Elizabeth (greyautumnrain) wrote,

A Date Without a Name

Friday the 24th of February 2012 is a perfectly ordinary day. It was overcast with a few snow flurries on the drive in to work. Nothing terribly exciting is going on. The date is only remarkable in my mind. This is the due date for the pregnancy I miscarried back in July.

As far as I know there is no official term for the due date of a pregnancy lost months ago. My first introduction to the concept came nearly 20 years ago when a friend several years older than me went into premature labor at 19 weeks gestation and lost the twins she’d been carrying. I remember her husband remarking as her due date for the twins approached that he was glad that she’d managed to conceive again before that date because it made it a little easier. It’s true, the moment is somewhat less bleak than it would have been otherwise because I am currently pregnant and at least have a hope of a new baby later this year. On the other hand, I am well aware that the fetus I am carrying now is not a do-over of the one I lost in July, any more than my friend’s subsequent singleton boy was a replacement of the girl/boy twins she lost. Being pregnant now is a source of hope, but it doesn’t change the fact that the other fetus is gone.

Warren keeps reminding me that the lost fetus was almost certainly genetically flawed. Everyone agrees on this. I suppose some other woman who was less knowledgeable about science might be beating herself up wondering what she did wrong. I’m pretty clear on the fact that I most likely miscarried that baby because it could not have possibly survived to term; it probably had a genetic defect that was incompatible with life. I still think the most likely suspect is trisomy 16, but we’ll never know for sure. It doesn’t change the fact that I’m missing the baby I’d hoped I was having. It’s hard not to look forward to what you hope will happen, especially when you keep getting reminded of the possibilities by daily incidences of morning sickness.

So here I am, not holding a tiny newborn in my arms. I miss you baby, and I’m so sorry it didn’t work out the way I’d hoped it would. Maybe there will be a completely different tiny newborn later this year. I’m trying really hard not to count on it until after the amnio I have scheduled for mid-March, but it’s hard to be entirely successful at that when you’re wearing maternity tights and occasionally feeling a little flutter in the neighborhood when your bladder is full. I really don’t want to have another one of these nameless occasions, a due date of a baby already long gone.

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