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Let's Panic: The Book!

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How to Endure and Possibly Triumph Over the Adorable Tyrant
who Will Ruin Your Body, Destroy Your Life, Liquefy Your Brain,
and Finally Turn You
into a Worthwhile
Human Being.

Written by Alice Bradley and Eden Kennedy

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I'm In...

Sleep Is
For The Weak

Chicago Review Press

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Let's Panic

The site that inspired the book!

At LET'S PANIC ABOUT BABIES, Eden Kennedy and I share our hard-won wisdom and tell you exactly what to think and feel and do, whether you're about to have a baby or already did and don't know what to do with it. → 

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The worst post I've ever written.

I wish I had good news for you.

I was 10 and a half weeks pregnant, yesterday. I woke up a pregnant woman. The worst of the first-trimester misery was over. I've been lucky that way: this time, as with the last pregnancy, I was pretty much done with the constant nausea by eight weeks. Last time I freaked out and demanded an ultrasound, convinced that the absence of nausea heralded bad news. Then of course we saw Henry in there, waving his limbs at us, and we laughed at all our silly worrying, and carried on. This time I knew better. I was so calm throughout this pregnancy, nothing like I was the last time. When I was pregnant with Henry I began freaking out approximately ten minutes after the stick showed me both its lines. A week later I developed hives across my abdomen, giant egg-shaped welts. My doctor diagnosed me with some kind of virus, but I knew what had caused it: apocalyptic Google searches. This time, I knew: Thou Shalt Not Google. I didn't unearth my pregnancy books from the basement. I took my prenatals, and I laughed at my rapidly expanding midsection. The eight-week appointment was great, and we saw the fetus in there, heard its enthusiastic heartbeat, took a picture home that showed its little limb buds sticking out from the body. I planned the announcement post on my blog. Scott and I were beyond excited.

So as I said. Yesterday, I was pregnant. Scott went to work, Henry went to school, and I… well, I went to the bathroom, where I noticed some spotting. It was spotting so tiny that I could have ignored it. I could have not seen it at all. It was an eensy brown smudge. Nonetheless, I promptly began hyperventilating. This is what I do. Because if I worry hard enough I can ward off any bad news. If I'm neurotic enough, the universe will laugh, pat me on the head, and rain disaster down on some unsuspecting sane person. I called my doctor, who was as unconcerned as any normal human being would be, but suggested that I come in, just for peace of mind. I made an appointment for the afternoon, and after that, there was absolutely no spotting. Nothing at all. I laughed at myself, at what a big deal I had made over this tiny one-time smudgy nothing.

Everything was casual and light at the OB/GYN, until the ultrasound. The first thing I noticed was the absence of movement. Maybe it's the angle? I thought. She was moving all around my abdomen, so it was hard to say. Then she began pointing things out to me. "Here, you see, here is where I should see a heartbeat." I'm so sorry, she kept saying, I'm so sorry. She began measuring. I'm so sorry, she repeated, it looks like growth ended at about eight and a half weeks.

Everything that follows is a blur. I believe the first thought I had was, "And now I shall have a margarita." It was the best thing I could think to stop myself from losing all control, but I couldn't stop it, of course, and soon I was weeping so loudly that I imagined the office staff ushering all the pregnant women out of the building. Nothing to see here, ladies! No bad news around here! Who's for ice cream? The doctor left me alone so I could call Scott, and arrange for someone to pick up Henry, there was no way I could pick him up from school in my current state. The call to Scott was the worst call I ever had to make. I kept repeating what the doctor had said. I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry. Because if I could feel bad for him, if I could concentrate on him and all he had lost, I didn't have to think about what was inside me at that moment.

Nothing much has happened since then. We're going in for some sort of super high-tech ultrasound this afternoon, which seems like the worst form of torture, but apparently is necessary before they can schedule the D&C. Meanwhile I'm having absolutely no spotting, just an occasional breathtaking pain that rips through me and reminds me of what's going on, like I need reminding. We're hoping that we get some answers from the pathology report, that we find out that there was some chromosomal defect and that we were spared unspeakable pain down the road. Anything so we can feel like this isn't the worst that could possibly have happened.

Reader Comments (826)

So sorry for your loss :(
May 5, 2008 | Unregistered CommenterBecki
I'm so sorry. It sucks.
May 5, 2008 | Unregistered Commentermagpie
So sorry Alice. Will be thinking of you and your family
May 5, 2008 | Unregistered CommenterNancy
Oh I'm so sorry!

Glad to hear you have friends and family around you.
May 5, 2008 | Unregistered CommenterAku
I am so, so very sorry. My thoughts are with you and Scott.
May 5, 2008 | Unregistered CommenterAsha
I am so sorry.
May 5, 2008 | Unregistered CommenterGila
I'm so sorry, for all of you.
May 5, 2008 | Unregistered Commenterjana
So sorry Alice,My prayers go to you and Scott. Had virtually the same thing happen, and I am so sorry for your loss.
May 6, 2008 | Unregistered CommenterLisa
I am so sorry.
May 6, 2008 | Unregistered CommenterMaria
Completely and utterly sorry - love to you Alice.x
May 7, 2008 | Unregistered Commenternicola

I read your blog all the time and I never comment. I have to this time.

I am so, so sorry for your loss. My heart goes out to you and Scott.
May 7, 2008 | Unregistered CommenterCate
Love to you, darling. I'm so sorry. You cheer me up when I feel down -- I wish I could return the favor.
May 7, 2008 | Unregistered CommenterAmy K
I am so very sorry for your loss. Sending you love and sympathy from the other side of the planet.
May 9, 2008 | Unregistered Commentercarolie

The cost of living is going up, and the chance of living is going down.

May 10, 2008 | Unregistered CommenterorderultErulp
My heart goes out to you.
May 10, 2008 | Unregistered CommenterS.A.
I went thru this twice and I know how hard it is. my thoughts and with you. *
May 10, 2008 | Unregistered Commenterjessica c.
Im so very sorry for your loss.
May 12, 2008 | Unregistered CommenterMark
You don't really know me but I just wanted to say I'm sorry. Your story sounds a lot like mine. I don't mean to trivialize your loss by saying "Me, too!" but I do know the sadness and disappointment. Again, I'm sorry.
May 13, 2008 | Unregistered CommenterIzzy
I'm so sad about the loss of your child. My deep sympathies to you.
May 13, 2008 | Unregistered CommenterCarolyn Bahm
I am so sorry.

This past February I lost my twin boys at 19 weeks. I understand your heartbreak, I understand your pain. I understand.

I am so sorry.
I am so sorry, Alice. I don't know you but our shared experience makes us sisters of a sort. I signed in and left a comment on another post, signing in through one blog. I am sending you to another, to read my story of loss if you would like to:

Hugs to you.
May 23, 2008 | Unregistered CommenterTamara ModernGear TV
I am so very very sorry for your loss. Your family is in my thoughts and prayers. Sending lots of love your way.
June 10, 2008 | Unregistered CommenterSara
I. Am. Bawling. For. You. I had a m/c last year. It f'in sucks. The sun does come out eventually though. Keep putting one foot in front of the other... it's all I can think of to say.
June 10, 2008 | Unregistered CommenterAmy
learn about nice first blog -

July 3, 2008 | Unregistered Commenterallenbogard
I had a miscarriage ten years ago. I'm still not over it. I googled up "miscarriage" and found this blog so thought I'd post a comment. I hope you are able to have another child. I'm 54 now. Best of luck.
July 4, 2008 | Unregistered CommenterJulie

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