G3 P2 A1

About eight weeks ago I took a home pregnancy test and it was positive.  Yesterday, at 12 weeks and 1 day, I had an ultrasound and was told that the fetus had died.  I watched the screen with the same sense of foreboding I had when we were having the ultrasound that first revealed there was something wrong with George.  Back then I watched that screen, seeing fluid in his belly, knowing that something was very wrong.  This time I knew within seconds of seeing the baby that there was no heartbeat.  Like previously, I waited for the doctor to say it first before I actually believed what I already knew to be happening.  It is amazing how the human spirit will hold on to the smallest sliver of hope against all possibility.

This pregnancy wasn't planned.  I mean, it was and it wasn't, if that makes any sense at all.  Things here have been really tough.  I sometimes think that this city is out to get us and that we would have been better off taking our chances with The Earthquakes and The Terrible Housing Market and The Terrible School System back in L.A.  We just can't seem to catch a break here.  There will be days when there seems to be a little light at the end of the tunnel but inevitably it turns out to be just a mirage.

When George died I felt like the world had singled me out when every one else was easily doing that which I seemed to not be able to do; have a healthy baby.  There was self-pity oozing out of my pores for months before I realized that I was not in fact special and did not in fact deserve a good outcome from a pregnancy anymore than the next person.  Realizing that didn't make me any less sad but it made it easier to live with myself.  I think coming to an understanding about that years ago is going to make this loss less traumatic for me.  At least I am hoping it will.

Now I get to decide which way the rest of this miscarriage plays out.  Having a choice in how I end the physical part of this experience gives me a sense of control that otherwise I would not have, so that is good...I guess.  Wait it out, take a pill, or have a procedure.  I'm scared of all three, frankly.  I wish there was a fourth option that did not involve pain, bleeding and crying.

In two weeks it will be three years since George died.

Fucking March.