They were here.
My first miscarriage began on April 1. Less than a week prior my trembling hands had gripped a positive test and that morning I began to lose the baby. It was unlike my later miscarriages—it was quick and very early. Without the positive test I would have thought my period had come late, but I knew. I knew life had begun and now it was ending. I went to a hospital where they checked my hcg levels, confirmed they were extremely low, and sent me home with a few kind words.
I recently listed off my previous pregnancies for medical history and pondered the words I received in response. “We don’t really need to count that one.” Early. Normal. Like it never happened.
I was not offended by these words. I understand the context in which they were spoken. This was medically common and nothing that would raise any major health concerns in the future. I understand this pregnancy didn’t do a whole lot to my body. Many things remained unformed and unchanged.
But I pondered how my heart had changed so much when my body hadn’t. I marveled at just how much those few days between purchasing a test on Monday morning and sitting in a hospital that Friday night had changed me. How much my heart felt transformed somehow. Hopeful and determined, broken and grieved.
“It’s almost like it never happened.” And yet it did and it changed me. They were here.
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