A few weeks ago, I was driving into work on a clear blue sky day. The windows were down and I thought to myself I feel good. Sun shinning brightly, a slight cool breeze, a beautiful day – how could I not?
That same day, I received an email from a friend from high school. She is a few years younger. She knows of our infertility. In the last few years our emails would include me explaining ART to her and what stage we were in. This email started off like every other, catching up, and then it twisted. She says, “I had a miscarriage.”
At first, I comforted. As the conversation goes on, she proceeds to tell me about the differences of a chemical miscarriage and a late term. I told her, “I may not have ever been pregnant, but I know very well what a miscarriage is and the differences.” I’m offended and I quickly end the conversation.
This conversation and my reaction bothered me. I looked at it as objectively as possible and I realize that I am jealous of people who have had miscarriages. (I can hear the gasp of WTF? And apologize in advance.) But, let me explain.
If I had a miscarriage, I would know:
the joy of telling my husband, parents, and sister that we were expecting.
the joy of life growing inside of me.
the hope and love which that brings.
the right to grieve.
And I know in my heart of hearts that it is ridiculous. In the same time, I feel like it would have been something to show for all of our hard work. Someone to mourn in a more tangible manner. It would be devastating. But, I would have that child to forever love and know that he/she would be waiting for me when I die.
Twisted, that is how I feel lately, twisted.