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My Latest Miscarriage, Parts I - III
By Wendy Miller

Okay, don't get all skeezed out, this isn't all about miscarriages. Actually it is, but not what you'd think. Last Friday I had my third miscarriage -- third time's the charm, right? It's getting to the point that I know when they're coming on -- just like old sailors who can predict storms thanks to an itchy wooden leg.

Having a miscarriage isn't all bad. Last time I had one, my gynecologist validated my parking. Shut up, it's like 20 bucks to park at the hospital and she never validates. Plus I got a bunch of Darvocet. I've since left that non-validating gynecologist, mostly because her office was way too crowded and she once high-fived me after pulling her hand out of my body. Yes, she had removed the latex glove but it was still a little too much for me. Now that I think about it, I've had a new gynecologist for every single miscarriage. Hmmm, what's the one constant here?

My newest doctor is the All Powerful, Uber Field Marshall of Ladyparts at Cedars Sinai. Of course that's not her actual title, just her reputation. She's Chinese, very funny and direct, and the most thorough doctor I've ever had. Just by examining me she could tell I was having crummy orgasms. I'm not kidding it blew my mind… unlike my orgasms. She said, in her clipped Chinese accent, "Everybody come in here, pap smear, pap smear, pap smear, very boring. Youuuu challenging." I totally love her. She validates.

So now I have the big-time OB/GYN, plus a reproductive endocrinologist, an acupuncturist, a nutritionist and a shrink all trying to keep me pregnant. Oh… and a husband. It's as if my uterus has its own personal pit crew. Vroom, vroom.

At this point you're probably wondering WHY I'm having so many miscarriages. If you're not, then you should. Nobody knows why, how's that for an answer? Apparently I might have scrambled eggs. And for that, I'm being sent to Genetic Counseling. Genetic Counseling? Like my DNA could actually change. I think in order for my DNA to change it has to want to change. I wonder if Genetic Counseling is like marriage counseling. Will I secretly want to strangle my DNA for being selfish in bed? I don't think so.

Here's what I do know… I can get pregnant. The end. In the past four years, during which I've had three miscarriages, I have had literally dozens of ultrasounds. For those of you unfamiliar with this super-fun-top-secret-girl-stuff procedure, they take a 12 inch phallic probe (and this thing really is 12 inches, by the way), they roll a condom on it and shove it in you to look around. Right before it's inserted I always turn to the technician and say, "At least you could buy me a drink first." That joke only works once so make sure you have a new technician if you want to try it again. Oh I'm rich with miscarriage material. I gotta tell ya -- I was thinking of creating a new line of greeting cards that instead of saying IT'S A BOY! or IT'S A GIRL! would say IT'S A MISCARRIAGE! Hello… is this thing on? Well I know for a fact I could have sold at least three of those cards… if I were buying them for myself.

So now I'm back at square one. I'm passing GO again. Next month I'm having about 400 new blood tests, one lovely day involving radioactive dye, a needle in my cervix and a machine brought to you by G.E. -- they bring good things to life. I was initially reluctant to have that dye test because I thought it would be too invasive. It was at that moment my doctor reminded that me having a baby was invasive. I guess I kinda didn't know that. I don't know much, really.

Here's what I do know: I know I've had three miscarriages. I know that my first miscarriage came and went before I knew I was even pregnant. I know that I was in so much agony during my second miscarriage that I actually tried to crawl under my bed to shield my body from the pain. I know that I played a round of golf the day after my third miscarriage. I know that there's a deep sadness in every pastel waiting room I frequent, and with every new patient questionnaire I fill out. I know that I go to baby shower after baby shower and have to sit there watching my friends unwrap tiny little duckie-covered baby gifts while I'm secretly trying to hold it together. Or I have to deal with my close friends who are on eggshells around me about their pregnancies and babies, for fear that I might start weeping right on the spot. I know that having a baby may never happen for me.

That's pretty much all I know.

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