Silence, Grief & Loss: Unpacking the Miscarriage Taboo
I was about 20 years old the first time I miscarried; 11 weeks pregnant. It was summer; it was hot and muggy and I was home with my mom doing laundry. My boyfriend was at work, about 25 miles away. I remember the intense, sharp pains combined with an overwhelming feeling that I might have been food poisoned. What would have normally taken him 45 minutes to drive from Oak Park to our south side home in Chicago, took only half the time. We piled in his old school green convertible and the pain grew more and more as we hit every pothole down Cottage Grove. We arrived at the same hospital where I was born. My boyfriend was dismayed; like a deer stuck in headlights. It was dark and…