*SAD STORY ALERT*..... The "Incident"

Almost a year ago I found out I was pregnant. We had been married less than one year. We had moved, me twice. Having a baby seemed like the next good thing to keep the momentum going. I experienced everything that I assume most women experience in some variation or another.
I was tired. Really tired. I slept all the time. My house got messy. I gained weight, like about ten pounds almost immediately. I was craving onion rings. All the time. I felt sick and couldn't eat the onion rings I just ordered. My boobs... well, let's just say someone needed to get thee to a department store and make that stat. My mom came and helped me and so did my husband. Bra shopping at 34 with your mother and your husband? I don't know. I still don't get why I did that. I left with a bag of over two hundred dollars worth of underwear and crocodile tears streaming down my face. The sizes were bigger than I was used to.
I bought some books and borrowed others. We began plotting and planning the next year. We made peace with the fact we were not going to be able to afford the fold-out couch I wanted for overnight guests ( namely my parents ) or the SUV my husband feels I need so if and when I get in an accident, the insides or our armored beast would be safe.
My due date was the last day of school for me, June 7th, so child care was a worriless year away.
We planned on telling everyone at the twelve week mark. Well, I meanwe hadn't told, which included my family. And some work friends. And Billy's family and some of his friends. Heck, we were excited, we basically even told the check out girl at Dominicks. But, we were going to "make it public" on Thanksgiving. We started planning some special dates with special friends we really did want to tell in person.
Those dates never happened. Well, they happened on the calendar and all, but I never met up with those people to tell them my news. Because by the time the dates were there, the news was different. And I was most likely laying in bed. Under a blanket.
Around the beginning of November something changed in me. I didn't feel pregnant anymore. I felt fine. I recall now researching miscarriage on the internet. Not once, but like... all the time. I hid the pregnancy books from view. Like under the table in a fashion reminiscent of my five year old self hiding dirty clothes underneath the bed.
My ten week ultrasound was scheduled the night after my husband started his new job. The night I had parent-teacher conferences. He rushed to the Dr.'s office after work. I told my principal that I had an appoinment during the dinner hour break, and if I was back later than the normally rigid 6 PM that would be the reason why.
We met there and after a short wait went on in. The lady gave me an "exam" right in front of my husband. I couldn't believe that! I thought the "overexposure" crap would come much, much later. Anyway- she did an ultrasound and could not get a hearbeat. ( It was the kind with no picture- just noise). She said we should go to the ER and she immediately ordered up a real ultrsound, just to be safe. "Yeah right", I told my husband. "I am carrying a dead baby and I know it. " Just like that, because that's harsh and cold and my sick sense of humor in a very bad situation. Needless to say, he didn't laugh at my joke.
They made me drink a lot of water beforehand and told me I couldn't pee. I had to hold it. It hurt. We played pencil games in my puzzle book to stay busy. The nurse called us in and then stuck an object I didn't believe would fit right into me. I have since learned this is called the internal ultrasound. It made me want to punch her. Humiliating me like that when I was feeling so devastated. straight away she noticed on the ultrasound that my bladder was ridiculously full. I said it hurt! She let me go and pee out a little.
Then I watched her take a bazillion pictures of this tiny lifeless dot on the screen and I knew. I was strong but didn't hear myself make any more jokes. She didn't seem to be in a good mood either.
Then we sat and waited for the x-ray guy to call our doctor to then call us, sitting and waiting like two anxious puppies. My phone rang and it was a co-worker. I had forgotten about work. I told them things weren't looking too good and could someone please let the boss lady know I wasn't going to be back in tonight? Like at all?
We then got the call we were waiting for. She said that the baby died at six weeks. I crumpled in sadness. The saddest moment of my whole life.
We drove home in stunned silence. We ate McDonald's for dinner. I do believe, aside from car trips, that is the ONLY McDonald's my husband and I have ever eaten together. We don't eat like that much around here. I took the morning off from work and idiotically actually thought, despite the inability to stop crying and my resistance to taking a shower, that I could make it in by noon. I called around ten saying I would be out all day. And all week for that matter.
The Dr. told me I needed to make a decision. To either let "it" pass naturally ( wait around for the thing to fall out-? ) wait and see if "it" absorbs back into my body ( ummm... gross ) or to have "it" surgically removed. I opted for door number three and asked when was the absolute soonest I could schedule what will henceforth be referred to as the "procedure"... ( mostly because it's actually a D&C and that sounds like abortion to me, and that didn't seem fair! ).
So the next day it was. My Mom came with my sister-in-law in tow. My husband also came after some serious discussion. I mean, it was like day FOUR of his new job! I thought he should just go to work. His boss disagreed. Later, I would admit it was better he was by my side.*
Before the "procedure", they brought me a funeral packet. They asked me if I wanted to make a funeral for the little guy. I kept thinking that it would be weird. "It" just needed to go away to the place where they put that kind of stuff. Wherever and whatever that grody place is.
I remember very little about it because I was put under. They put me in these huge nasty white depends underwear which as a precaution it should be mandatory you are told about before hand. They are too scary to just wake up in. I thought maybe they removed my whole ass or something.
We came home. I slept. And slept. And cried. Basically my daily journal for the next month would have looked like this:
Work. Home. Cry. Eat. A lot. Sleep.
I went to the library to try and find some "recovery" books on miscarriage, becuase I am that kind of girl that believes in mental health and positive thinking and well... I picked out the cutest books. Because as a rule of thumb I like books that have pink or purple colors. I tried to read them but they were devastatingly mundane and boring. I FELT the sorrow of the written word creeping off the page. I think they were actually making me sadder. But yet happier, because I thought I finally found a subject for the book I have always wanted to write. A funny miscarriage book. Or at least a book that when you opened the front page you didn't think you were hearing pipe organs. But then and again I realize that my dark dark humor( which I am even resisting here ) would not be appreciated en masse.
It was right around this time that my husband's hours at his new job cranked up. He was working sometimes 70 hours a week. And they were random and sporadic. He was never home. It was not his fault. But I became lonely. Very lonely. I was depressed. And who wouldn't be? I barely remember anything about last school year at all. It's a blur.
And there is so much more to tell. But that is the basic story of the "incident"...