The post in which I keep it real on your asses

Yesterday evening at 5:30 I had a miscarriage in the handicap stall of my work bathroom.

I had gone to pee before my department's Christmas party and was instead confronted by enormous amounts of blood. It was a very surreal experience. I kept thinking, "I can't believe I'm having a miscarriage in one of the stalls in my work bathroom." I kind of sat there for a while, thinking about what I should do. I finally stuffed some toilet paper in my pants and went back to my cube to get my cell phone and a dime. I came back to a thankfully empty bathroom and stuffed the dime into the Feminine Products Dispenser, which turned out to be broken. Great.

So I locked myself back into my stall and sat some more, alternately staring at the wall and sneaking peaks at what my body was rejecting. I looked down and saw what I assumed to be the sac, floating in the toilet, a little round thing about the size of a fingernail.

I called a friend, I called BK. Yes, it's me. Yes, I'm having a miscarriage. Yes, I'm sure.

I stuffed more toilet paper in my pants and drove over to the drug store. I bought some pads and then asked where the bathroom was. The girl looked at me knowingly. But she didn't know.

I called my doctor's office and left a message. The doctor on call called me back. He said I should still come in for the appointment I had scheduled for Thursday, the 8-week appointment where I was going to hear the heartbeat for the first time. He said that it sounded like I had a blighted ovum (when a fertilized egg implants in your uterus but the resulting embryo either stops developing very early or doesn't form at all).

I've been wavering all day about whether or not to post about this. It feels disingenuous not to. This is real, it happens to so many women. No one talks about it, but the stats are telling -- about 20% of pregnancies end in miscarriage.

BK and I are bummed. We were both really excited about the July 22 due date. Lots of people are going to be coming through town over the holidays and I was really looking forward to being able to tell them in person. I'd already bought a bunch of baby gear on craigslist (once a kid who likes to play bank, always a kid who likes to play bank). We were so looking forward to watching the Stanimal unwrap the "#1 Grandpa" t-shirt we got him for Christmas, watching him be all "wtf?" until the realization slowly dawned on him and he crapped himself with glee.

How do I feel? I am sad. I am frustrated. However, I am not despondent. I got pregnant our first month trying, so chances are pretty good for cooking up a baby soon. I'm also very thankful that I'm not going to be lying on the examination table tomorrow, completely losing my shit because the technician can't locate the heartbeat.

So long, Embie. See you again soon.