And we are. But it doesn’t mean we’re not hurting too.

We went to therapy together and it was very helpful but not quite what I had expected. I’m not really sure what exactly I expected ..just more I guess. More of Nick talking, more of sharing our feelings and not just mine. I know Nick isn’t much of a sharer, especially not to someone he doesn’t know, as most men aren’t, but we went to therapy to talk and I felt like I was the one doing all the talking.

Anyhow, the therapist explained the whole process of stages of grief to Nick and they identified he was in acceptance. Now that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s “over this” and he’s all better now. Not at all. It’s more of he accepts that there’s nothing we can do to change what happened and he is learning to move forward. But he, at any point, can continue to go through other stages, as am I.

I too had a period of acceptance. It was quite brief but it was during my whole “Epilogue” time. I was just happy knowing Nick and I were happy together and no matter what I lost, I still had him.

But little did I know resentment, frustration, pain and sadness were going to rear their ugly heads sooner than later. (Not at Nick, but to our whole situation, additional crap we were dealt, or of course, to the ever increasing number of pregnant women in my life. Insert eye-roll here.)

Nevertheless, our therapist taught us how to communicate when we were feeling any sort of feelings towards our miscarriage. So instead of me telling Nick “I don’t feel good, I’m going to take a nap” and just walk away from my emotions, continuing to bury them, we are supposed to say we are mad, sad, confuse, etc., explain where it’s coming from or why it was triggered and what stage of grief we identify with at that moment.

Sounds like a lot of work but we actually did it for a bit. I get sad from things easily. Like sometimes seeing pictures of Zelda getting bigger or instinctively touching my belly, just to remember that it’s empty. Hearing a song on the radio written by a dad to his son. I also look at the stars every few nights to see my girl, to pay my respects to her and let her know she is not forgotten. I know it only makes me sad in doing this, but I don’t want to not think of my baby.

^Some clarification on this. I don’t believe in “God.” I don’t believe in one specific person or higher power. I can not and will not put a face or a name to my beliefs and that’s okay. But I do believe in some sort of higher power, simply because of the stars.

Something so beautiful exists and it’s so far away and something, somehow must have created that. (Yes I know there’s some scientific explanation behind the stars but shut up, I’m explaining my personal thought process here). So since I don’t believe in “God” and I don’t really know how I feel about Heaven, I believe all my loved ones are with the beautiful stars. When I “pray,” I talk to the stars. In that, I talk to Stephen and my Dad. And now my baby. Who like I said, I never found out the gender of but my heart tells me she was a girl. So therefore, my baby girl resides in the stars and that’s where I look to talk to her and tell her how sorry I am that I didn’t get to meet her and give her everything she deserved in this world.

I would also like to add that I do believe my loved ones stay close to us and just as I typed that last paragraph a gust of wind blew across the back of my neck. I am sitting in my house on the couch. I take that as a sign knowing that either my dad or brother, or just maybe my baby is here and I’m not alone. And in that, I take comfort.

Now to get back on track after veering so far off ..when I felt the feelings, Nick and I talked about them. Other days, we planned activities like relaxing at the beach or going paddle boarding or hiking to forget about all the crap we were dealing with. And it has been so nice to just have time with my husband and reconnect. To laugh with him instead of crying alone.

We went to Poka’i Bay just the two of us and it was such an amazing day. We stayed in the water, me holding onto Nick’s back and we splashed around and goofed off in the water. And for a moment in time, everything was okay again.

I enjoy days like these. We deserve days like these. Imminently following a loss, you get a sense of guilt when you feel happy. You shouldn’t be allowed to feel happy, to laugh or smile when something so horrible has just happened. Or at least that’s how I used to feel.

But that’s not true. It is okay to be happy after loss.

When my dad died, I was 8. I didn’t fully comprehend what was going on. My grandparents lived in Ireland so I was already used to not seeing them frequently. My fathers parents didn’t care much for my existence, no loss there. But when my friend Jamie and my brother Stephen died …how was I allowed to be happy? How in the world could I find joy in a world where they no longer exist?

As I got older and it neared my dad’s anniversary, how was I allowed to enjoy 4th of July fireworks when my dad’s been gone x amount of years on July 3rd?

Because life goes on after death. If my father, my grandparents, Jamie, Stephen or my baby knew I just sat in my house moping, they would be disappointed in me. I would be wasting my opportunity at life. At that point, I should have just died too.

Now I’m not saying we aren’t allowed time to grieve. Of course we are. And there’s no time limit on that. And it comes in waves. That is all perfectly fine. What I am saying is that there comes a point where we need to continue on with life. We need to find happiness again. We need to do things that bring us joy, to remind us that despite the shit we’re going through, it’s a good life.

I am young, relatively healthy and I have people who love me. It’s a good life.  

So yes, in pictures Nick and I do look happy. Because we are. We do things that make us happy. We go to the beach, we hiked Koko Head, we went for a picnic and we enjoy being with each other.

And some days are a living hell and I am sad beyond all belief and wish I could fast forward time. I don’t take pictures on those days. On those days, I use the tools I was provided and lean on my husband, family and friends. And look, here I am continuing on…

I cleaned the house like a crazy person anticipating Nicks homecoming. I wanted it to look like I actually cared what the house looked like while he was gone. In reality, I sat in a passable state of filth for a bit. I don’t clean, I “tidy up.” My wonderful husband has actually sent me out for a massage or a mani/pedi before to get me out of his way while he deep cleans the house (I know, I won the husband lotto). But I wanted to make sure the house looked nice for him, and it did.

Now of course nothing for us seemed to go as planned, so cue his planes getting delayed and all sorts of airport drama. I surprisingly didn’t stress over it too much, I was just so excited he was coming home to me. Nick on the other hand was just so aggravated over it, rightfully so, and just wanted to be home already. From what I recall, his arrival was only about 3 hours delayed (give or take an hour).

I kept refreshing the flight app to see where exactly his plane was. It reminded me of what Claire and I would do to see where Santa was on Christmas Eve …no we were not kids doing this. More like early 20’s.

I knew Nick wouldn’t land for another 30-45 minutes but his plane was finally hovering over Hawaii and I couldn’t wait any longer. Also, I’m awful at navigating airports so I decided it was time to leave. Good thing too, because of course I missed the turn for parking at least twice. Luckily the Honolulu Airport is significantly smaller than New York’s JFK Airport I was used to and circling around takes all of 4 minutes if you don’t get the red light.

I found my parking and made my way to his baggage claim, number 21. The flight from Cleveland was there awaiting their bags so I found a spot facing the conveyor belt and sat down with my phone, bag and keys in my lap, waiting in anticipation to finally see and hug and kiss Nicola.

Soon enough the Cleveland flight bags were all accounted for and I was sitting there alone. Not too long after people from Nicks flight started showing up. He would be that last to come, he needed to make a pit stop if you catch my drift. No sweat, we waited this long, what’s another 10 minutes. We had been texting since the second the plane found the ground again and I knew he was finally heading towards the baggage claim but had no idea what direction he would be coming from.

Next thing I know I’m hit with a gust of wind and I am thrown up into the air, no longer able to breathe, all the while my phone, bag and keys crash onto the floor. Nick was hugging me so tight and truly, everything around me faded. We were reunited again and it was just us, no one else existed. And I broke and my entire body shook and I just cried into his shoulder. I was finally back with my husband and we are are going to get through this together.

There was a really sweet lady, a military wife, who gathered my things from the floor and watched them as Nick and I reunited. She and I got to talking as Nick went to get his bags. She told me it doesn’t matter how short or long they’re gone for, it never gets easier but seeing them again always gets better. I told her that we lost our first pregnancy while he was away and I could see her sorrow for me all over her face. She hugged me. The world of military families is like no other and I am honored to be a part of it.

Once his bags were all collected we hugged and kissed a handful more times, I said goodbye to the lovely woman I had just met and we made our way back to the car. Just the sight of Nick next to me had me feeling better and made me smile ear to ear. I knew these next few weeks of him being home and on leave from work weren’t going to be easy, but I wasn’t going to feel alone anymore. I felt like I could breathe again.

I lost my first baby, now what?

I went to therapy. It’s only been two weeks since the surgery, a week since I first wrote this. But it’s amazing how much I have changed in a week.

First and foremost let me say, I was angry. Really fucking angry. And I’m sure I’ll experience more waves of that in the days ahead. After meeting with my therapist, we identified that anger was the stage of grief I was working through and we agreed that it was okay but I needed to make it productive. Hence working on this.

Secondly and most importantly, I learned something HUGE this week. With additional hardships coming our way, I learned at the end of the day, I have my husband.

So how have I changed? Well after realizing that I still have my marriage, I’m not angry. If at the end of the day I have my husband and we are happy in our marriage, then I have everything. A baby will come when it is supposed to. I will still grieve the baby we lost, I will never forget our little angel. But for now, I have Nick and we have the cats and right now this is my family and I am happy. Nick gets home in less than two days and I simply can’t wait to throw my arms around him and tell him how much I love him.

Katie’s due date is quickly approaching and Brittany just discovered she is having a girl. And I am happy for them both. A week ago, I would have been angry and envious ..don’t get me wrong, I’m still very envious but not in an ugly way. Although it’s not my baby coming into the world, I am so happy for both of them. And their daughters will fill my heart with love just as my niece Zelda does and I simply can’t wait to meet them. I don’t even know how to put into words how thankful I am for these two. From checking in, sending me gifts to keep my mind busy and memorializing my baby in such beautiful ways, they have helped me more than I can ever express.

I am still learning how to cope. In two days, I will begin to learn how to cope together with Nick. We will continue going to therapy until we feel like we can do this on our own. But now I am confident in us and I know we can make it through so much together. When our time comes, we are going to be excellent parents. We will love and appreciate that baby more then we would have known to before, but we will never replace our first angel. She resides in the stars now and looks down on us. I will always be thankful for her.  

You were only nine weeks.

It was just a miscarriage.

The baby wasn’t born so technically you didn’t really lose it.

Now no one has actually said these things to me. But have they been thinking them?

I’m providing a link to a commercial I saw that totally and completely ripped my heart out of my chest. From the moment I knew in my heart I was pregnant, to taking a test, to falling asleep holding my belly the last night before surgery, the love for my baby grew.

I don’t care how far along I was, the emotional connection I made with this baby was real and the loss is devastating.

Let’s begin with this, bad things happen to all of us. No one is an exception. Everyone has had their fair share of bad shit happen one way or another. But truly, I feel like I am a constant recurring theme in the universes sick and twisted joke to see how far I can be pushed before I am completely broken and shattered.

It is also a constant theme with me that I grieve openly. I don’t do it for sympathy and I hate being pitied. I am not looking to be the spokesperson about this. There’s no reward punch card for referring a friend.  For me, being open and honest and putting my feelings out there helps me find acceptance and a way to continue on living. Not moving on, no, because some things you just can’t move on from. But life continues and I need to find a way to continue with it. This is my way.

This isn’t going to be pretty, it may be offensive to some but these are my true, authentic feelings. I should not have to hide them, no matter how difficult the topic is.

It’s not talked about enough and women, and men, in my position shouldn’t have to feel they need to keep quiet about it. Here’s our story:

____________________________________________________________

“So, what are your plans for the rest of the day?” asked the woman who came to draw my blood.

Numb. I was completely numb, but was still able to formulate the words, “Seeing if my baby has a heartbeat or not.”

“I am so sorry” she responded, “I completely understand what you’re going through, my mom had three miscarriages.”

…..Your mom? I thought to myself.  Anger immediately flared up, I wanted to hit her. You understand because of what YOUR MOM went through???? All I could think in my head was don’t hit her Ellen. Yes, it would be wonderful to break that nose on her pretty little face, but don’t hit her.

____________________________________________________________

Low and behold, another dumb bitch* from West Babylon is pregnant, and I’m not. ..I mean yeah, we’re not trying right now, but still. It’s what I want, right? Yeah! I think so? ..Maybe.  

I knew deep down I wanted to be a mom, and my god do I know Nick is going to be the best dad in the world. We are going to love the crap out of our future kid(s). But for a long time, I was going back and forth if I was ready or not. With another mother’s baby in my arms, I knew this was what I was meant to be. But watching my friends toddlers have meltdowns, yeah maybe waiting a few more months would be good. I mean, it’s okay to be selfish a little while longer. Nope, scratch that, we’re ready. Nick and I both are truly ready. Time to pull the goalie, let’s just have fun and see what happens.

Not even a month goes by and boom, a week or two of unexplained nausea and extreme tiredness. I took a test but refused to check it myself. March 17th, Nick came out of the bathroom, cracked a beer and yelled “YOU’RE PREGNANT!!!!” “No I’m not” was all I could say. I was in complete disbelief. This is it, it’s our turn. It is FINALLY our turn! I ran into his arms and cried, I was so happy. Everything was perfect.

The following Monday I made two appointments, one with a primary care doctor and one with a local Hawaiian OB. Nick and I were over the moon with happiness. I wanted to tell everyone right away but knew it was best to wait a bit so Denny’s waitresses and random cashiers would have to do. Nick would laugh at me when I gushed about our news but I just couldn’t help myself, I was so excited! How in the world was I going to hide this for the next few weeks?!  

Then on the night of April 5th, 7 weeks pregnant, I ended up in the ER. Earlier in the day I had noticed I was spotting. Being a first-time mom I had no idea what this meant. I was out with Brittany and her son so I addressed all my concerns with her. I decided to leave a message for my doctor when I got home and I would tell Nick when he got back from work. The doctor’s office called back and told me it was nothing to worry about but if it was consistent or there was any accompanying pain to go to the ER. I continued spotting all day and with each sight of blood, I became more terrified.

As we were heading to bed that night Nick asked me if I wanted to go to the hospital but I felt stupid. I felt like they were going to tell me I was just a nervous new mom, overreacting to something that’s actually normal. I mean that’s what the internet said, it was normal. But still what if something was wrong? What if we did nothing and something terrible happened? What are we supposed to do? Despite my foolish feelings, we headed to the ER anyway and truly I am so thankful we did. Nick was leaving in just a few days for ALC in Georgia and he was going to miss the first OB appointment. At least going to the hospital meant we’d be able to see the baby together from them doing a sonogram. Nick and I got to see our little blimp on the screen with its heart beating away. There was our baby, strong and growing. We made that, we are going to be parents!

There was a strong heartbeat, labs looked good, everything was normal. “You’re measuring due November 27th, a Thanksgiving baby!” the tech told us.  We couldn’t be happier. Everything was fine, we saw our baby and we got a due date! We are going to be parents!!

We decided now would be a good time to share the news with imminent family and a few close friends. Everyone was thrilled!! A new addition to the family, how couldn’t you be excited?!

Nick left for Georgia knowing everything was as it should be. “Maybe I’ll be showing by the time you’re back!” I said excitedly as Nick gathered his things.

Over the next two weeks, the bleeding continued but I didn’t really think anything of it. The doctors said spotting was normal, the internet said it was probably the placenta embedding into my uterus, plus it was only a bit of dark blood every few days when I wiped. No big deal.

Fast forward and finally it’s April 22nd, the day of my first OB appointment!!! Today’s the day I get a picture of our baby to put in the nursery. I get to give all the details to Nick and all our family and tomorrow we tell extended family and friends. Brittany and I drove to Honolulu, spent what felt like hours searching for parking and finally got to the doctor’s office. I was texting Nick as much as possible while I could before he went to flag detail. They took my health history, did a breast exam and a PAP. “Everything is looking great!!” I texted to Nick. He had to go so I told him Brit would take pictures/videos of the sonogram. I was almost 10 weeks, we should be able to see the baby so much better now!

As I lay there, the resident seemed to be struggling. I thought nothing of it. “I can’t find the….” her voice trailed off. The supervising doctor told her to switch to an external sonogram. “We’re going to need to you to go empty your bladder” she finally said to me. “Yeah sure” I replied,  “that’s fine with me, I actually really have to pee!” So I go to the bathroom and return to my exam room. While we waited for the doctors to return, Brit and I talk about how unimpressed we were with the office and overall experience so far ..completely oblivious to what was yet to come. Finally the doctor and resident came back in. They did the sonogram again as I stared at the ceiling in anticipation.

What happens next is a total blur. I won’t even go into the complete unprofessionalism that I experience with this awful office. I’ll just get to the point;

“There’s no heartbeat, I’m sorry” the resident said to me. Hot, burning tears stung my cheeks as they came streaming down my face. I just sobbed and all Brit could do was hold me with my head in her lap. All my hopes and dreams for this baby, for me and my husband, for our family, just came crashing and burning down. “……then we can talk about your options.”

My options?? MY FUCKING OPTIONS?!? Are you even sure, what if she was wrong? What if your equipment was wrong?? What if the heart hasn’t completely developed yet??? These were all the thoughts running through my head. “My baby is dead” I said to Brittany, completely numb and broken. As if I could be any more broken.  

I had a miscarriage.

I had to go get it confirmed by a specialist but that appointment wouldn’t be for almost another two hours. I needed to tell Nick. My mom and sister were messaging me asking how the appointment went. What would I even say? When I called Nick, words failed me. I just cried into the phone. His voice filled with panic, “Ellen what happened? What’s going on?” “The baby doesn’t have a heartbeat” I sobbed into the phone. Silence. Then, “I am so sorry Ellen, I am so sorry.” I could hear the heartbreak in his voice. “Our baby is dead” I said to my husband, 4,622 miles away.

I explained to him what happened. I told him that I was waiting to see a specialist, that maybe there was some hope, that something went wrong in the other office and maybe our baby would be okay. But we both knew that it wasn’t likely. After sitting on the phone filled with silence, I called my mom. I told her briefly what I could then got off the phone. I cried and I cried and I cried again. The baby that we wanted, the baby that we were ready for, planned for, the baby we bought clothes for and books about, the baby we loved so much, that baby is dead. Inside of me. I am carrying our baby. But it is no longer alive.

How?

I don’t understand.

Finally it was time to see the specialist. She confirmed it, no heartbeat. I stared at the screen in disbelief. How could this be possible when just 17 days ago our baby was healthy and growing. We were happy, we were going to be a family.

“Can I have a picture of the baby please?” I desperately asked. If I would never get to hold my baby, at least I could hold its picture. “Absolutely” she responded. She gave me two.

Brit drove home. Nick and my mom already got her booked for the next flight to Hawaii as I tried to plan “my options.” I had to schedule getting my baby removed from me. How the fuck do I just let someone take my baby from me? It’s my baby. My little girl, or my little boy. I didn’t even get to find out. And they’re just going to take it from me. Just like that.

On April 23rd I pick my mom up from the airport, I hugged her and sobbed into her shoulder. “Why do bad things always happen to me?” I asked her.

On April 24th, I went to Tripler Army Medical Center, again had my miscarriage confirmed and had all my options explained to me. With Nick gone and my mom in Hawaii with me for only one week, I decided on a D&C and went to admit myself to the hospital for same day surgery. I sat in my pre-op hospital bed crying, “I feel like a murderer.”

A quick explanation for those who are unfamiliar with a D&C. Now I am no doctor so I will explain this in my own blunt way of understanding. A D&C, dilation and curettage, in the most basic terms is when a medical team uses metal rods to dilate the cervix. They then use tools to scrape away every single piece of the pregnancy from the uterus until a sonogram shows that it’s all gone. This is why medication is needed -antibiotics for possible risk of infection and pain killers for being manually dilated.

The drugs were the best part. As my consciousness started to fade, so did the pain.

“Do you have my glasses?” I asked the nurse when I woke up. I fell back asleep before she could answer, I think. I remember trying a few times to keep my eyes open but letting myself fall back to sleep. Then finally I woke up and asked, “Were there any complications?” “No complications,” she replied, “surgery went well.” ..I guess that was a good thing.

As they brought me and my mom to my private room, it hit me, I was no longer pregnant. I broke down. Even if only just for a short while, I shared my body with this baby, my food, my blood, my life with this baby. And now it’s over. It was just me.

Recovery was fine, they explained the medications I was on to my mom and me and after an hour or two she took us home. Now if not for my mother, I wouldn’t have eaten. The cats wouldn’t have been fed, the house wouldn’t have been cleaned, I wouldn’t have showered, ..hell I wouldn’t have gotten out of bed. My mom stayed for a week, supporting me in ways she has always known how to. She let me cry when I needed to cry, laugh when I needed to laugh and validated every single feeling I had. She also helped me realize that as much as I have to grieve this loss, I also needed to continue taking care of myself.

My mom told our family, Nick’s parents told his and Nick and I told our friends. After that, I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I wanted to lay in my bed, with my cats and cry until my eyeballs fell out. I didn’t want to have the same conversation over and over again. “I am so sorry,” “You are so strong,” “I’m here if you want to talk.” I appreciate all the support and kind words from our family and friends, truly I do. Knowing so many people were there for me and Nick helped a lot. But no, I am not strong. I didn’t choose this life, to have my dad, my grandparents, a best friend, my brother and now my baby taken from me all by the ripe old age of 27. That doesn’t make me strong. I am not looking for sympathy, and I most certainly am not looking to be pitied. You can go choke on your pity. I am also not looking to be the spokeswoman for miscarriages. People do that to me enough when it comes to death.

I am not strong, I am not a survivor. I am human and life goes on, whether I want it to or not.  

As for the “I’m here for you’s,” two things. 1) Don’t say it if you don’t mean it. Don’t give me an opening, allowing me to pour my heart out to you and then never answer your phone. No, you are not here for me. I get maybe you don’t know what to say, fuck, neither do I. But respond. Say something, anything. And 2) If I didn’t answer your call/text, no, I am not ignoring you, I am coping. Respectfully, fuck off. I am sad, I am having a bad day, a bad hour and no I don’t want to talk. Or maybe I’m actually okay in that minute, I’m not crying. I was laughing for the first time that day and I don’t want to be brought back down. I am not ignoring you, I’m being selfish and doing what I need to do for myself.**

I would also like to address Nick here. Again, he’s away in Georgia. We talk daily of course but I don’t get to see how he’s grieving. We talk about it here and there but I get the feeling he thinks he needs to be strong for me. I’ve said this to him hundreds of times and I’ll say it again, this loss is as much his as it is mine. We made this baby together and we lost it together. Maybe it’s my body physically going through the miscarriage, but he has as much right to mourn and cry and be terribly angry, just as I do. I don’t know who has been reaching out to him but I needed to know family was supporting him too. I wanted to know that he was being asked “How are you?” and not just “How is Ellen?” Nick was going to be a dad and he was so excited and so proud. That was taken away from him too.

Going further into emotions, I had to remove myself from a lot. Like stepping off facebook for a hot minute. Because yet again, another dumb bitch* just announced her pregnancy. I had to leave my group chat of my close friends from Maryland, because of the six of us, three are currently pregnant and I just couldn’t bare to hear about their pregnancy news. Even with leaving this group, I’m surrounded by babies and pregnancy. My sister just had her baby, my two best friends are pregnant and I have to keep going back to the Tripler OB clinic for checks ups. So yeah, it’s safe to say I’ve been a bitter, envious, hysterical mess.

Learning how not to be spiteful to someone who has personally done nothing to you is complicated, especially when they have everything you want. I love my best friends, they will do anything for me and I, of course, would do anything for them. They check in on me daily and are so patient with me. But seeing them in pictures and in person, well it sucks. Because I see their bellies, something I never got to have and I am jealous. And my sister, my comic relief and daily reminder to eat. She is a new mom to a beautiful baby girl, not even a month old and I love them both so much. But I get so frustrated, so angry when Claire gets exhausted and upset from being up all night. I get it …actually no, I don’t get it because that chance was taken from me. Claire’s up all night feeding, changing and comforting Zelda and she’s exhausted, I can only imagine how completely done she is. But at the end of the day, she has a baby. I don’t. I try to be sympathetic and supportive, but I’m angry.

Now clearly, I am not the first and sadly enough I will not be the last woman to experience a miscarriage. I pray this is the only one I personally have to experience. I know this is common and many women, 1 in 4 to be exact, go through this. Maybe some people think I am overreacting, I’m being dramatic. But am I? Is there even a correct way to grieve a baby you never got to meet, got to feel or even get a halfway decent picture of?  Maybe if miscarriages were talked about more, all the emotions that come with them, the anger, jealousy and sadness, maybe then I’d know if I was handling this right.

Is it normal to feel completely betrayed by my body? Is it normal that I feel like I failed this baby? That I failed my husband. How about being horrified to have another baby, the fear of not being able to get pregnant right away, of miscarrying again or simply getting pregnant and replacing the baby we lost. What about telling people when we’re pregnant again. When do I do that? When is it actually safe to do that? Will I even get to enjoy the next pregnancy or will I be too completely worried about everything? Was I too lax with this pregnancy? Everyone said its nothing I did, but really is that true? I did non-pregnancy safe workouts, I ate cheese I wasn’t sure was pasteurized or not, I had raw egg in a dessert, I had a warm laptop on my belly, maybe my bath water was too hot. Are these going to be all the things I constantly stress over when I get pregnant again? What not to do to not miscarry again?

And what do I do for this baby I lost? How do I make this baby be known and not forgotten about? Do we name this baby, get a tattoo for it? When I have kids and someone asks how many will I answer “two and a miscarry?” Do I show people the picture? Do people even want to see the picture? Am I being totally ridiculous? Because sometimes I feel like I am and other times I feel like I am being a woman who lost her first child.

What is normal? How do I grieve this normally?

I lost my first baby, now what?

***

****

Disclaimers

*If you are from my high school and are pregnant or recently had a baby, you are not a dumb bitch. I am just incredibly envious. See, you have what I am dying for and it was taken from me. Honestly, I am so jealous of you, but truly I am happy for you and the beautiful addition to your life.

**To my family and friends, first know that I love you. This isn’t about one specific person or one specific instance. This is just a generalized feeling. If you identify with this, I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings with my crude words. I am experiencing a sensitive time and these were my true, raw, in the moment emotions. They weren’t always pretty, clearly. But this was how I felt and to be frank, this situation I’m going through is 100% selfishly about me, my husband and our baby, not about you. But I love you nonetheless and I hope you can look past any kind of hurt.

***A special thank you to Dashboard Confessional for being the background music, helping to keep me calm and level headed while writing this painful story.

****An extra special thank you to my dear friend Allison who helped me edit, rewrite and make sense of all my scrambled thoughts. Working on this has been extremely therapeutic for me and without Allison’s help, this blog probably would have never existed. Thank you, a million times over.

I guess now is a good time for introductions. 

I’m Ellen, I’m 27 and I’ve been through some shit. 

I’m a pretty blunt person with a huge heart. I say how I feel and I don’t typically hold back. I have no filter, no limitations and a pretty big personality. You either love me or hate me. I’ve tried to change that, but I like who I am and I’ve realized that those who don’t, well they don’t deserve my time. 

I am married to my best friend Nick (Nicola, you’ll see I switch between the two here and there). We’ve known each other since middle school, dated on and off in high school/college and got engaged and married at 23. 

Nick and I have two cats, Ziggy and Ollie. My boys are my world.

We live in Honolulu, Hawaii. Nick is in the Army. 

I have no clear path when it comes to life. I have a college degree, a certificate, ideas and dreams but no solid plan. I don’t know what I want to be when I grow up. Am I already grown up?

There’s one thing I do know: I get my feelings out best through a keyboard.

 

So here I am, on this ..journey? mission? ..whatever. I plan to open up about my miscarriage, and in doing so I suppose I will be opening up about my marriage, my family, future pregnancies and so much more. 

I don’t really journal and I’m not the best at sticking to things, but here I am. Trying to write about the year following my first pregnancy miscarriage. 

Lets see where this goes…. 

 

*This picture was taken post miscarriage. It is probably one of the happiest days I’ve had since my miscarriage. It’s difficult but here’s the truth; it’s okay to be happy after loss.