Sorry, Teddy, but you were wrong. Comparison is not the thief of joy. Miscarriage is.
My November miscarriage stole my joy in a matter of days. Positive test one day, miscarriage the next. It changed my fertility experience. It hardened my heart. And then it stole the joy of my recent pregnancy.
From the first to the fifth positive pregnancy test, I was skeptical. Even after a blood test, I kept my joy at arm’s length. I just needed to see a heartbeat. Then I could reach out and touch joy. Try it on for a day then tuck it away until the next milestone.
On July 18, I got what I was hoping for. A tiny little flicker of a heartbeat. A strong one, too. And yet, my joy was still not quite in reach.
But we celebrated. We told family and friends, always with the disclaimer that it was “still early.” We gave Lucy a picture of the little bean and she declared it was a sister named Fiona.
Despite the nagging thief in my head, I was quietly excited. I looked at maternity clothes. We told daycare. I bought a pregnancy pillow because I was already incredibly uncomfortable. Cautious optimism.
But if November taught me anything, nothing is promised.
On July 18, we saw a perfect heartbeat. Three weeks later we were back to check the baby as a precaution. At exactly 10 weeks pregnant, joy was once again snatched away.
“I’m sorry, there’s no heartbeat.”
So here we are. Hunkered in. Recovering from a D&C. Showered in wine, flowers and food. Angrily cursing the thief.
