share the lows too?  I don't want to contribute to perpetuating stigmas that it's bad to talk about sad things or wrong to feel sad. 

Writing is how I cope and process. I find it to be therapeutic. And if there were a time to do something that helps me deal with my emotions, this would be it.