Brought to you by the letter A

It goes against my instincts to discuss private topics in a public forum. K was reluctant at first to tell me about her blog, guessing that I would disapprove. She knows me well and in fact I was not as supportive as I could have been—it seemed to me that it would sustain and not alleviate her pain. As obtuse as I can be, however, it has dawned on me that she derives real emotional sustenance from reading the stories of other women, and sharing her own.

As we’ve grappled with the physical, emotional, and practical consequences of the miscarriage, we’ve also grappled with the fact that our reactions are quite different. K, obviously, has borne the physical burden while for me the physical aspects of the pregnancy and miscarriage are abstract and quite honestly, difficult for me to empathize with. I have tremendous sympathy for her but just cannot imagine what it is like to have a baby growing inside me, cannot imagine the chemical turmoil of a pregnant body as it passes through its myriad phases, cannot imagine what it is like to have my private parts constantly poked and prodded in examination rooms–though two consecutive prostate exams in the course of investigation into my low sperm count provided a good simulation of the latter (that’s simulation, not stimulation).

Emotionally, too, K and I have had profoundly different reactions. I didn’t feel the pain of loss as deeply and immediately as she did—remember that the baby was still more of an abstraction than a physical reality for me. I did feel deeply disappointed that the future I’d imagined for the three of us wouldn’t come to pass. Usually, I avoid rosy projections–it’s a defensive superstition of mine to try instead to imagine all of the bad things that could happen in any given situation. As soon as we found out that K was pregnant, however, I really let myself go, thinking about what books our child would like to read, what sort of things we would do together, what things I would tell it and show it, what kind of wooden blocks would be best. Until the stick was peed on I’d been unsure of my readiness for fatherhood but almost immediately afterwards realized with relief that I was excited about it and, irrationally, confident that it was something I could do well. So that all went away suddenly and things seemed very bleak.

It was especially wrenching for me to tell my parents that things did not work out. I’d told them too soon probably—I will not do that to them again.

In practical terms, K is doing a lot of research and planning. I am not, partly because she’s much better with details than I am and partly because I am trying to avoid immersion in what has become a more complicated, emotionally draining series of events and decisions than I’d ever imagined. Yes, my sperm count was low but it worked somehow so we didn’t have to think about that any more—now we do. Sure, we’d discussed adoption in a general way, but none of my future happy-family/great dad scenarios took that into consideration—now they need to. Yes, K was sad and worried and stressed out when we were trying to conceive but then everything worked and she was just happy—now she’s not. So things have not been as simple as it seemed they were going to be and I did not adjust to the new situation as gracefully as I could have.

Despite all of this, I feel certain that we are going to be ok. We have a lot of love for each other and a lot of love to give to our child, whether it turns out to be our own a year from now, or someone else’s three years from now. And who knows– maybe extreme measures will produce quadruplets and we’ll get free diapers for life.