Here are some of the things that I have thought, recalled, hoped and despaired of while our miscarriage has been going on:

– That my Dad hasn’t called me since it started to happen
– That my Mum was surprised to hear that it was physically painful
– That my father in law wrote an e-mail including the words “I guess some people find it easier to start a family”
– That my mother in law sent contact details for a reflexologist dealing in fertility
– That people have sent me flowers, like someone died
– Then I hear my husband speak on the phone about it being something “that can’t be helped” like he lost his credit card
– The GP’s face when he told us that his routine pregnancy test, just to check my hormone levels, was now negative
– How my pregnant friend complains about her assistant, who miscarried two months ago, still cries in meetings. My pregnant friend says two months is long enough to grieve, long enough to get over a bunch of cells. Will I think like my friend, or her assistant, in two months time?
– That, last cycle, I dreaded going to loo around ovulation for what I might not find. I dreaded going to loo before my expected period, for what I might find. I dreaded going to the loo when I found out I was pregnant, for what I might find and now, as I miscarry, I dread going to the loo because, every time, it reminds me of what’s been lost.
– That I can’t reply to e-mails and texts and calls. Why should I?
– The day before yesterday I threw the tv controls across the room and a bottle of water at my husband.
– Yesterday I just sat and stared into space.
– Today I want windows opening and everything that is dirty, messy, old and decaying to be removed from our flat.
– That it’s just cells, just a heavy period. Better for it to happen now, than later.
– How, in one moment we had it, and the next, we didn’t.
– That my computer, with my new book on it, died on the same day as my pregnancy.
– That, as I began to miscarry, I was at a talk given by a well known author. As the first pains came to me the author told us, an audience of writers, that what we really needed to do, in these times of desperation, was to write about hope. She also said that, in her opinion, it wasn’t until the age of 35 that your writing was any good because life had knocked you round a bit by then. I wanted to put up my hand and say “I’m 33 and starting to miscarry right now, does that count?”
– DH asked me which of the Mr Men I was right now. Miss Carry is the answer. I laughed. It may have been too soon for some.
– That I have never used Tena Lady until the last few days. I recommend them over other brands for situations like these.
– That life is short.
– That this too, shall pass.
– That DH seems fine but I wonder whether he is, really.

And, more than anything, when the calls and the flowers stop coming, I wonder what will the next chapter hold for us. And then I realise it’s pointless imagining because the only thing I now know for sure is that I have no control, over anything.