Hello? Is this the doctor? Yes, I’m calling to let you know that I’m spotting.
I know there’s nothing you can do. I understand that medically speaking, it’s still very early in my pregnancy. Yes, I know that you want me to drink some water and rest.
I’m listening to what you’re saying, but now I need you to listen to me.
I know that this is very common among pregnant women, but it’s not a common occurrence for me. I’m not used to this feeling and frankly, I don’t ever want to get used to it.
Yes, I realize that this is out of my control. There is nothing I can do but wait and see. I’m not sure if you know this, but waiting for your dreams to pass is agony.
I caught your hint that it is the weekend. I’m sure you stepped away from a lovely brunch to answer my call. Trust me, I wish I had no reason to call you.
I’m sure that you’ve fielded hundreds of calls like mine. I wonder if you have ever thought about how much bravery it takes to dial your number. Do you know how many times I attempted this call before finally hitting send?
Believe me, I know that there is nothing you can do to stop this from happening. But, maybe, you could find a way to show a little more compassion. You will only have to deal with me for a few more minutes. When you hang up, I will still be here and I will still be miscarrying.
For me, this isn’t just a miscarriage. I’m not just losing a pregnancy. I’m losing a baby. If I lose this baby, I am also going to lose the chance at all of the dreams that I’ve dreamt for us.
My baby is dying and so are my dreams.
In a few days, you will help me deal with the aftermath of my miscarriage. You will order labs and perform examinations. We will discuss my options and you will share your vague reassurances that I should try again in the future. In an effort to be supportive, you will pass me a brochure on miscarriage but this will only remind me that I’m leaving with paper and without a baby.
I will then walk to my car, acutely aware of how alone I am. Just a few days before I walked with the purpose of life inside me. Now, I am deflated. Empty.
In time, the void will fill again. But, it won’t be the same. I have lost my ability to ever feel truly fulfilled. There will always be a chasm. A hollow place in the shape of the baby I lost and the dreams that will never be.
Thank you for taking my call.