I am not crying. I am not. I am not.

Item: A working day leaves me so tired my legs ache. It suddenly occurred to me that I (go me!) had bled for, well, actually, a month exactly now, and I might possibly be a little anaemic, yes-no-maybe? Luckily it has slowed right down to spotting for the past two or three days. But I have some iron pills left. I might take them.

Item: Half my colleagues think I’ve been off work for three weeks because I was on study leave and/ or holiday, and bounce up to ask me if I’ve had a good time. I say, calmly, ‘actually, I was ill,’ and they say ‘oh dear,’ and we gossip about things that have happened at work since I was last in.

Item: One of the above colleagues got in an ‘oohh, and you’ve lost weight!’ before I could say I had been ill. I said I just HAD to go the ladies’ and ran away and locked myself in the disabled cubicle and sat with my head in my hands. I just sat there. For minutes on end. It’s true. My breasts have deflated back to their normal 36DD (I was seriously heading for E by five weeks) and I have lost all the midriff puffiness (all hormonal retained water, of course). It makes me feel tearful thinking about it even now, but I did not cry then. I simply waited. And eventually I went back to my desk.

Item: I wouldn’t even mind if everyone at work knew what had happened, as long as I didn’t have to tell them.

Item: People who I am absolutely sure know about the miscarriage and yet have not phoned me or written to me or emailed me or texted me:

  1. The aunt who sent me a happy congratulatory card, and who I wrote back to saying it had all gone tits up;
  2. My father (he signed a card his wife sent);
  3. The other aunt, who I know my mother has been talking to, and who told my mother, and so my mother told me, about the three miscarriages she had in between her two healthy beautiful grown-up kids.

People who probably know about all the above and haven’t written, phoned, emailed or texted:

  1. My sisters.
  2. The rest of my aunts and uncles on my mother’s side.

The parts of the above that made me lose my temper and rant on and on about my bloody stupid bloody fucked-up bloody family last night:

  1. My father.
  2. Happy congratters Aunt, who used to be my favourite, most loving aunt when I was growing up.
  3. My sisters, and this because either Mum has told them everything, and they stink, especially Trouble as Diva gets extra time for having Aspergers; or, my mother told them nothing, whereapon she stinks, as I asked her to tell them; or she told them the good bit and forgot the bad bit, which is fucked up, and also, where are my congratulations, then? I do not know which of these possibilities is the actual. None of them make me happy. I daren’t ask my mother, because she is doomed to have her ear screamed right off whatever she says.

Item: There will be a Giant Family Get-Together at the beginning of July.

Item: I need to rewrite the ‘about’ page on this blog, don’t I?


18 responses to “I am not crying. I am not. I am not.

  • bigpandme

    Either get nice and drunk before the family get together or just don’t go. I vote for the latter.

    People suck. All of us. I’m sorry.

  • Hairy Farmer Family

    PANTS! I had a sneaky feeling that the sisters might under-perform. The pictures you’ve drawn of them have been That Good. The Aunt is a shocker though – perhaps still trying to unjam the Oh-God-I-sent-a-CARD foot from the Hell-I’m-so-embarrassed-now mouth? It’s totally lovely that she fired a card off to begin with, but if it were me that had sent it I’d now be sat in a small dark space rocking painfully with faux pas disease and wondering if I could break into your house to quietly remove said cheery item before you saw it again and it made you cry. Again. Actually, I’d probably just have sent you huge ‘OMG I’m so sorry about the miscarriage’ flowers then left the country to lie low until I figured out quite what to say. Perhaps that’s why she’s quiet. She’s gone, but forgotten to order Interflora.

    Giant Family Get Together sounds rather scary. Can’t you remember a subsequent engagement?

    Sigh. I’m sorry May. Trying to be jolly here, but I know how crap crap crap this is. You’re doing so well to be out and visible already. I hope your friends are being more supportive than your kin and kith.

  • Rachel

    Argh, that sucks that they haven’t contacted you. I completely understand their feeling awkward about calling, but an e-mail or flowers ought to be within reach. I really hope they reach out soon. In the meantime, I also suggest a previous engagement/planning a fabulous weekend getaway for July. There is no reason to torture yourself at this point.

  • geohde


    I had almost everyone who knew about my first baby’s lethal birth defect studiously completely avoid ever mentioning it in my company. Not even an awkward ‘I’m sorry’. NOTHING.

    I also had several difficult conversations with friends this time around who had heard gossip freely enough about the good news, but failed to mention that the FIRST pg ended badly. It sucks to explain, that no, I am not pregnant with a six month old at home….

    I was so mad at the time, but I think people just don’t know what to say around pg lpss, so settle for saying nothing at all….

    As for the upcoming family get together….oh my.



  • Aphra Behn

    How mordant is your sense of humour at the moment May? Probably not, but then I am not the world’s most tactful or satisfactory friend, so I am going ahead with this anecdote anyway.

    While emptying the house before my father died we found a packet of letters addressed to my grandparents and labled in my mother’s writing: “Congratulations on our engagement and commiserations on Peter’s death”. Peter was her brother, killed aged about 26 in combat. She’d added: “Must have been difficult to write”.


    The silence of your relatives sucks. It sucketty sucks. On the other hand if they were all over you weeping and wailing and gnashing their teeth that would suck too. The thing is, everything sucks. You have non-specific suck syndrome if you like. Only it is specific, of course.

    You’ve also got the love and sympathy of friends, and very probably your family too.

    (PS – it those flashes of shrewd sarcasm that I miss most about my Ma).

  • Robyn

    I have to confess here, and please don’t hate me for it, but back in my thoughtless, pre-pregnancy days I was guilty of deafening silence in just these very circumstances. I am grateful that this particular friend has had the grace to forgive me and is still in my life. It is very hard to remember what I must have been thinking (clearly nothing!) but I suspect it was my own discomfort and uncertainty about how to act, what to say, that lay at the bottom of it. We all need to be better educated so we know how how to step up and express our sadness and support, including what NOT to say.

    Hugs from me.

  • deanna

    Kudos and hugs to you for coping on your first days back at work. I don’t know how you managed to hold it together with all the mis-informed comments (or lack of comments). I can only imagine it took stellar strength and focused determination to make it through the day. You’re a brave girl, sweetie.

    As for the July hullaballoo—SKIP IT! Skip it, and sit home slurping margaritas. Seriously, this is a mental health precaution here.

  • Rita

    families = in-laws and out-laws.
    I vote for the get nice and drunk bit before you go.

  • joyco

    geez, I’m sorry. My family didn’t know how to handle my miscarriages either, my mom said this: “having a d&c will clear out your insides and make it so a baby will want to be there.” Uhh, thanks mom? I agree w/ pp about getting tossed before the family get-together.

    Hugs for the bad news. I’m really sorry. 😦

    take care.

    (here from NCLM)

  • Eliza

    I don’t understand not acknowledging something like this happening to a close family member at ALL, and for the record (since I say so on my blog anyway) I have Asperger’s. In fact, I would have been beating down your door with Thermacare pads (great for cramps), a vat a chicken soup, a bottle of your favorite adult beverage, and probably nagging you by now to get your H and H checked re: the possible anemia if you were my FRIEND, nevermind a family member. I’m so sorry for your loss–just came in through NCLM. Also, I’m sorry you have bad stuff going on during NCLM–so do I and I feel like people are going to come to my block and either be like “ewww depressing” or “oooo trainwreck!”

  • Eliza

    Er, that would be blog, not block. Would you believe before I got sick I was an English professor? Sigh.

  • Sol

    Hell really is other people at times. Much love and sympathy.

  • megan

    i will NEVER understand why it is so effing taboo to be human about tragedies like this. i’m just so sorry you have to experience any of this. avoid the family get together if you’re not up to it. if you are, or just decide to go, don’t silence your sadness for the sake of keeping others comfortable.
    thinking of you miss may, and hoping that your pain lessens with each day. many hugs coming your way. xoxo

  • MsPrufrock

    Being late to the party as usual means that everyone has already said what I was going to say, and likely better.

    I think it is just that people don’t know what to do or say, which is in no way right, but it is usually true. Rather than feel awkward, most would elect to say nothing. It is horrible, especially as they are family and it’s obviously causing you a lot of pain.

    Oh May, you just make me want to hug you all the time, and I’m not a hugger. Stop being so damn lovable.

  • Kim

    So sorry. If it makes you feel any better my family sucks too! I never got any calls or any notes or e-mails or anything! I don’t understand how they can be so insensitive! nclm

  • lupuspie

    I am so sorry. Some people can be so self-involved and insensitive. Sending lots of hugs your way.

  • Mel

    It’s hard… for you, for them…

    When it happened to us, no one ever knew whatto say, so they ignored it- and if something was said, sometimes it made me so angry…

    still does.

    Even now, with nothing happening- no one knows whatto say, and when they try- I still end up in tears.

    Take care– via NaComLeavMo

  • Xbox4NappyRash

    It REALLY comes from a place of them not knowing what to say or how to act, I think.

    That doesn’t help you of course, I know.

    Take care of yourself.

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