Then one day I wasn't pregnant anymore.
(Did you see that coming? I didn't.)
I knew what was happening right away. But denial was easier first thing that morning. Later in the day, when I had a few minutes to myself, I lay on the bed and tried to let the truth sink in. I felt numb, my mind dark and foggy. Then, like a bright light piercing the fog, a thought came into my head, almost as if a voice were speaking, "The chromosomes did not split properly."
Now, I admit, mitosis isn't something that's frequently on my mind--I hadn't thought about chromosomes since Bio 100 freshman year. So was this God talking again? Maybe. I guess I never thought about God's giving mini-lectures on embryogenesis gone wrong. So I don't know. But what I do know is that I felt simultaneously sad and comforted. I knew I was having a miscarriage--there was no denying it--and that made me really sad. But I also felt amazed, even comforted, by my body's ability to recognize so early on that life was not going to be possible this time.
I was only five weeks pregnant. So I was spared a medical event. And spared from weeks and weeks more of believing that I was going to have a baby on a certain day next summer (because, of course, I had already calculated the due date) when I was wasn't. And, I did not feel that a baby of mine had been lost, only the potential for one. For those things I was grateful. Very grateful. But I was still sad. Sad that the positive pregnancy test I'd pulled out of the trash--and the happiness I felt when I saw it--didn't mean anything anymore.
