I found out I was pregnant on Saturday. I lost my baby on Thursday.
I was pregnant for five days.
In five days I went from shock to cautious excitement.
In five days I went from fear to tentative visions of November and beginnings – the life of the baby I would birth and the role of Mother for me.
I tried so hard not to, but images of summer maternity clothes, baby showers and “my first Christmas” outfits intruded.
For five days I began every thought with “touch wood” and “if everything works out ok”.
For five days I was going to be a Mother. Mum. Ma. Mumma. Mummy.
Five days. It’s nothing when you think about it. But those five days were the longest days of my life. I will never forget those five days. My life changed.
One Saturday was the best day of my life
One Thursday was the worst.
I said goodbye to my baby by flushing the toilet. A small mass of cells, not much substance. But that bloody mess was a combination of me and the man I have loved for 20 years. Something so beautiful and long lasting created something that was flushed away in seconds.
How am I supposed to try again. The tentative steps of me, emerging from what happened, shellshocked, bruised. In pain. So much pain. So much fear.
It hurts.
So much.