It’s all been a bit much to process. The doctor I saw in the emergency room when I was admitted with severe lower abdominal pain first gave me the vague diagnosis of “gastrointestinal virus.” I was on my way out the door when she came running after me.
By the time I found out I was pregnant, I had already lost my baby.
I think one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do was drive to my ex’s house two days after the miscarriage (and exactly one week since we had broken up) to tell him what had happened. I haven’t heard from him since. He suffers from depression, and I can’t help but wonder if I did the right thing by telling him.
My 23rd birthday- November 29th- will be two months since I miscarried. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about the baby I’ll never meet. I was only six weeks pregnant, so it was clearly to early to tell, but my gut tells me it would have been a little boy.
I think I would have named him Jude.