Last week I joined a secret club that no one talks about. At first it seemed very exclusive, almost as though I were the only member, but in truth 1 out of 4 women belong to this secret club. No one knows the other members; there is no secret handshake or club jackets signifying your membership. But if you look closely it is possible you may be able to detect a fellow member. You can see it in the fleeting flicker of anguish that is quickly replaced by a smile and a sincere congratulations upon hearing of yet another pregnancy. It's obvious in the pain hidden behind the glassy eyes when she crosses paths with a new mother proudly toting her precious newborn. If you could hear the sound of her heartbreak it would be deafening. It is the sound of silent deaths of hopes and dreams; the death of holidays, birthdays, graduations and weddings as she envisioned them after seeing those two pink lines. If you can detect a member, chances are it is because you too were once inducted.
Some women are inducted more than once. They have gone through the excruciating initiation rite more than once: the tenative joy at the beginning followed by the hollow crushing pain of being told you are once again an empty tomb.
Last week I joined the miscarriage club. I never knew it existed. My first pregnancy, though difficult, was ensconced in hope and naivity. I was young and healthy: nothing could happen to me or my baby. I was right, sort of. Nothing did happen, Miscarriage was a dirty word that I skipped over in the index of my pregnancy books between "maternity leave" and " morning sickness". I never thought of it. Then 12 weeks into my second pregnancy, I was inducted to the club. Never again will I not think of it. Not only did I join the club, but I joined for life. Every pregnancy would be different. Less magical, less joyous; simply because now I KNOW. I can never Unknow that experience. My membership branded me forever; an invisible mark you couldn't see. Well, unless you know what to look for.
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