When I started this inconsistent blog, I wanted it to be about honest challenges from my teaching life with a sort of funny twist. This post will be honest, but not really about my teaching life and not really funny.

It’s been a rough few months for me. My dad, who also happened to be my best friend, died suddenly in December. I’m still reeling in grief from losing him. About a month and a half after my dad died, I found out I was pregnant. I was filled with hope in bringing about new life. I felt like my dad would somehow come back in the form of this baby. I’m not quite sure what I mean by that. I’m still trying to figure out what I believe in.

Since December, time has been moving at an unbelievably slow pace. Time basically stood still for a while after my dad died. And the month that I knew of my pregnancy felt pretty much the same. I felt pregnant. I felt hopeful. But I felt like time was against me. I felt like I needed to fast forward through the scary first few weeks. I figured that if I could make it through those, and the fetus had a heartbeat, I would be in the clear.

When I made it to nine and a half weeks and my first ultrasound appointment I felt excited. I was going to see the baby that was giving me so much to look forward to in the coming months. And it was going to be the size of a green olive and it was going to be squirming around. The app on my phone was keeping me in the know of what was going on inside of me. Or so I thought.

After talking to the nurse practitioner in the doctor’s office for an hour, we finally got around to the ultrasound portion of the appointment. But within seconds of looking at the monitor she told us she was concerned because she didn’t see a heartbeat. I looked to my ever optimistic husband sitting next to me, who tried to reassure me, “don’t worry, she’ll find it.” Another ultrasound and another doctor later, no heartbeat to be found. The baby measured at eight weeks instead of the expected nine and a half. It had had a heartbeat. Just not anymore.

To say we were in shock is an understatement. My husband fainted. I sat next to him on the floor in disbelief. I didn’t have cramps. I didn’t bleed. I still felt pregnant. How was I having a miscarriage? I guess what I had was technically a missed miscarriage. The baby didn’t make it, but my body wasn’t ready to let go. Maybe my body knew how much this baby meant to me so it was going to hold on to it as long as it could. I don’t know how long my body would have gone on acting like it was pregnant. But I was scheduled for a D&C the next day.

It felt weird to know I had a dead baby inside of me, but it doesn’t feel better now that it’s gone. And what sucks about having a miscarriage, is that nobody can tell you it’s going to be okay. And even if they do tell you that, you can’t really believe them. Because nobody really knows. I sometimes try to read statistics online to make myself feel better. The one that gives me the most hope right now is from the Mayo Clinic. It says something about how most often miscarriage is usually a one time occurrence and less than 5% of women have two consecutive miscarriages. But then I remember that statistically the rate of miscarriage goes down significantly after a heartbeat is detected. And I somehow fell on the wrong side of that statistic. So there goes that.

I feel like a lot of people talk about miscarriages they had in the past after they have a few healthy children. But people don’t talk about it when they are going through it in the moment. Nobody knew I was pregnant, but minutes after I had the miscarriage I told basically everyone I know. It’s almost like I hope that me going through this and sharing it with them means that they won’t have to go through it themselves. Like I’m taking one for the team here. But I don’t think that’s how it works.

I went back to teach the day after my D&C. I teach second grade so telling my kids the truth about what happened didn’t really feel like an option. I don’t know that their age really makes a difference though — that would be a weird thing to tell your class full of students. Anyways, it was a rough couple of days back at work. I cried a lot and kids kept asking me what was wrong with my face. And why were my eyes so puffy? But they weren’t all punks. Some of them would spontaneously get out of their seats to give me hugs. Others wrote me love notes wishing me to feel better soon.

I hope I do feel better soon. But honestly, I just feel so sad. And also old. Even though time is still moving painfully slowly, I feel like I’m aging by the second. I need to heal physically and emotionally. I wish I could fast forward to a time where I can be pregnant again. With a baby that I can carry full term that comes out happy and healthy. Until then, I guess I’ll just be doing the best that I can.

If anyone out there has some hope to send my way, I will take it in with open arms. I’ll also accept a time machine.