Misnomer

You know what word I have come to hate?

 Miscarriage.

 It implies that I somehow mishandled or incorrectly carried or dropped my baby, when the truth is that I sobbed uncontrollably to find there was nothing I could do about my baby no longer having a heartbeat. 

"Miscarriage" makes it sound like I didn't care, when in fact I care so much that my heart physically hurts, and I can hardly get through an hour without tearing up.

That word makes it sound like I was a bad mother who put other things first or didn't do what I was supposed to, when in reality, I willingly and (almost) without complaint gave up eating foods I like that are not recommended, forced myself to take horse pill vitamins that made me nauseous, trained myself to sleep on the recommended side for best blood flow to the baby, stopped having intercourse when the spotting began, didn't button up my favorite jeans to keep things roomy for Baby, and innumerable other things. I put Baby first.

 That stupid word conveys nothing of the distress, the physical and emotional torment, the disappointment, the empty space, or the loss of the actual event it supposedly describes.

 I can hardly even say it anymore.