The miracle of life is, well, exactly that - a miracle. With
baby bump’s and strollers everywhere you look, we forget about what incredible
forces had to align in order for that little being, or any of us for that
matter, to exist. What most of us don’t realize is the trouble that couple may
have had before their life became consumed with bottles and diapers.
1 in 3 pregnancies end in miscarriage. Which means, we all
know several woman that has had at least one. However, she may have
never told you about it. For some reason miscarriage is a taboo and hardly
spoken of. But I can’t figure out why.
What I do know is losing a baby is tragic. The pain is real
and grief is felt. I know this because it happened to me.
So I’m talking about it.
My baby made it to 8 ½ weeks. It was a Thursday morning,
what would’ve been officially 9 weeks when the doctor gave us the news that
there was no longer a heartbeat. We tried to prepare ourselves for this
terrible news. It is not as if we didn’t have warning. The problems started 4
weeks prior when I began spotting.
After only 5 days of finding out the happiest news ever, my happiness
was replaced with worry. But after several trips to emergency I was sent home
and congratulated on what appeared to be a perfectly normal pregnancy! I was
allowed to get excited again. We were so relieved and although hesitant, began
to tell our family.
It is amazing how quickly you can get attached to this baby
growing inside you. Although physically it never grew past the size of my baby
toe, the idea of him or her was already consuming my life. I imagined holding
her, watching him take his first steps, seeing her on her grandfather’s knee,
meeting his cousin. We even talked about names.
My brother even sent me home with my nephews’ old stroller and car seat.
Items that are now at the back of my closet and will eventually need to
let go of. I will need to let go of it all.
Although I was given the clear, my family doctor wanted to
continue to run tests, just for reassurance. So in 3
weeks I went for 9 ultrasounds! And because it was too early to see anything
externally, I always had to have trans vaginal exams. But ultrasound
technicians are not allowed to share any information with you, so often I would
go days with out hearing any news on how my baby was progressing. Meanwhile, I
did have to move forward and start to make plans for the birth. I began to
meet with midwives. This process made the experience even more real. Meeting
with the woman who would delivery my baby, the one who would help bring my baby
into the world for the first time – it was all so exciting!
Little did I know I would be calling them a few weeks later
to tell them I would no longer be needing their services.
After probably my 6th ultrasound, my doctor called me at
work asking me to get to the hospital as soon as possible. She was concerned as
the baby was smaller than it should be and still at 7 weeks we hadn’t
heard a heart beat.
Instead of panicking, I finished my shift without telling
anyone what was going on and slowly made my way to the hospital. Was I stalling,
bracing for bad news? Maybe. Or maybe just exhausted from this emotional
rollercoaster I was on for the past 3 weeks and just really wanted to get off.
After more tests, a heartbeat was confirmed. But I knew
better than to get too excited as a ‘but’ was sure to follow. And it did. The
heartbeat was at 66 when it should’ve been above 120b/m. Not a good sign.
However, the doctor did say that it could just have been a dip in activity at the time recorded. So I returned the next day to see if the heartbeat was higher.
It was 62b/m. The doctor sent me home and told me to prepare for the worst.
Of course during this time, it seemed that every woman that
I encountered either had a beautiful baby bump or was pushing a stroller with a
happy, healthy toddler in it. Trying to adjust to my new reality was proving
very hard. What was even more difficult was trying to function normally while
knowing I had a dead fetus inside me. Because I did not miscarry on my own, I had to
make a decision. I could either wait it out, which could’ve taken weeks, maybe
even months. I could've taken Misoprostol, pills that I insert into my vagina
that will slowly start to dilate my cervix, forcing me to miscarry. After much
research and hearing this could also take days to weeks and is often quite
painful, I decided to do a D&C (dilatation & curettage). This is the same procedure as an abortion.
And because I could not wait any longer, I actually decided to go to an
abortion clinic to have this done.
Although I feared the possible judgment and wrongful
assumptions from other fellow patients, the experience was a pleasant one,
considering. The nurses were empathetic and so were the other patients. I was consciously sedated and did not experience much pain.
Cramping endured a week, but diminished each day. Unfortunately the emotional
pain is lingering.
As I began to share my experience with other women, I was
amazed to learn about just how many women in my life have also miscarried at
some point or another. Although each story different, the pain each one shared
was clear as day. Why had they not told me about this before? Why do so many
women feel they must deal with this on their own? Before experiencing this
myself, I never thought miscarriage was that a big of a deal. How attached
could you really get to something you never met any way? Well, I now unfortunately
know the answer to that. I thought about keeping my experience to myself and certainly not blogging about it. Just dealing with it as best I could. However, it bothers me that for whatever reason, women do not feel like their pain from miscarriage is justifiable. That they shouldn't take time to grieve and just 'get over it'. That their loss doesn't really classify as a loss. For all you women, all 35% of you, this post is for you. Your loss is real.
It has only been 2 weeks since I miscarried. And although
the wound is still very fresh, each day becomes easier. I am learning how to
better cope with the idea that I will have to wait a little longer to become a
mother. Each day the grief of the baby I lost lessens. It is from the support
from friends and family and my husband Steve that the idea of being hopeful
again seems possible. Just last night when sharing my story among friends that I
was given a new insight, a new way to look at my experience. My very good friend told me to not think about
my miscarriage as losing my baby, a life that will never be or a child that will never live. She said all that happened
was your baby just wasn’t able to hold on tight enough this time around. The
body that acts as the carrier for its soul just wasn’t built right this time.
My baby still exists and will still be. She’s just waiting for the right
vessel.
So am I.
