Bad news.

The past five days have been the longest and most terrible of my life. And for those of you who know me well, you'll know that I've had some pretty terrible days before.

Tony and I lost the baby this weekend.

And I know how it seems to post this on the blog, but we were foolish enough to tell everyone we knew and some strangers, so this seems the most expeditious way to get this over with, like taking off a band-aid. Writing hundreds of personal emails right now would take emotional reserves I don't have.

We went out of town on a vacation this weekend, some long-planned fun in the sun before really cracking down on work and the holidays. We spent most of the weekend making frantic phone calls to the emergency line at the nurse-midwifery practice and all day Saturday in a strange hospital in a strange state, waiting for them to tell us what I already knew instinctively: we were having a miscarriage. I didn't think it was possible to cry for five hours straight, but I did.

After that, we returned to our hotel room, ordered pizza and stared at the wall. We watched bad HBO movies and didn't really talk a whole lot. I compulsively cleaned the room, ate half a pizza and an entire pint of Ben and Jerry's and felt humiliated by the fact that we'd spent the last six weeks telling everyone we knew a secret that we should have kept and that now we'd have to spend at least six more weeks making sure everyone knew and keeping ourselves together while people asked about the baby.

Sunday we endured the agony of killing eight hours in a strange city (I'd booked a late flight to allow for more sightseeing which turned into a nightmare) and then flying home coach while I was in terrible pain and bursting into tears at the slightest provocation. I only saw Tony cry once, and that was while on the phone with his mother. Funny how talking to mom allows you to forget being strong and go ahead and be emotional.

The last two days have been a blur of doctor's visits and trips to the hospital. Things didn't go well and I ended up in the hospital this morning at 1 a.m. We got home today around 10:30, completely exhausted physically and emotionally. To be the only person walking out of the birthing center without a baby was wrenching.

Out of all of this, I've learned a few things:

My capacity for pain is much higher than I thought. My capacity for incompetence while in pain is just as low as I thought.

Tony is an incredible husband. He has been a trooper through all of this, often the only person in the room with me for hours and hours while I struggled with pain and heartbreak and he struggled with me. Without him, I'd feel horribly alone. His ability to be tough for me and to save his tears for when he knew I was calm enough to handle them shows every ounce of the maturity he has. He kept it together for me when he was just as sad and terrified as I was.

When they tell you to wait until 13 weeks to tell everyone, do it. The feeling of losing a baby is enough of a horror show without the additional pain of having to tell everyone or try not to make other people feel bad when they ask how things are.

With that all said, I'm going to take a break from blogging for a little while. I have to heal my heart and my body, and figure out what the hell I'm supposed to do from here.