"Miscarriage" by Emilie R. B. Pratt 30 August 2019
I’m falling into the hole of depression.
I’m curled in a ball.
It’s getting darker and darker the farther I fall.
I see the light at the top of the hole. But it’s getting smaller.
I see help, but I can’t cry out.
My voice is silenced by the dark.
I silently cry.
I wish I could be seen.
If only the help would look my direction.
Maybe they would see.
Maybe they would hold me and tell me they love me.
I had a miscarriage in August 2019. I wasn't happy to get pregnant, but I wasn't going to get rid of my baby. I wanted the baby. After I got over the anger I had from finding out I was pregnant, I was looking forward to having another baby. I wanted my baby. I was excited to hear the heartbeat at the first OB appointment. Instead, Dr. Silas took my hand in his and told me he was almost certain I had lost the baby. I should have been 10 weeks along. The baby stopped developing at 6 weeks. There was no heartbeat to hear. Everything looked normal for a 6 week embryo. I'll never forget that diamond ring image of my baby. I miss my baby. I had the D&C surgery in case I bled too much. I did bleed a bit too much after the surgery, so I'm glad I was in the hospital. I was looking forward to pulling out all the little baby things again. I made sure I hadn't packed them far away when we moved. I hold my other baby tightly. Sometimes I cry when I imagine the snuggles I won't get to share with my miscarried baby. I loved my baby. I still do.
I wrote this poem while a loved one was near, but I didn't have the strength to cry out for help. I was simply crying. Thankfully, my loved one did eventually come give me the hug I needed. I could feel myself falling into the hole. I don't understand why I didn't get to have this baby right now. I just have to keep going forward, doing the best I can, loving the family I have here.
No one talks about miscarriages until it happens. I understand they're private and extremely personal, but maybe women wouldn't feel so alone if more women shared their sadness. At least I had women reach out to me about their miscarriages. It helped knowing I had someone to lean on who truly understood what it was like to lose your baby. I don't wish the experience on anyone, but I don't want to hide mine. I don't want my baby to be forgotten.
I’m falling into the hole of depression.
I’m curled in a ball.
It’s getting darker and darker the farther I fall.
I see the light at the top of the hole. But it’s getting smaller.
I see help, but I can’t cry out.
My voice is silenced by the dark.
I silently cry.
I wish I could be seen.
If only the help would look my direction.
Maybe they would see.
Maybe they would hold me and tell me they love me.
I had a miscarriage in August 2019. I wasn't happy to get pregnant, but I wasn't going to get rid of my baby. I wanted the baby. After I got over the anger I had from finding out I was pregnant, I was looking forward to having another baby. I wanted my baby. I was excited to hear the heartbeat at the first OB appointment. Instead, Dr. Silas took my hand in his and told me he was almost certain I had lost the baby. I should have been 10 weeks along. The baby stopped developing at 6 weeks. There was no heartbeat to hear. Everything looked normal for a 6 week embryo. I'll never forget that diamond ring image of my baby. I miss my baby. I had the D&C surgery in case I bled too much. I did bleed a bit too much after the surgery, so I'm glad I was in the hospital. I was looking forward to pulling out all the little baby things again. I made sure I hadn't packed them far away when we moved. I hold my other baby tightly. Sometimes I cry when I imagine the snuggles I won't get to share with my miscarried baby. I loved my baby. I still do.
I wrote this poem while a loved one was near, but I didn't have the strength to cry out for help. I was simply crying. Thankfully, my loved one did eventually come give me the hug I needed. I could feel myself falling into the hole. I don't understand why I didn't get to have this baby right now. I just have to keep going forward, doing the best I can, loving the family I have here.
No one talks about miscarriages until it happens. I understand they're private and extremely personal, but maybe women wouldn't feel so alone if more women shared their sadness. At least I had women reach out to me about their miscarriages. It helped knowing I had someone to lean on who truly understood what it was like to lose your baby. I don't wish the experience on anyone, but I don't want to hide mine. I don't want my baby to be forgotten.
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