It’s been almost nine years since my first miscarriage. I’ve never written about it for a variety of reasons. One of the biggest reasons is I’ve struggled with the question of “am I allowed to grieve”? Besides that thought I guess I was embarrassed, and I sometimes think I live in denial that my body failed me. MY body allowed me to lose a baby. That’s a hard thought to swallow when you are twenty-four years old and think you are invincible. Needless to say bleeding profusely changed my thoughts.
It was July 2006 and my soldier had just decided to enter the military again…this time the Army. He had already served honorably in the Marine Corps and because of that did not have to go to boot camp. He simply had to attend AIT for six months at Fort Eustis in Virginia. I was living here in the Fort Bragg area since that is where he is from, and had decided to go home to New York to visit family.
Seeking a cheaper option of transportation other than flying-I took my favorite mode of travel Amtrak. Traveling with me were my then two year old son and eight year old daughter. Our trip was a great ride, but when I arrived at New York’s Penn Station I realized that lugging a 35+ pound suitcase and carrying my son up the escalator was probably not the smartest idea. Not to mention that it was hot and I still had to walk to the other side of the train station and down a flight of stairs. In hind sight I probably should have sought out help, or requested to take an elevator, but alas my New Yorker took over and rushing (for no reason) was more important to me.
The minute I arrived at my mother’s house I knew I had a made a mistake because my body just had a weird funny feeling to it. I ignored it and was fine for the first week and a half I was there. Then one day I started spotting very faintly. I didn’t rush to the hospital because I thought faint spotting was normal. Again, maybe I was in denial. Finally while brushing my hair in the bathroom I felt like something was passing though me at which point I began to feel dizzy. I felt like I was going to pass out. The bleeding started to become heavier and it looked like I hemorrhaging. My mom took me to the hospital and I was taken to the back right away . I’ll spare you the details but I went through everything you go through when miscarrying. I was 9 weeks.
Uncle Sam was holding my husband hostage 6 hours away and frankly everything had happened so fast that I felt like it was no point for him to come to me. That was my first time learning that the military came first. He could have gotten a pass to come home (probably) but the hassle (imo) wasn’t worth it. I had miscarried and there was nothing me, him or Uncle Sam could do about it.
Until this day I have no clue if it’s okay to grieve when you miscarry…is it?
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