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**Side Note: Do you know how many women reached out to me after I initially spoke about it via email and in person saying they’d miscarried too, the pain they felt, how they’d never really opened up about it**

There seems to be this unspoken rule amongst people everywhere that we just don’t discuss miscarriage. For some reason or another, you just don’t talk about it. I think talking about it was exactly what I needed, maybe even still need… When I had my miscarriage I was completely dishonest with everyone, including myself. I did what I always do, I faked it. I hid from my inner feelings, my true feelings. I don’t tell the story of my miscarriage often as it’s just upsetting. You won’t find it on my blog in old posts… Truth is, you may never see it in the future either (just a lil FYI). – But this post isn’t about that. It’s not about the indescribable pain I felt to lose a child or even the punch in the face, the betrayal I felt from God because I didn’t even see it coming, nor did I have any symptoms. This post is not about that. This post is about the aftermath. I decided to share this with the world in hopes that this would help someone. This would save a life.

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The question I ask myself to this day is “if people check up on women after a birth, why don’t they do the same for miscarriage?” I didn’t “pass” anything naturally, which resulted in the need for medical intervention. Before the surgery I drove to the hospital with family, put on a brave face and after one last ultrasound (requested by yours truly praying for a miracle), I took a deep breath… When I woke up people talked to me like everything was better. Like nothing ever happened and I had no reason to be emotional. So I wasn’t. I was asked many times if I was in pain. I wasn’t. I think my family attempted to hide the blood on my sheets from me but I knew it was there. I could feel it – and after all the preparation from my doctor – I of course expected it. I continued on as I always do, just like my surgeries and procedures for my Colitis, just like all the “treatments” I’d tried in the past that never worked.. I put on my brave face and dealt with it. I stayed with my family for a day as it was a very large procedure, it took a great toll on my body. I didn’t have the ability to stay awake for much longer than an hour at a time. I was losing a lot of blood and there was nothing anyone could do about it. It was life and it needed to run it’s course – (Odd choice of words there).

Let’s fast forward shall we?

The next day I was gone. I packed some clothes and other useful things and left. I told no one where I was going. I didn’t call or text. I needed time for myself. By myself. Everyone seemed to just know I was doing ok and I didn’t want to burden them with the terrible reality of things. – The reality was I was broken. My spirit, my faith, my hope, my happiness, my mental stability.  So what happened next? Where did I go? I went far away. I checked into a hotel miles away from the city. Miles away from my family and miles away from Lamar. I tried to sleep, but I couldn’t. I drank amounts of NyQuil that you couldn’t imagine. I took pain meds to help me, (being that I have a chronic illness I have a ridiculous amount of pain meds immediately available to me). The thought of what happened made it difficult to sleep.. But the thought of what the doctors did, or had to do to finish it all… That just sealed the deal completely. I received some calls, some texts… Mostly from Lamar, (which is what I regret the most). I pushed him away. I pushed him away for fear of him blaming me as much as I blamed myself. But he didn’t. He was let down… But not by me. At least not initially. He was let down by the situation, but I fear I added to that feeling when I refused to let him in. The day after the day I left, my family called me many times, very early in the morning.

Initially I ignored their efforts until I got a message from my cousin saying my great grandma was in the hospital. This was when something happened that I thought couldn’t… I broke even more. I thought I was completely shattered in pieces, yet, I guess I had a few more pieces to crumble. I gathered my things and rushed to the hospital. By the time I got there my great grandma was already being prepped for surgery, so I sat with my family in the waiting room. I didn’t really feel like it was me sitting with them. I felt like I was looking into a window at them, because they were so blind. They sat in a room with me, yet looked right through me. People who once knew me so well… didn’t know me at all. They couldn’t see how much pain I was in. How hurt I really was. My mouth couldn’t say it but my heart was screaming out for help… And yet… They couldn’t hear it.

As soon as I knew my great grandma was stable I left. I saw Lamar and we talked, we argued. I continued to push him away and deep down he had anger for me too. I left again.
Fast forward, when I got back to the hotel I was tired. I’d been sleep deprived and pushed to my limits. Things kept happening. It wasn’t just the miscarriage anymore, it felt like my life was falling apart. The walls were caving in around me. I contemplated a lot of things, out of sadness, fear, ignorance. Call it what you want. I wanted everything to be over. I didn’t want all the pain and I needed sleep desperately. I only told Lamar. In hindsight that was one of the best decisions I’d ever made. He took care of me. We talked about all of my thoughts, feelings, terrible anxiety and sadness, his side of things. Although at this point we were separated he watched over me. – That would be the first time I’d slept in days. As more time past I got stronger. I felt better, eventually I would go back to work. – But if things were different… If Lamar wasn’t there to care or listen, I may not be here today.

Life changing events are exactly that: life changing. Everyone needs someone in their corner when they go through these things. I’d like to say I had a happy ending, or that everything all “came together,” but I still think about it. I still blame myself. At times I even feel bad.. But I’m angry. I’m angry because people who claim to care so much about me did all but abandon me. I’m angry because now people act like I’m so important to them but I think back and ask myself, “where were you when I lost my child?” – I’m angry because so many people, SO many people I know are pregnant right now. Healthy and happy. So many people who… aren’t even necessarily good people. -Then I get angry with God. How could he put me through this? How could he betray my trust? I still get sad. I still scroll past baby pictures extremely fast down my Facebook timeline. Or get angry when one of my social networks shows a product for newborns. I get mad as if they knew or something, “why would they put this here?” is my most used phrase.

I can’t end this happily so i’ll just say… It takes time.