Why I’m Writing About My Miscarriage by christine kim
Back in college, my roommates and I placed bets on who’d become a mom first, and I voted for myself unapologetically. Those close to me know that I’d wanted to be a mom more than anything and I couldn’t wait until it was my turn one day.
your once-growing life. Your body mimics contractions, which are similar to those when you go into labor, but it is to deliver a lifeless life.
When I became pregnant earlier this year, my husband and my conversations were filled with topics like how we’d furnish the second bedroom, baby name ideas, and our imaginations of what was to come. It was pure bliss — like the opening scene of Up.
For me, this began while I was in Palm Springs for a bachelorette party. By nightfall, the pain was so unbearable that I had to excuse myself. I just had to be home. Pushing 90 mph, barely seeing through the tears, and squeezing my stomach the whole 3-hour drive home, I finally fell into my parents’ couch — bleeding and bleeding and bleeding — and eventually cried myself to sleep.
Several weeks and one doctor appointment later, the bliss quickly turned into a nightmarish roller coaster. I began to show early signs of an impending miscarriage and soon, my body confirmed those signs and began to reject the baby’s growth.
The days surrounding the miscarriage were numbing. I tried my best to “show up,” whether it was at work or church or social events. Even in front of my husband, I tried to hold it together and I know he hid his own pain for my sake too.
Miscarriage is not only emotionally painful but also physically horrible, as your body prepares to dispel
But during the commutes and the drives alone, I let myself break down. By then, I had learned that it’s not
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