What are you supposed to do when the life growing inside you falls into the toilet? I went back to my desk.
I loved walking around with my secret. My boobs were sore. I had a hidden stash of prenatals in my backpack. And I was getting really good at making drinks that looked alcoholic, but weren’t.
I was pregnant.
I work at a small creative agency downtown Toronto. My colleagues are young and brilliant and the latest Drake song is for sure playing.
I was editing a video where young professionals were giving career and life advice to post-secondary students who felt lost. But, by the end of the day, I felt lost.
Let the pains begin
It all started with mild cramps, but the mommy forums assured me this was normal and actually a good thing.
I went to the bathroom (TMI comin at ya) and saw a faint pink line on the toilet paper when I wiped. I got an adrenaline rush of joy. Spotting! Huzzah!
The mommy forums assured me this was normal and actually good thing.
It wasn’t.
About an hour later, these cramps turned into monsters that were ripping my pelvis apart. It was some of the worse physical pain I’ve ever felt, and I’ve had both nipples pierced. (It was a phase.)
I stumbled my way to the kitchen, clenching my stomach. I sat on a couch in there for a few minutes, taking deep breaths. My colleagues came in and out to refill their water bottles and make small talk. I brought out my best acting chops and pretended nothing was wrong.
Something was wrong
I went back to the bathroom and started pacing in pain. I pulled my pants down–my underwear dyed red. This was not spotting. The sound of a small glop hitting the water filled the dead silent room.
Looking at it would’ve killed me.
I knew.
I flushed.
The bleeding was heavier than I ever had and I cleaned myself up as best I could in a panic. I stood in front of the bathroom door. Frozen. I took a deep breath and went back to my desk.
Hardly working
I sat there and stared blankly at the blinking cursor on my screen. Tears started falling down my cheeks. Only then did it finally hit me. I went back to the bathroom–my secret den of affliction.
I cried all of my mascara off. When I came out this time, some people were eating lunch in the kitchen. It was obvious I was upset. You know how some people look beautiful when they cry? I’m not one of those people. I’m a Kim Kardashian ugly cry type.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, all good.”
Clearly, I wasn’t. I started balling. I told a few people the truth, but I did it in my awkward trying-to-make-it-seem-like-no-big-deal-sarcastic way.
Pretty sure I said something like, “Yeah, so I thought my body was making a baby, but now it’s like ‘nope.’”
They were supportive and kind. They all seemed to know someone who had gone through this jarring scenario. A sister. A friend. A wife.
The storm
I was an emotional wreck the next few days. My boobs were no longer sore. I felt like the hope and joy was sucked out of me. I balled on the phone to my boyfriend (now husband) over our loss. All you can really do when it’s long distance.
I felt shame, as if there was something I did to cause it, but my doctor assured me it’s very common.
It’s usually a chromosomal mismatch or hormonal problem totally beyond control.
There’s still a stigma that paints women who have miscarriages as failures. I hope that if enough of us share our stories, it will be erased.
The rainbow
Four months later, I took a pregnancy test and it was positive. I’m due in October and beyond excited I made it past the first trimester and all is going well.
That day at work still haunts me though.
I have this “Don’t jinx it” mentality now.
Even though I’m more than halfway along and look like I swallowed a watermelon whole, I still feel weird talking about my pregnancy because I’m scared something is going to go wrong.
I’m terrified of going through that again.
I’m grateful I did though. It made me realize how much I really want to be a mom.
