One in Four
This week Alex and I have experienced
our hardest days as newlyweds. We went in to the doctor’s office for what we
thought would be a routine, nine week ultrasound. We were both excited and
anxious to see our little baby for the first time on the monitor. Unfortunately,
that excitement was short lived.
We had talked about trying for
another baby as soon as the wedding was over. We have been together for six years,
our daughter would be four before another came along, and the timing felt
right. So, a couple weeks after the wedding we started trying. We left for our
honeymoon at the end of August and enjoyed a wonderful vacation in the Mediterranean.
I wanted to test as soon as we got back from the honeymoon, but Alex wanted to
wait. If you know me, than you know I can be very impatient. As soon as I
dropped our daughter off at preschool that Monday, I went to the store, bought
a box of pregnancy tests, and rushed home. I was elated when two pink lines
appeared almost immediately and couldn’t wait for Alex to get home to share the
good news. I put the test in a box and our daughter gave it to him, saying she
had made him something. He was so excited when he saw what was inside and from
that moment on, the new baby made its way into daily conversations and our
hearts.
I had experienced a small amount of
bleeding in my eighth week and had gone to see the midwife because I was
concerned. She talked with me and reassured me that a lot of women experience
bleeding during their first trimester of pregnancy. She went so far as to tell
me, “If I were a betting woman, I would bet this baby is just fine.” I was sent
to the lab for blood work to make sure my hormone levels were where they should
be.
I anxiously awaited a phone call
back to make sure everything was going well. Two days is a long
time for someone who has not mastered the art of patience. My midwife called me
back on Friday, while I was waiting for my daughter to get out of her music
class. She told me that my HCG levels were, “through the roof,” and even
mentioned that we could possible be pregnant with multiples. However, my progesterone wasn’t quite where
they would like. She said that I could try a progesterone supplement, but due
to the outrageous cost, and the fact that there is no strong, clinical evidence
that it helps, I chose not to. My ultrasound was scheduled for the following
week. I was so excited to be able to see the little nugget sooner than planned.
We sat in the waiting room anxiously
awaiting our turn to go back. Finally, a woman called my name and we were
ushered into the ultrasound room. I lay down in the chair, she put gel on my
stomach, and the first thing we saw was that there was only one baby on the monitor,
not two. We joked, as Alex breathed a sigh of relief. The ultrasound technician
took some measurements, but then told us that she needed to do a trans-vaginal ultrasound
to “see things a little better.” There wasn’t much of a difference and I felt a
little concerned that the baby seemed so still.
Eventually the perky technician told
us that she could not see a heartbeat. She showed us where it should be and
that we should see a little fluttering there. She decided to listen and
see if we could hear it, but there was only silence. All of that excitement we had been
feeling just a few minutes ago vanished. It was heartbreaking and soul crushing
to see your baby on the monitor feel your body changing, know that the baby was
still in there, but that it was no longer alive. The doctor came in and told us
that the baby had stopped growing at nine weeks, just two days prior. She left
the room to give Alex and I some time to ourselves. I broke down.
We moved to another room to sit
with the doctor to ask questions and discuss options. It was overwhelming to be
expecting a healthy pregnancy, learn that the baby had passed, and
then discuss what needed to happen next. Our doctor was very kind and sympathetic.
She made sure to tell me over and over that there was nothing that I could have
done to prevent this. She stated that I was “one in four women who miscarry
before 20 weeks.” She explained that I could pass the fetus naturally, but that
it would be a gruesome and painful experience or that I could have a dilation
and curettage (D & C). Being a stay at home mother and not wanting to have
any of this happen around my daughter, I chose to have a D & C. Thankfully
they were able to get the procedure scheduled on Friday, just two days later.
Friday morning my dad showed up at
our house to watch our daughter while Alex and I left for the hospital. I was
checked in and prepped for surgery. I have horrible veins and it took two tries and
a lot of digging to finally get an IV placed. I had to take antibiotics,
anxiety medicine, and be screened for Ebola. The nurse brought in a stack of
papers for me to sign and one of them stood out more than the others, it was the fetal death
certificate and permission for cremation. It took everything I had not to break
down, but I kept it together. After a few hours I was wheeled back to the freezing,
sterile operating room. The anesthesiologist placed the oxygen mask on my face, while my doctor held my hand and hugged me as I cried myself to sleep.
I woke up a couple of hours later
crying, nauseous, and experiencing severe cramping. I felt empty. They gave me
anti-nausea and pain medications and sent me back to the recovery room. Alex
came back and we waited for them to discharge us. It took forever for a
wheelchair to get to us, but eventually, I was wheeled to our car, and headed
home. I spent the rest of the night crying and resting.
I think things have finally settled
in. I no longer feel pregnant anymore. No one tells you how devastating this
experience truly is. I’ll admit that I used to think that women exaggerated the
pain they felt from a miscarriage. I thought they couldn’t possibly be as torn
up about losing something they have never met as they lead on. For some, I thought
they wanted attention and sympathy. I no longer think like that. I cannot
possibly explain to someone who has never been through this what it is like.
You carry a baby for nine weeks and you have all of these dreams and future
plans made out, and then it’s taken away.
It’s sad that women feel the need
to keep their miscarriage(s) a secret. Now that I’ve been inducted into the
horrible one in four club, I can see why it is kept quiet. People have
absolutely no clue how to comfort or what to say. There is no protocol for this
kind of loss. They try and tell you to see the positives in the situation, to
be thankful for what you have, there’s always next time, or that you’re lucky
it happened early on in the pregnancy.
These are just some of the examples I’ve heard in the past four days. The
last thing I feel is lucky and I sure as hell don’t see any positives in this.
It is devastating and painful.
The only thing I am thankful for is
the couple of women who have come out of the wood work to support me, because they
know exactly how it feels. They have gone through the same thing. While it
still raw and overwhelming for me right now, it is comforting to know that I’m
not alone. I have a small support group and I’m sure that I will be even more
thankful for them in the coming days and months.
I think I am currently experiencing
the bitter stage of grief. My first pregnancy was unplanned and
protected against. I was never able to enjoy that pregnancy nor look forward to
the future. This was supposed to be different. We did it the “right way”
this time and we were finally able to celebrate the way a pregnancy deserves.
However, the celebration is over. Not only are we grieving the loss of
this baby, but this experience will also bring a dark cloud on the next pregnancy,
when and if that happens. We will be too scared to tell anyone and I will be
terrified of going through the same thing. It just feels very unfair.
I know that I will get stronger as
the days go on, but I won’t ever truly be over this loss. I am forever changed.
I will mourn every October 15th, the day of the ultrasound and
ironically infant loss awareness day, October 17th, the day of my D
& C, and May 18th, our little baby’s due date. It is going to be
rough for a few months, but I know that I will get through this.
