In the middle of October 2011, about a quarter of the way through my sophomore year of college, I applied to the Teacher Education program at my university. As a result, I was required to undergo a background check, a TB test, and a physical. I sat in an exam room at the on-campus health services, answering the typical questions. "Any new allergies?" "Not that I'm aware of." "When was the date of your last menstrual period?" "Um, first week of September." And there was a pause. "Would you like us to do a pregnancy test?" She was implying that I was late, and I was very aware that I was. "No, I took one a few days ago," not true, "I think it's probably just stress over midterms or something," also not true. "Alright, just roll your sleeve up for me I just need to take your blood pressure."
A week and a half later, I laid in bed and nonchalantly mentioned what had happened to the guy I'd been sleeping with. "Well, that's your thing. Whatever you wanna do is fine. I don't really care either way." Wonderful. Good thing I wasn't really that concerned.
The next week, three weeks late, I thought maybe it was time to worry. But not for long, later that morning I felt a tinge of relief when I \ was able to send a text telling someone he wasn't going to be a father.
As the day went on, I began to feel worse. I was in pain, just a little sick to my stomach, and just felt off. Expressing these concerns at lunch with a friend, she gingerly suggested that maybe I wasn't experiencing my period at all. I considered the idea, but it didn't seem to be the case. Later that night, though, I found out that indeed it was. I sat in the bathroom and felt my heart sink into the bottom of my stomach as I looked and realized I actually had been late for a reason; I had been carrying a tiny being inside of me, but I wasn't any longer.
I didn't know what to think. Part of me was numb, trying to figure out exactly the implications of what had happened, part of me was relieved, but the rest of me felt guilty for feeling that relief. I decided I wouldn't tell him. I'd just told him he wouldn't be a father, and the fact still remained. If I told him this tiny piece of information, I would look like I was trying to get attention, or trying to pull some sort of emotion or emotional attachment into the equation.
I went around for a few weeks, going to classes, hanging with friends, continuing with my life, and feeling like I had become hollow. My mind was consumed with thoughts of what had happened. Trying to grasp the idea that I had been...pregnant. I had actually carried a baby inside of me, in my womb, that was part of me and would have grown, and lived, and been my child. And I began to mourn for a child I hadn't even known existed until it was gone from my life. I began to wonder who they would have been, what they would have looked like, what I would have named them. I avoided the baby aisles in stores, watched longingly in public when I saw mothers with their babies, and I fought back tears thinking about how it could have been me. I laid in bed and longed to know that tiny baby was safe inside of me, that he or she was growing and moving, to feel him or her kick and move, and to be able to hold my baby. To rock him or her, sing my child to sleep, even to spend sleepless nights cradling my colic-y baby and just yearning to comfort them. I just wanted my baby.
There was no one I could share this with. I felt like I would burden my friends, my parents would be severely disappointed with the idea that I wasn't a virgin, let alone that I had gotten pregnant AND even lost the baby, and the father didn't even know. But he was the only person I could talk to. So I finally worked up the courage to send an admittedly cryptic text message.
"Hey. So, I have something I need to tell you."
"Yeah?"
"Do you remember when I told you that I wasn't pregnant? Well...I didn't really find out that I wasn't pregnant....I found out that I wasn't pregnant anymore."
"What do you mean?"
"I found out that I wasn't pregnant any longer. Like, now I'm not."
"I'm confused."
"I was pregnant. I'm not anymore."
"You killed it?"
"No...it just...happened."
"I don't understand. You gave birth?"
"Not really....I just.....I lost it."
"Okay...?"
"I had a miscarriage."
"Okay...?"
"Well, I guess I just thought you should know."
"Alright."
And that was that. No help, no consolation. A few days went by, and we hung out again. I told him in person, thinking maybe face to face it would be different. And it was, a little. He expressed a little bit of compassion, mostly just in the form of, "that sucks." He let me talk a little, and told me that he was actually kind of sad. "You would've been a good mom, and it would have been really cool to be involved and have a baby with you." Thanks for the support now that it's definitely not happening.
We saw each other again a few days later. Light chit-chat, just talking about whatever, and of course the topic came up again. He didn't think I knew for sure, and I had to explain that I had seen the...evidence. "So like, what did it look like?" I didn't know how to answer. I didn't want to think about it, I didn't want to go back to that moment, I really just wanted to get past it. But I told him. "So, what did you do with it?" Considering the circumstances, there wasn't a lot I could do with it...but I was in a bit of shock, and I just let it go out into the sewer system. A fact which still bothers me when it comes up, something I can't believe I did and wish I could change. "So you just.....flushed it? Geez." Loving the words of comfort and encouragement.
We talked a while longer, walking back to my dorm in the late November cold. I talked about not knowing how to feel, about the sadness I felt seeing babies around town, seeing baby things and wishing I had my baby back with me. I could tell he didn't care much about it, but I still kept on. I needed someone to hear this, I needed to tell someone how I felt, and this was the only person I knew how. Finally he seemed like he didn't care and didn't want to hear much more, and finally said, "Can we just drop it? The subject at hand is dead. Literally." My breath caught, and I felt the tears well up in my eyes. He chuckled and had to leave, so we parted ways. And wouldn't see each other much after that.
The semester ended, and I went home. I started to feel better, I had begun to put it all behind me and felt a little more like myself. I started hanging out with my friends at home, having a great time staying out late, watching movies, and just generally enjoying some time off from school. My roommate was from the same home town, so we would go to her house and stay up all night watching movies and talking.
And there was a guy. There were a few guys, but there was this one guy in particular. I'd met him the summer before, and he was devastatingly handsome, but he had a long-term girlfriend. I had been advised not to get my hopes up because she wasn't going anywhere, so I didn't. But that winter, I couldn't help it. He was charming and funny, he knew how to make me laugh and make me weak in the knees. He was incredibly handsome and far, far out of my league, but I hoped beyond hope that I might have a chance.
I was insanely obvious. I was flirty and it was apparent that I was making a special effort to sit next to him and to talk to him. I pretended that I was being all sly and coy, but I might as well have just told him to his face that he was extremely hot and I was extremely into him. One night, we stayed up watching movies, and he began to play with my hair. Something that would have put me to sleep quickly, but I was too nervous at being touched by him, and I wouldn't let myself sleep. I didn't want to miss any moment of it. We stayed up all night and went to get donuts the next morning around 7am. We sat and talked, and left the donut shop around 2pm. And I had absolutely fallen for him.
We talked and hung out, and months later began dating. He quickly became the love of my life, and I couldn't imagine my life without him. I still can't imagine my life without him.
But I soon felt like I had to tell him about what had bothered me for months. I dreaded it and put it off, I didn't know what he would think about me after he knew. I was afraid that he would be put off by the idea, that he wouldn't care for me in the same way. I was terrified that he would judge me, or view me as someone with some sort of defect or damage. But when I finally told him, he just held me. He let me cry and he let me talk. He stroked my hair and held me close and comforted me like I'd never been before. Nothing had changed. I had let him in and been as vulnerable as I could, and he held me gently and saw me as the same person. He has since held me and comforted me through late nights of longing and hurting, in both this situation and a thousand others. He helped me to finally feel some closure.
But no matter how much he comforted me, I still missed my baby. I still wondered if I would have carried a son or a daughter, what their name would have been, what they would have looked like. And I still mourned for what would have been.
One night, I had a dream about my baby. It was one of the most vivid and surreal dreams I've experienced. I was aware that I had lost my baby months before. But in the dream, I had given birth to the baby that I had lost. By some miracle, I had miscarried, and later had the same baby. I sat on my couch at home, my family milling around behind me like normal, and I held my beautiful baby girl in front of me. She was perfect in every way. She had these giant bright blue eyes, a tiny nose, and a head full of thick, dark hair. She wasn't adorable, she wasn't cute. She was absolutely beautiful. I held her and felt her weight in my hands. I held her hands and counted her fingers and toes. Her tiny fingers grasped around mine and her bright eyes stared at me and studied my face. I felt her soft hair and her little ears. She moved and stretched and kept her eyes just locked on me. I talked to her and cooed at her and got to see her smile. I made her giggle and coo, I tickled her tummy and heard her laugh and babble at me. She was entirely my little girl, and I loved her. And she loved me. I was her mommy, and I finally got to hold my baby girl. There were tears of joy in my eyes, and I knew that this was my baby. This was the baby that I had lost, she was my little girl that I would never see and never hold, but I was able to have this moment with her.
I woke up with a mixture of feelings, but above anything else, I had closure. Maybe it was just my mind filling in the blanks, making up what I had desired so greatly to know, but I choose to believe otherwise. I got to hold my baby, my beautiful daughter, who had dark hair and blue eyes, who was sweet and giggly, who loved me and knew I loved her. And I finally began to feel peace.
Two years later, I have come to a realization. Everything works for the best. There is a rhyme and a reason to everything, and sometimes we just don't see it at the time. I miss my baby, and I still have days where I wish I could have gotten to experience having her in my life, but things have worked for the best. Had I carried my baby, I would never have had those late nights with my friends. I would have ducked out early to sleep instead of staying up talking to the one amazing guy I had met, perhaps have had to deal with an insane amount of baby-daddy drama (he was a dead beat and an absolutely jerk, and I am beyond thrilled that he is no longer in my life). I never would have spent so long talking to the man who would become the love of my life. Aside from that, I would have been carrying another man's baby. As much of a friend as he might have been, a romantic relationship would have been pushed off. I would have been alone, struggling to care for my child, exposing her to a dead-beat dad and an insane amount of drama. I would have struggled to provide, and felt like I couldn't give her the life she deserved. And I never would have actually fallen in love. I wish I could have had my baby as well, but now I will be able to give my children a loving home and provide the best life possible for them, while I myself get to be happy as well. And I have finally found closure.
