Some couples use the phrase “we’re pregnant” even though it’s physically the woman who is pregnant, and I assume it’s because both parents are so heavily affected in so many ways by the pregnancy. Well, miscarriages happen to both partners, too. I usually don’t say “we had a miscarriage” because I don’t want to downplay how much Jenn was physically affected. But it was a serious blow to us both, and it happened to me, too.
I’ll never forget that Sunday. It was a Sunday in March that Jenn and I went grocery shopping. When we got home, she told me she had some news for me, but she wasn’t sure if she should tell me. I told her she should tell me (who can resist not knowing something, when it’s presented as such as big thing?), and so she did. She had taken three pregnancy tests the previous Thursday, and they were all very positive. After months and months of trying, it appeared that she might actually be pregnant. We hugged and did our best not to get our hopes up, just in case the tests were faulty, or there was some reason for a “false positive,” because Jenn had gotten what she thought was her period just two weeks before that had made her very sick – so she knew if this was a pregnancy, something was maybe already wrong.
We bought more tests and tried them as the week progressed. The line got lighter and then negative. Negative. Negative. And then it ended, she miscarried.
She had some rough cycles after that as her body returned to its non-pregnant state. This was hard for her, and very painful, and it was also incredibly painful for me to watch. I felt so helpless, and I just wish I could have taken the pain for her.
I feel helpless now, too. I can’t change the way things are. It can’t be easy and normal.
It also makes me sad and angry. Sad because I’ll never get to know the son or daughter that would have been born last month. Sad because we finally conceived but it was taken away. After we started trying, but before all of this happened, we had bought a small stuffed giraffe as a way of putting positive energy in the universe. A couple of months ago, when we started cleaning, Jenn found it and, with a tear in her eye, set it in the trunk of my car as I packed it full of items to take to Goodwill. I cried like a baby all the way to Goodwill and a lot of the way back. It’s hard to let go of a dream you want so much.
I’ve also realized that even if it we ever get pregnant again, it’ll be a lot more stressful of a pregnancy than it might have been had things just worked out “normally.”
I admit that I do feel anger at the universe. I feel angry that people I know that are younger than me are having kids. I feel angry that people who probably don’t deserve to have kids have kids. I feel angry at people I see on TV that only needed some irresponsibility and alcohol to conceive.
It’s really hard to deal with sometimes. I’ve taken some sperm tests and discovered that my sperm count is low. Lucky me. Sometimes I wonder if it’s my low quality sperm that messed up our baby and caused Jenn to have a miscarriage.
I try not to think about it too much, but sometimes I can’t block it out. I take a lot of vitamins and try to eat foods that are supposedly known increase sperm count. These habits are starting to wane, as obviously, we don’t see any results. I try to focus on the idea of adopting a school-age kid or two someday that need a home and loving family. This thought makes me happy, as it’s something we wanted to do anyway. But it’s becoming increasingly real that we may never have a baby.
Until we manage to save up money for some medical help or domestic adoption, hope is all we really have and some days we don’t even have that.
