Life after miscarriage

I’m in my mid-thirties.  Due to career ambitions and other practical, responsible reasons we waited a long time to try to start a family.  It’s a lot like that movie, Idiocracy, a film of pure genius that is quoted regularly in our household. (“Brawndo!  It’s got what plants crave!”)

Just like the smart couple in that movie, we waited a long time (too long? ) and ran into some issues getting pregnant.  To spare you too many boring and embarrassing details, we hit the mark that results in the label INFERTILITY.  I didn’t want to go on freaky hormonal treatments due to my hippie dippy ways and my long history of issues with hormonal birth control.  Instead I tried acupuncture and Chinese herbs and after a few months of regular treatments, I became pregnant.  We were overjoyed.  I felt sick and grumpy and nearly fell asleep at work on several occasions.  I had strange food cravings and even stranger aversions (broccoli has never seemed so gross).  But it was awesome.  I was SO excited.  Writing all of this out is really starting to feel like TMI and I am wincing at the screen, but I’m determined to write all of this out for those of you out there who might be going through the same thing, or something similar, or you care for someone who has had this kind of loss.

At 8 weeks, I had my first ultrasound and saw a little bean with a heartbeat.  It was one of the very coolest moments ever.  I’d often go to sleep thinking about that little baby growing inside.  I’d send him nice thoughts and imagine what it would be like as he continued his growth.  While I feel very connected to various family members and friends and also to my pets, that kind of connection was very special and like nothing I’ve encountered before.  I can’t really explain it, but I imagine that everyone out there who has grown a little baby knows exactly what I mean.

At 13 weeks, we went in for another ultrasound.  My husband Q wasn’t around for the first one so it would be his first time seeing the baby.  Since I’m at the dreaded and ancient age of 35, this ultrasound was at a different clinic and served as part of a screening for various genetic nightmares and heartbreaks that could occur.  Needless to say, I was a ball of nerves and nearly jumping out of my skin.

Turns out my nervousness was fitting.  Instead of the ultrasound technician showing me exciting things, she just pointed out the two sides of my uterus (snore) and then asked me to go to the bathroom “so we could see more”.  I had too pee so badly that I didn’t even question that.  By the way, making someone who is pregnant wait for a long time for an ultrasound is really mean, as you’re supposed to arrive with a full bladder.

The rest unfolded like a nightmare.  After I happily emptied my bladder I returned to the room where Q and I waited for a few silent minutes.  The technician returned with the doctor, who told me that she saw some “really concerning” things including that the baby had no heartbeat and hadn’t grown past 8 weeks.  Um, yeah, I still think “concerning” wasn’t quite the right word to use there, doc.   This was compounded by the fact that this isn’t my normal doctor’s office and they didn’t seem to have any of my information about how far along I should have been.  They didn’t tell me anything more  and said I could follow up with my regular doctor.  In retrospect, that seems pretty weird.  The technician left me with a giant box of wipes that were essentially giant kleenexes.  I imagine they are for wiping that ultrasound goo off of your belly, but for me they were for full face sobbing and snotting.  I was kind of a basket case.

We found the back way out of that horrible building full of happy pregnant women.  (Curse them!)  I told my husband that I’m never trying to get pregnant again, that I can’t deal with it and it is too sad.  I dreaded the idea of more medical appointments, more disappointing and stupid periods and more bitterness about everyone in the world having babies all over the place.  Even at the time I realized that was a bit silly to close up my womb since I had about 5 minutes of processing what had just happened.

I got home and called one of my closest friends who had a miscarriage several years ago.  We had  a talk that was helpful but very painful.  It was immensely comforting that she knew exactly what I was going through, although heartbreaking because I hate it that other people have been through something this awful.  She advised me, strongly, to get off the phone and call my doctor’s office and demand to be seen immediately.  She also recommended, based on her own experience and of other women she’s known, to get a D&C rather than wait to miscarry or take those pills that force you to miscarry.  I did just that and by 9 am the next morning, I was sobbing in the doctor’s office while they scheduled a surgery for me that evening.  I could have had it that morning, but I’d eaten a damn banana prior to my appointment so I had to hang out ALL DAY and wait to digest it so I could go in for surgery.  So I spent the whole day not drinking, not eating and cursing that stupid banana.

It has been 3 weeks since my surgery.  My body is starting to feel more normal and I’m sleeping well again.  I cry a lot.  I’ve find a lot of comfort in talking to other women who have had miscarriages because they know what it is like.  I can look directly at children again, strangely for the first week or so after the miscarriage I could not even do that because it was too painful.  My husband and I are talking a lot about different things and we planned a trip to Mexico for this winter, the same time the baby bean would have been born.  I have no idea if we’ll keep trying to get pregnant, or if we’ll let Idiocracy happen (haha, ugh, really it isn’t like we’re THAT smart).  Besides, my doctor recommended waiting a few months to let my body heal so we have time to figure it out.

Basically, the whole deal sucks.  We were preparing to be parents.  I was thinking of colors to paint the walls of the spare bedroom and my mom and I were talking about cribs.  We’d picked out baby names.  I ate lots of ice cream.  We passed the 12 week mark so we told all of our friends and family.  Then the next day, it was all over and everything changed.  That shift in mentality has been one of the hardest things and I don’t think I’ll ever really be the same because of it.  For just a few months, I really did feel like a mother and then I had to say goodbye to all of that hope.  It’s the saddest thing I’ve ever had to do.

In my internet searches I found some helpful blogs about miscarriages, but not too many.  Many of them were written by very serious bloggers who went on to have kids so their miscarriage seems like a blip in the craziness of their depicted lives of daycare and diapers.  I just don’t have the objectiveness to allow that kind of wide view and would like to write just about miscarriages, especially for those who miscarried during their first pregnancy.  I’ve written blogs before and usually life happens and I forget to update them.  I imagine someday that will happen to this one, which means I will have moved forward as much as one can with loss.  But for now, here I am.