Be careful what you wish for

I complained last week that my life was no longer eventful enough to be blog-worthy.

This week I had a miscarriage.

I’m actually pretty sanguine about it though (heh, sorry). I didn’t know I was pregnant, and as I’ve posted here before, there isn’t a whole heap of difference between a ball of cells a few days before fertilization and one a few days after (or four weeks, in this case).

I’d suspected I was pregnant but the test came up negative so I guess the embryo was never viable. Then when I was two weeks late I haemorrhaged all these big clots, and that was it. No physical pain, and not really any sadness. The only sucky bit was having to go for an ultrasound to make sure there was no ectopic pregnancy or bits left behind.

Up to that point I’d felt like my body was doing its thing and following the best course of action at that time. But being poked and prodded by a technician made it seem more serious, made me feel broken rather than functioning normally.

I’m supposed to take it easy for a while, which is just what doctors say about anything involving female reproductive health, and I’m not supposed to try to conceive again for three months, which is roughly how often I manage to get laid anyway. So all in all not much to report.

Oh, except the GP got her words muddled and kept calling it a missed abortion instead of an early-stage abortion and it took all my energy to keep from saying “You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.” Doctors hate when you say that 😀

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