Walking Wounded.

I saw that term on a pregnancy loss board today and it resonated with me.

The woman posting was discussing whether or not to tell people about her miscarriage, because she hadn't told many people she was pregnant. She said that she was having a hard time walking around with this giant hurtful, painful secret that no one knew.

I know how that feels. Nearly everyone around me daily or important to me knew we were pregnant. And I think all of them know that we have had a miscarriage. I think it makes it easier. I know we'll hesitate to tell everyone without seeing a healthy heartbeat next time, but I'm glad they knew this time. It makes it easier to explain that I don't want to talk or that I want to be alone or whatever. It was easier to arrange the necessary time off work when everyone knew and understood.

It also makes it hard to be in public sometimes. We did go out for dinner, and it was fine. Well cooked, good. But I didn't enjoy it. It was the first time I've really been out since the miscarriage and it was unexpectedly difficult. It felt wrong. It felt normal. I know I've been desperate for normal, but this felt wrong. It felt like - I should have some sort of sign on me that says "I AM NOT OK. I JUST HAD A MISCARRIAGE." So people will understand. I'm not just another woman going out for a nice dinner. I'm a woman in pain, with a husband in pain, and we are not ok damn it.

That's one of the hardest things about miscarriage. In most cases, it happens with little visible sign of pregnancy, and there is no outward symbol for others to see. There are moments I've doubted it was ever real. That I was ever pregnant. It's especially hard because my body didn't clue in when it should have, so it kept building HCG and I had so many symptoms. I have even gone back to ask DH - did I really have those symptoms? Really? Two weeks ago - my God, it was two weeks ago - I was so nauseated that I sat with a bowl in my lap because getting up to go to the bathroom would have resulted in my throwing up on the living room floor.

Now there is nothing left of it but blood, cramps and a pile of unworn maternity clothes. It is so surreal and it makes me so angry. There is nothing left to remind anyone and most people, a week later, have forgotten. I can't forget. I wish I could, but I can't. And no one else knows or cares.