This one was difficult to write, but I think I need to. I’ve never written or really even spoken much about my miscarriage - unless you count my therapist. Miscarriages are common, but rarely ever written or even talked about. It took me a lot of time to get this down on paper, or in this case, the screen. I hope that some of you read this and will maybe get the courage to talk to someone or maybe even write about your experience. You are not alone.
I’ll start with an old memory I wrote a few years ago. It’s about Lily, my first child, not my miscarriage:
The alarm goes off. It's early. The sun isn't quite up yet. My eyes are blurry. My head hurts. My hips hurt. My back hurts. My feet are swollen. I feel slightly sick to my stomach. Only four more weeks to our due date.
My hand touches something fuzzy and warm next to me in the bed. Indie! He's got his furry little head resting on my belly, using it as a pillow--so cute! I wonder if he can feel the baby moving around in there. How did I not notice him sleeping on me? He's warm and soft, and suddenly I don't feel so sick anymore.
I pause for a minute to give Indie some pats and some love, and then I gently slide him over to the side so I can get up and start the day. He lifts his head for a moment and gives me a look that says, "Hey, I'm snuggling here!" (I've always imagined that Indigo has a Brooklyn accent) and then he flops back down with a giant doggy sigh and goes back to sleep.
* Originally posted November 19, 2023–Tuesday Slice of Life Challenge.
A few months later:
The night Lily was born, my contractions started suddenly and painfully. We called the doctor who said to wait a bit before coming to the hospital Better to wait at home, then in the waiting room at NYU.
Indie stuck very close to me while we waited at home. We were playing soft, calm music, just like the birthing classes said to do. Nora Jones.
Come away with me in the night
Come away with me
And I will write you a song
Come away with me on a bus
Come away where they can't tempt us with their lies
And I want to walk with you
On a cloudy day
In fields where the yellow grass grows knee-high
So won't you try to come
Come away with me and we'll kiss
On a mountaintop
Come away with me
And I'll never stop loving you
And I want to wake up with the rain
Falling on a tin roof
While I'm safe there in your arms
So all I ask is for you
To come away with me in the night
Come away with me
I sat on the couch as my husband rushed around to pack a suitcase. I was crying, but trying to do the breathing they taught me, but hardly succeeding — stopping to wince at the jolt of a contraction. Indie leaned his warm furry body against my legs, and I felt loved. He didn’t cry, he didn’t whine, though he could tell I was hurting. He just doggy-hugged me. I was so thankful for him. He knew just what to do.
Later that night, Lily was born. It turned out to be a close call - her life and mine. But that’s another story.
Four years later.
I had a late-term miscarriage. I was sixteen weeks along. I was on a work trip, in Florida. I was staying with my grandparents, and my mother and sister were there too. My mom drove me to the hospital, and left shortly. The doctors kept me in the hospital for three days. All I wanted was to go home to Vermont and be with my husband and daughter.
My mom picked me up from the hospital, I spent one more night in a bed at my grandparents, and they dropped me off at the airport. An airport agent took me in a wheelchair me through security, then to my gate, then I got out of the wheelchair and I wobbled to my seat. I flew home to Vermont, stunned and battered. I would never be the same after that.
When I was finally home, I spent the next three months in a deep depression. I didn’t go to work. I canceled everything. I wouldn’t let any people to come to our house. I only left my bedroom to tuck my three year old daughter, Lily, into bed. Brinton had to take care of everything - dropping off and picking up Lily at preschool, taking care of her, packing lunches, doing bathtime. Everything. I don’t know why I didn’t get help from my doctors. I think I was afraid to tell them everything.
All day, every day, Indie stayed next to me. He was warm and furry, and gentle, and sweet. When a wave of sadness or anger washed over me, I pulled him close and hugged him, feeling his little heart beat, and. He never pulled away. He never left my side.
My Two Writing Teachers colleagues and I are hosting the 16th Annual March Slice of Life Story Challenge, in which teachers from around the world participate by posting a story per day.
This year, the SOLSC gives me a chance to record memories of our little dog, Indie, who died in January. I want to write these down while they are still fresh, so that my family and I can read them later and remember not only Indie, but little slices of life across the years.