Recently I've seen an online movement to change that, and I agree with their goals, so here are my stories. I'm starting with the abortion because a miscarriage is simply a spontaneous abortion, so it doesn't make sense to leave it out just because it was paid for instead of just having it happen to me naturally.
It was the summer of 1988. Things had fallen apart on me. Our family home had burned to the ground earlier that year, and on my way back to college I wrecked my truck during a blizzard. That did a number on my left ankle, my sternum and my neck. Not to mention my poor truck which we had to use money we didn't have to fix. My attendance to class that spring was spotty which contributed to my downward spiral grade wise (it really is impossible to walk to college up a steep hill using crutches in a town that believes in spring as a way to deal with snow and ice in the winter). When the semester was over, I was unceremoniously kicked out of the rental I had in Spearfish for something I didn't do. My sister came to my rescue, allowing me to live in her frat house in Rapid City for the summer rent free while I commuted to and from my DJ job in Deadwood.
And it was a long hot and humid summer at that. I met Michael when he and a friend of his sat down on my porch to relive past parties held at the frat house. He was cute. One thing led to another and we started a relationship. Probably one of the most attentive men in the sack I've ever been with. Unfortunately, the last time we got together, he went through the motions of putting a rubber on, but he didn't actually do it. I found the unused condom on the floor next to the bed later on. I don't know if it was his intent to get me pregnant or not, but he stopped seeing me right after that. No explanation. Just showed up at a party a week or so later and he was with someone else. I really liked him so it was quite upsetting at the time.
It wasn't until a month later after I was back at college that I suspected I might be pregnant. I had a dream which ended with a very sharp pain in my abdomen. I just knew. Immediately I realized that I couldn't have the child. I couldn't go back to where I came from. I just could not. College was my only ticket off the reservation and I wasn't going back. I called my mother and let her know. She was disappointed of course. But her first reaction was, "You will be getting an abortion, right?" Which immediately made me want to tell her I was keeping it. Mom was a teeny bit, ok, a whole lot, controlling, so I'd developed a knee jerk reaction of wanting to do the opposite of whatever she told me to do. I'm luckily bright enough not to be controlled by such emotions, but I definitely considered it. Basically it hinged on Michael's reaction to the news. I fantasized that he would want to get back with me in order to raise our kid, but, alas, that wasn't how it turned out at all. I called him to let him know, then I quickly told him not to worry, that I'd be having an abortion. To which he responded, "Break a leg." Now, some 25 plus years later, I realized he said that because he thought I was acting. At the time I thought he was really wishing me good luck. Ah, yes, I was quite the naive girl for way too long.
At that point there was no question I would be getting an abortion. In South Dakota at that time, the state legislature had made it illegal for anyone in the medical profession to even say the word, "abortion", so I got a list of clinics passed to me slight of hand from a nurse at the women's clinic in Spearfish. There were four locations and numbers - Denver CO, Helena MT, Sioux Falls SD, and I forget where the other one was... probably also in Montana. It's been a while. All were about an eight hour drive away one way. The cost ranged from $285 to $350. I was going to go with the cheapest in Montana, which was also the closest, but my mother decided, since she had to pay for it, we'd be going to Sioux Falls (South Dakota only had one abortion clinic in the entire state at the time and it closed a few years later when the doctor retired). We had family there. Not that I wanted to visit them, needless to say, but being a poor college student, I didn't have a lot of options. Such a procedure, although out patient, does require you don't drive after. So I had to have a chauffeur. I also needed a place to stay that night along with the money to cover the procedure. Family was my only option.
I was eight weeks along, there bouts. The procedure was painful and stressful, but the clinic and all who worked there were nothing but considerate and kind. One nurse's only job was to hold my hand. I really appreciated that. They gave me several months worth of free birth control pills. I had not been able to afford them, that was why I was relying on condoms. I hadn't been seeing anyone for quite a while, either, until Michael. Loyal to a fault. I also found out I was RH negative which shocked my mother (Natives, she thought, weren't negative). They gave me a shot for it and I figured that fixed me for any future pregnancies. Yeah, I was disabused of that later on.
BTW, a shout out to my youngest sister who was still a teenager at the time, who dressed up to the nines in order to lure any pro-life protesters' attention to her instead of me when we went to the clinic the day of my abortion. As luck would have it, there were no protesters that day. I was relieved, but my fiery sister was disappointed.
For the most part my religion helped me. We don't believe fetuses have souls until after they are born and breath air for three days (without medical help). And my religion holds that to name a child before their third day is bad juju. If named and then the baby dies, the name ties the soul to the earth condemning that soul to, well, a hell of sorts. You don't want to do that, obviously. Baby ghosts are the worst I'm told. Still, in my mind the fetus was a he and I named him Joshua. No idea why on the name. I don't think I have any relatives with that name. It also doesn't show up on my full page doodle of baby names I had when I was in High School. :P
Now spring forward to 2004. I met Brian on Christmas Eve 2001; though, we had been corresponding via email for several months prior. He had found and responded to my alt yahoo profile. I was quite active in Yahoo Chat Groups back then. I miss those days. Anyway, Brian emailed me out of the blue because he liked my picture and what my profile had to say. We found out later that we were also practically neighbors. We just had a high school between us. Still, it took almost three months of emailing back and forth before we agreed to meet informally on Christmas Eve. On February 12th we sat down and talked it out. We decided then we'd start dating, and date exclusively each other. We also decided we'd move in together probably in the Spring which was considered as good as marriage in both of our religions. He moved in May 1st, 2002 and that was that.
Spring of 2004 was when we had planned our legal marriage for the sake of taxes and the parents. When we had met, we had both been employed, but 9/11 had just happened a few months earlier. By the time of our wedding date, both of our industries had hid rock bottom (Events for me and Hotels for him) and we were both unemployed. Still, we decided to start a family anyway, and, because of my age, 35, we figured sooner rather than later would be smart. He wanted a bunch of kids, but I said two, only two, and none once I hit 40 (I wasn't able to follow thru on the latter).
The first miscarriage was before our wedding date. I thought I was pregnant, but then I had a weird, painful, heavy period before I could get a test. A few months later, right after our wedding, I had another. I didn't know they were miscarriages until the third one happened. That put the weird pain I had been having with the heavy periods into perspective. And that is how I recognized the fourth one as well. The first two and the fourth were all miscarriages within the first month or so of pregnancy most like. The third one was different because it lasted four months... and we had told everyone.
We'd only been legally married a few months and Brian had picked up a job, but hadn't been there long enough to qualify for insurance. So we took an over the counter test to confirm our suspicions. We only told a few select friends, even so. No family yet. But three months in I started to bleed... and that is where it all started to go wrong. We realized I had to go to an ER, so opted for a small hospital we knew didn't get much ER traffic (no one likes to wait). Big mistake. Unbeknownst to us it was a geriatric hospital that was in the process of being shut down. We found that out after the fact. Even though it wasn't very busy, everyone acted way overworked. They wouldn't take my word that I was pregnant, so they did a blood test. No problem... except the area they took the blood from wouldn't clot. Very unusual for me. When we pointed it out to the doctor, he just shrugged. Then congratulated me on being pregnant and sent me for an ultrasound. The ultrasound, my first ever, was a farce. The little woman who was doing it was so tired I practically gave it to myself. First wand ultrasound, too. My friend who took me and I joked later about how 'special' the experience had been for me. Yeesh!
After that the doctor game me a yellow piece of paper that said I had a 50/50 chance of miscarriage and sent me on my way. That was it. They basically only confirmed what I already knew, which was not why I was there, and it all cost us a lot of money, too. Still, we decided to remain positive and told our families. Things went along without change for another month before I finally miscarried. This one was different than the first two because I knew I was pregnant and I was much further along. Still, at the time I was miscarrying I thought I was just constipated. It was around 5am in the morning and I miscarried in the toilet like most women do. I'd given up straining and was about to get up when it just happened. I went, "Oh!", which brought Brian running. He was getting ready for work when it happened. I remember him yelling, "What is wrong!" at me, but I was having difficulty putting it into words. I finally told him to get me a towel... I think I had miscarried.
As I got myself up off the toilet without bleeding all over, I told Brian to get the slotted spoon from the kitchen drawer. I curled up on our bed with the towel between my legs while Brian fished what I had miscarried out of the toilet. It was about a thumb's size bit of red, purple and white tissue. Nothing recognizable. More than likely it had been dead for awhile and my body had partially reabsorbed it. We didn't know what to do with it. Brian eventually put it in a bag and put it in the dumpster on his way to work. We lived in an apartment complex, so there was no place to bury it. I tell people now we gave the fetus a Viking Funeral. In retrospect it is what we wish we had done. But Brian was rushed to get to work and I was just so tired.
I stayed in bed for most of that day. I eventually got up and cleaned up. I put the bloody towel in a bag with the intent to throw it away... but I didn't. I stuffed it into the top of my closet and kept it. It also moved with us the next year when we went to Phoenix.
I waited for Brian to get home before we started calling people to let them know the news. Later on in the week we went over to Brian's parents' house. When I walked in I came face to face with my mother-in-law. She just gave me a look, reached out and tucked my hair over my ear, and smiled. I almost lost it. If she had given me a hug, which it looked like she wanted to, I would have broken into a thousand pieces. To this day I'm not sure if I am happy or unhappy she didn't. We swore at that point we would not tell friends and family about me being pregnant until I was at least six months along (we were not ultimately able to stick to that promise). In my mind that baby would have been a girl and I think of her as Grace. Again, no idea why. We'd already picked our baby names at the time, so if the pregnancy had gone to term and we had a healthy baby, it would have been named either Leland or Ruth.
Our Honeymoon, a cruise Brian's family got us, was a few weeks later. Some close friends of ours had booked on the same cruise to join us. It was supposed to be a good time... but the miscarriage kind of put a damper on it for me. The very first evening I was zoned out. My friend's husband noticed at dinner and was concerned. The motion of the ship and having nothing pressing to do, such as work or cleaning or anything, left me feeling weirdly adrift. I couldn't focus or enjoy anything. I finally went back to our room early and went to sleep. I didn't even mind our room was right underneath the main stage... and it sounded like they were doing a Chorus Line. Thankfully my malaise didn't linger and I was able to have a good time on our Honeymoon.
The last miscarriage was a month or so after we got back from our Honeymoon. It was only a few weeks along. I only knew what it was because I was now quite familiar with the pain involved. I yelled at poor Brian for it. "You did this to me!" I was sort of trying to be funny. He didn't take it as funny. Not long after that Brian got fired from his job because someone messed with his schedule. That's a whole other story. He immediately went out and got a job as an OTR driver with a big company right away. Excellent insurance!
It was right after that that the last shoe finally dropped. My best friend and business partner (and cruise partner) wanted to call it quits... both our business arrangement and our friendship it turned out. When one of my clients asked if I would move to Phoenix to be his new venture's graphic artist, I jumped at the opportunity. Brian picked up a dedicated route out of Phoenix and we got out of Houston and away from my memories at the start of 2005. Sometimes you really do need to run away for awhile.
I eventually burned that bloody towel at Leeland's consecration ritual. Ah, now that's a funny story! But I'll tell it at another time.
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