Stage two: Anger

What stage of grief is anger? Cuz that's where I am. I'm angry.

Most people think that means I'm angry at God, but that's not really it. I've had a strange acceptance of what happened. He still has it all under control, and while it really sucks, there was most likely a biological reason for what happened. Our baby was very young; most likely still a blastocyst. It must not have been viable, so God allowed biology to simply do what it's supposed to do in that situation. And I believe that if I allow myself to grieve and try not to become bitter, this lesson can make me a stronger, better person overall.

But grief is a process, and right now, I'm angry. Angry at ignorant people that have lost their sensitivity filters. Angry at constant Facebook updates filled with photos and videos of healthy, happy babies. Angry at the entire world seemingly filled with new mothers and their perfect little newborns. But most of all, I am very angry at society's crappy expectations of pregnancy and miscarriage.

Over the last year, I've felt pretty alone in our fertility struggles. It always seemed such a taboo subject to discuss with your friends, many of whom wouldn't understand anyway, as they complained about being "pregnant again, and how the $#@& did that happen?!?!" Yet, when I found out I finally was pregnant, I immediately felt a new kind of alone, like I would be a total fool to tell anyone for two more months. And yet, still, when I found out I'd lost the baby, I felt a whole new kind of alone, tucked away in my home, shamefully hiding the fact that I was heartbroken and in a great deal of physical pain, all because, "Had a miscarriage" isn't exactly a socially acceptable Twitter update.

And that is the point of this entire post:
all that solitude is a giant load of crap.

Women struggling with infertility should be able to find support. Women elated yet terrified at discovering they're pregnant should be able to find support. And most of all, women whose body is miscarrying a beloved child, a heartbreaking process they have absolutely no control over, a grief that can be as deep and palpable as losing a friend or family member, should, for the love of God, be able to find support, lest the solitude, heartbreak and confusion eat them from the inside out.

For whatever reason, the entire world seems to treat pregnancy like some sort of disease, beginning from the moment a woman's test reads positive. The first thing a pregnant woman is met with is a strong admonition to keep her big mouth shut until after her 12th week. However, most doctors don't even want to see a potentially pregnant woman until weeks 8, leaving her to navigate arguably the most difficult trimester armed solely with the paranoia of the internet and whatever giant book she happened to find at her local bookstore. Personally, I had killer headaches, constant nausea, ridiculous hot flashes, horrible constipation pains, and utter exhaustion, unable to take any of my usual medicine for any of these symptoms and unable to go to the doctor because I'm not far enough along yet...but I'm supposed to act like nothing is going on?! The stress of hiding it started to become more stressful than the actual symptoms themselves. So while I understand not making some major foot-in-mouth announcement right away, I firmly believe it's important to find emotional and physical support during your first trimester.

For the record, I immediately told a small number of close friends and family when I discovered I was pregnant, and I don't regret it for a second. They helped me survive the physical symptoms while I attempted to continue with my life as if nothing had changed. They helped me survive the "Oh my goodness, I'm going to be someone's mom!" freak out moments. They helped me survive the suspicion that my spotting was more serious than the pregnancy books would have me believe. They helped me survive my miscarriage. And most importantly, they're helping me survive my heartbreak. If I had to do this by myself, I'd be a blubbering mess.

I do view the 12-week "deadline" differently now, though: those first 12 weeks must be viewed very logically and very scientifically. While this is the beginning of your child, while fertilization has already programmed the gender, eye color, everything into that cluster of cells, while this is still the promise of a precious person and absolutely priceless to you, those first 12 weeks are too volatile to get too attached. That is what that cutoff is really all about: emotional survival. That might seem cold and heartless, but while I consciously want to and plan to try again when we're finally able to do so, the thought of doing this again terrifies me. The only way I'm going to get through another positive pregnancy test is to remain detached until that glorious 13th week, when the baby finally stabilizes and the probability of miscarriage crashes from 30% to 3%.

I've also had a lesson in sensitivity lately, especially when it comes to social media. My feed is absolutely stuffed full of babies by my friends who are justifiably excited to share their life with others. And while I understand their joy and am truly happy for them, I just want to scream at them for being so freaking insensitive of what others might be going through. And then, some friends made me realize that concept isn't limited to just babies. My posts about how wonderful my husband is could be received in the same knife-stabbing way by someone who is still searching for love. No matter what the subject matter - babies, life partners, jobs, homes, etc - everyone, including me, needs to think before they speak/type and consider being sensitive to the perceptions of everyone else.

Furthermore, if I may make a suggestion to the medical community as a whole: a woman who has been rushed into the doctor's office for a miscarriage should never have to sit in a waiting room surrounded by healthy pregnant women, happy pregnancy pamphlets, and worst of all, newborns, hearing them cry while simultaneously feeling her own uterus cramp as her body disposes of her own baby, doing her absolute best not to have a complete emotional breakdown right there in the doctor's office. That is one thing we can and should control.