Writer Angela Garbes’ story on miscarriage untangles the pains, confusions, and gains of pregnancy loss. It’s one of our staffers’ favorites of 2016 and is republished here.
Two and a half years ago, six weeks into a wanted pregnancy, I woke up bleeding.
Thick globs of tissue, clots, and tangles of matter dropped out of me, staining my inner thighs and clothing, and sliding down the sides of the toilet. I called a consulting nurse, who calmly walked me through a few questions. Bleeding is normal, she assured me, as I sat silently on the other end of the line, upset, seething, and not believing a single word that came out of her mouth. I hated her. I hated my body for what felt like a betrayal.
It was November, and my husband and I had planned to tell our families about the pregnancy at Christmas.
