The past few years though, I have begun to notice that October is also known as National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month. It seemed like more and more of my friends are speaking out in remembrance of their losses, it's heartbreaking, but unless you've experienced this type of loss, I think it's very hard to identify with it.
When I miscarried last year I then understood that pain all too well, I did a lot of reading online from other Mommies that had gone through similar experiences. It was some of the most painful reading, but also some of the most healing reading I've ever done. I knew someday, I would sit down and write this. I have so much to say...to share. I hope this helps someone the way those blogs helped me, I hope it helps people to realize that everyone is going through a battle and to be kind, and gentle, and loving to those you meet, because you don't know...you just don't know.
**Warning, this blog contains some details they may trigger some readers**
Very soon after John and I were married, we talked seriously about when we wanted to expand our family. We'd already been together for 10 years at this point, knew we wanted a large family, and felt that we were in a good place to start trying about a year after the "I do's." Now, when you'd been dating as long as we had...let's be honest now folks....you had been trying for a very long time not to get pregnant. We were experts. I was also convinced that getting pregnant would be super easy. After several months of trying though...still no positive tests and I realized how ridiculous my fears of spontaneously conceiving had been for all those years.
In June, my period took a month off, I excitedly took another test, which was also negative. I didn't think much of the missed period at that time, and we kept trying. In August it happened again, I was so convinced that I wasn't pregnant, that I didn't even bother with a test. Until, we were on a way to a wedding in October and I got to thinking, Well shoot, what if I am and I celebrate with a drink or two? Wouldn't that be my luck? So at midnight, in my old college town's Walmart bathroom (I found this amazingly ironic), John and I found out that I was, in fact, pregnant. Walmart bathroom, gross you say? Class you say? Perhaps, but I actually thought it was hilarious and we were overjoyed. After doing some quick math, I realized I was 8 weeks along.
Since we lived about 8 hours away from our parents, we decided to tell them before we left that weekend, we were all so excited and back home we went for me to completely over-prepare for our new arrival.
I went to the library and picked up every-single-pregnancy/parenting/new-daddy book I could get my hands on. I made an appointment with a very well known and respected midwife (yes, I said midwife, we will get to more on that in a bit). I switched from my ovulation app to my pregnancy app (my baby was the size of a wild strawberry!).
The next day at work, I felt a little nauseous and my boobs needed ice packs--yay, pregnancy symptoms! I excitedly snapped a picture of my saltines and Ginger Ale and sent it to my closest girlfriends! The next day I started spotting.
I Googled, and I Googled. Brown spotting is ok, that means old blood (and I'd been missing periods so I though, okay, maybe I had a little extra in there) Pink spotting is ok, that means new blood--you're growing a tiny human, they're going to pop some blood vessels. Brown spotting is bad, pink spotting is bad. A lot of spotting is bad, a lot of spotting is totally normal. A little spotting is totally fine, a little spotting could be an early indicator of trouble to come....You can drive yourself crazy with all of the conflicting information.
Off to my first midwife appointment I went, I expressed my concerns, and she got me an appointment for an ultrasound. I was 11 weeks when they were finally able to see me, I spotted every day, not a ton--enough for a light day two times a day...but my pregnancy symptoms were gone and I didn't pick up those baby books I'd so enthusiastically tracked down a week before.
Some part of me knew, but I didn't want to speak it out loud, the story of the Shunamite woman from the Bible played in my head a lot while I waited for that appointment.
Side note. At this time, John was working for an Ohio gas and oil company that, like all the gas and oil companies in the area, were running low on work, funds, and had too many employees. Weeks...months before, he was working 100 hour weeks, had bonuses coming from all directions, and I only had to work part-time (and even that wasn't completely necessary). By the time we realized that things weren't looking good, his hours had been cut, people were being laid off left and right...and we realized my part-time job wasn't going to cut it anymore. Plus, nannying and adding your own kiddos into the mix wasn't something I wanted to juggle that spring so I needed something new, and I needed it fast.
A few weeks after I completed getting my PA teaching licenses updated so I could teach in Ohio, I found the perfect job. An online school was hiring English teachers. I would be able to work from home, teach, be near my children, and I was over the moon.
On October 22nd, I headed off to my first ultrasound. John was supposed to meet me there, but his boss needed him to stay, and with the future of his company so uncertain, there wasn't any room for negotiation.
I waited what seemed like eons in that waiting room, surrounded by happy couples, and mommies with their adorable little baby bumps for him to walk in so we could do this together, but finally his text came that he wasn't able to make it. I wish I just stayed in that room.
When the nurse finally called me back, we got down to business and since I was closer to 11 weeks at this point, she tried an external ultrasound first. With no success, she said not to worry, I might not be as far along as I thought and we'd try an internal, she also was going to bring in the doctor. She left the room while I got ready.
I already knew.
When the doctor came back, they were able to find the anembryonic sac, but there was no yolk. Our baby had stopped developing at six weeks, without a yolk it could not develop further than that. I was kindly and gently told that it wasn't anything I had done, or not done, but that this is very common and that 1 in 4 women experience a miscarriage, especially their first pregnancy. Not to worry though, it wasn't likely to happen again and at least our swimmer swam and my eggs knew where to go. I know this was meant to be helpful, but not having a reason really upset me. (More on that later.)
The whole staff was very concerned about me being there alone (my I please stress the importance of not going to this type of appointment alone, ever). I walked in a daze back to my car. As soon as I closed the door I finally allowed myself to cry. Cry isn't really the right word. Sob. Those heaving gut-wrenching sobs that leave you with an instant headache. I sat there for a few minutes, I finally was able to call John and tell him. I drove home with what can only be described as autopilot skills from years of driving practice. I blasted Christian music and while I can't remember the names of the songs, when I hear them I'm taken back to that awful car ride. I spent the rest of the day in bed.
My midwife called me the next day, we talked about my options. She explained that the bleeding I'd been experiencing was most likely my body trying to miscarry, unsuccessfully for now nearly six weeks. She was very concerned that since my body was having so much trouble miscarrying naturally that I was at high risk for hemorrhaging, she felt that the sac must be embedded very deeply in my uterine wall for it to be taking this long. She said I could wait and see, or, we could schedule a D & C (Dilation and curettage (D&C) is a procedure to remove tissue from inside your uterus. Doctors perform dilation and curettage to diagnose and treat certain uterine conditions — such as heavy bleeding — or to clear the uterine lining after a miscarriage (Mayo Clinic).
After thinking it over, I opted to schedule the D & C, the earliest they could get me in was the following Friday.
I started my new job the next morning, on October 23rd, I walked into the office knowing that at any moment, I could potentially have a miscarriage. I happily welcomed the distraction of work in the meantime, and after orientation I decided now would be a great time to take a few grad classes, something I'd been putting off until I started working for a school district again. I applied to Penn State right away, filling out applications and slowly called and updated friends and family about our sad news.
The next week I thankfully started working from home. I watched all the training videos, started getting to know my peers, from the time I woke up to the time I went to bed I stayed very busy. I walked our two puppies (at the time were were around 7 and 8 months old and quite the handful). I did a lot of reading. What had other people chosen? Was the D & C the right choice? I read, and read, and read. I did not cry. I anxiously awaited Friday morning, so I could finally have some closure. So I could finally grieve. Because even though I knew...I knew that nothing could make this baby inside me be okay, some silly part of me was holding onto a nonexistence thread of hope.
Throughout the week the bleeding had picked up. Instead of light days, I was now wearing what can only be described as adult diapers, changing them several times a day but never so much that I felt the need to go to the hospital.
Then, on Thursday evening, as I stood up from the couch I felt what can only be described as a gushing sensation and then something drop. I will never forget that feeling. I looked at John and I told him that I needed him to come upstairs with me. I quickly went to the bathroom and a large amount of tissue had come out. This was all that we'd ever see of our first pregnancy. And there really wasn't anything to see, just clots...nothing that resembled a baby. I thought Oh, it's over! That wasn't so bad... I didn't cry. I felt relieved, I wouldn't need the surgery, there was no doubt that that last tiny, dumb hope I'd felt was not happening...I could move on, heal, and we could try again.
Not long after though, the contractions started. I'd read that some women have contractions when they miscarried. I hadn't thought about the emotional pain that this caused though. For the next five hours I sobbed as wave after wave of pain hit, pain that wouldn't result in me holding my healthy beautiful baby, no--these contractions were for nothing. That was the greatest pain of all. John stayed up with me the whole time, doing what he could to help me be comfortable. He and I prayed more than night than I ever have before in my life, God also, never left our sides.
The whole time I just kept saying how I refused to do this in a hospital. For Heaven's sake, I wanted a home birth, and this felt so much more intimate than that...I lost track of how many times I had to get up and go to the bathroom to change my enormous pad, but finally around two in the morning, I fell asleep.
On October 30th, I called the doctor's office and asked if they felt I should still have the surgery that was scheduled for that day. They said they couldn't know for sure if all of the tissue was out until they'd started. I called my midwife next, she asked how I was feeling and I still felt crampy, she felt that was a good indication that not everything had come out on it's own, she recommended I continue with the D & C. By the time we reached the hospital, it felt like the contractions were getting ready to start again and by the time I was finally taken back for surgery the pain had picked up to an uncomfortable level. I signed the release form for the hospital to handle the "tissue," it is the only document I ever signed as someone's Mother, something I was completely unprepared for and was an emotional blow that I could not process. I was then taken in a bright room filled with seemingly 20 people, to experience what can only we refereed to as one of the worst days and moments of my life.
I have to say that the doctors, nurses, and staff and I interacted with during this whole process were amazing, and such a comfort, I was truly in the best hands.
When I woke up, I instantly felt the relief. No cramping, in fact, I was able to recognize how hungry I was (when was the last time I ate?). My doctor explained that the D & C had been a very good choice, there was still a lot of tissue that was she able to remove and that I should be feeling much better, with less bleeding very soon. Compared to what I'd experienced that last few weeks, after we got home I had practically none.
We stocked up on our favorite Chinese food and went home. A few days later, I ordered a small figurine (one of the Willow Tree ones) to remember our baby. While most of the people in my life had no idea what we'd gone through. Life went on.
In June, my period took a month off, I excitedly took another test, which was also negative. I didn't think much of the missed period at that time, and we kept trying. In August it happened again, I was so convinced that I wasn't pregnant, that I didn't even bother with a test. Until, we were on a way to a wedding in October and I got to thinking, Well shoot, what if I am and I celebrate with a drink or two? Wouldn't that be my luck? So at midnight, in my old college town's Walmart bathroom (I found this amazingly ironic), John and I found out that I was, in fact, pregnant. Walmart bathroom, gross you say? Class you say? Perhaps, but I actually thought it was hilarious and we were overjoyed. After doing some quick math, I realized I was 8 weeks along.
Since we lived about 8 hours away from our parents, we decided to tell them before we left that weekend, we were all so excited and back home we went for me to completely over-prepare for our new arrival.
I went to the library and picked up every-single-pregnancy/parenting/new-daddy book I could get my hands on. I made an appointment with a very well known and respected midwife (yes, I said midwife, we will get to more on that in a bit). I switched from my ovulation app to my pregnancy app (my baby was the size of a wild strawberry!).
The next day at work, I felt a little nauseous and my boobs needed ice packs--yay, pregnancy symptoms! I excitedly snapped a picture of my saltines and Ginger Ale and sent it to my closest girlfriends! The next day I started spotting.
I Googled, and I Googled. Brown spotting is ok, that means old blood (and I'd been missing periods so I though, okay, maybe I had a little extra in there) Pink spotting is ok, that means new blood--you're growing a tiny human, they're going to pop some blood vessels. Brown spotting is bad, pink spotting is bad. A lot of spotting is bad, a lot of spotting is totally normal. A little spotting is totally fine, a little spotting could be an early indicator of trouble to come....You can drive yourself crazy with all of the conflicting information.
Off to my first midwife appointment I went, I expressed my concerns, and she got me an appointment for an ultrasound. I was 11 weeks when they were finally able to see me, I spotted every day, not a ton--enough for a light day two times a day...but my pregnancy symptoms were gone and I didn't pick up those baby books I'd so enthusiastically tracked down a week before.
Some part of me knew, but I didn't want to speak it out loud, the story of the Shunamite woman from the Bible played in my head a lot while I waited for that appointment.
Side note. At this time, John was working for an Ohio gas and oil company that, like all the gas and oil companies in the area, were running low on work, funds, and had too many employees. Weeks...months before, he was working 100 hour weeks, had bonuses coming from all directions, and I only had to work part-time (and even that wasn't completely necessary). By the time we realized that things weren't looking good, his hours had been cut, people were being laid off left and right...and we realized my part-time job wasn't going to cut it anymore. Plus, nannying and adding your own kiddos into the mix wasn't something I wanted to juggle that spring so I needed something new, and I needed it fast.
A few weeks after I completed getting my PA teaching licenses updated so I could teach in Ohio, I found the perfect job. An online school was hiring English teachers. I would be able to work from home, teach, be near my children, and I was over the moon.
On October 22nd, I headed off to my first ultrasound. John was supposed to meet me there, but his boss needed him to stay, and with the future of his company so uncertain, there wasn't any room for negotiation.
I waited what seemed like eons in that waiting room, surrounded by happy couples, and mommies with their adorable little baby bumps for him to walk in so we could do this together, but finally his text came that he wasn't able to make it. I wish I just stayed in that room.
When the nurse finally called me back, we got down to business and since I was closer to 11 weeks at this point, she tried an external ultrasound first. With no success, she said not to worry, I might not be as far along as I thought and we'd try an internal, she also was going to bring in the doctor. She left the room while I got ready.
I already knew.
When the doctor came back, they were able to find the anembryonic sac, but there was no yolk. Our baby had stopped developing at six weeks, without a yolk it could not develop further than that. I was kindly and gently told that it wasn't anything I had done, or not done, but that this is very common and that 1 in 4 women experience a miscarriage, especially their first pregnancy. Not to worry though, it wasn't likely to happen again and at least our swimmer swam and my eggs knew where to go. I know this was meant to be helpful, but not having a reason really upset me. (More on that later.)
The whole staff was very concerned about me being there alone (my I please stress the importance of not going to this type of appointment alone, ever). I walked in a daze back to my car. As soon as I closed the door I finally allowed myself to cry. Cry isn't really the right word. Sob. Those heaving gut-wrenching sobs that leave you with an instant headache. I sat there for a few minutes, I finally was able to call John and tell him. I drove home with what can only be described as autopilot skills from years of driving practice. I blasted Christian music and while I can't remember the names of the songs, when I hear them I'm taken back to that awful car ride. I spent the rest of the day in bed.
My midwife called me the next day, we talked about my options. She explained that the bleeding I'd been experiencing was most likely my body trying to miscarry, unsuccessfully for now nearly six weeks. She was very concerned that since my body was having so much trouble miscarrying naturally that I was at high risk for hemorrhaging, she felt that the sac must be embedded very deeply in my uterine wall for it to be taking this long. She said I could wait and see, or, we could schedule a D & C (Dilation and curettage (D&C) is a procedure to remove tissue from inside your uterus. Doctors perform dilation and curettage to diagnose and treat certain uterine conditions — such as heavy bleeding — or to clear the uterine lining after a miscarriage (Mayo Clinic).
After thinking it over, I opted to schedule the D & C, the earliest they could get me in was the following Friday.
I started my new job the next morning, on October 23rd, I walked into the office knowing that at any moment, I could potentially have a miscarriage. I happily welcomed the distraction of work in the meantime, and after orientation I decided now would be a great time to take a few grad classes, something I'd been putting off until I started working for a school district again. I applied to Penn State right away, filling out applications and slowly called and updated friends and family about our sad news.
The next week I thankfully started working from home. I watched all the training videos, started getting to know my peers, from the time I woke up to the time I went to bed I stayed very busy. I walked our two puppies (at the time were were around 7 and 8 months old and quite the handful). I did a lot of reading. What had other people chosen? Was the D & C the right choice? I read, and read, and read. I did not cry. I anxiously awaited Friday morning, so I could finally have some closure. So I could finally grieve. Because even though I knew...I knew that nothing could make this baby inside me be okay, some silly part of me was holding onto a nonexistence thread of hope.
Throughout the week the bleeding had picked up. Instead of light days, I was now wearing what can only be described as adult diapers, changing them several times a day but never so much that I felt the need to go to the hospital.
Then, on Thursday evening, as I stood up from the couch I felt what can only be described as a gushing sensation and then something drop. I will never forget that feeling. I looked at John and I told him that I needed him to come upstairs with me. I quickly went to the bathroom and a large amount of tissue had come out. This was all that we'd ever see of our first pregnancy. And there really wasn't anything to see, just clots...nothing that resembled a baby. I thought Oh, it's over! That wasn't so bad... I didn't cry. I felt relieved, I wouldn't need the surgery, there was no doubt that that last tiny, dumb hope I'd felt was not happening...I could move on, heal, and we could try again.
Not long after though, the contractions started. I'd read that some women have contractions when they miscarried. I hadn't thought about the emotional pain that this caused though. For the next five hours I sobbed as wave after wave of pain hit, pain that wouldn't result in me holding my healthy beautiful baby, no--these contractions were for nothing. That was the greatest pain of all. John stayed up with me the whole time, doing what he could to help me be comfortable. He and I prayed more than night than I ever have before in my life, God also, never left our sides.
The whole time I just kept saying how I refused to do this in a hospital. For Heaven's sake, I wanted a home birth, and this felt so much more intimate than that...I lost track of how many times I had to get up and go to the bathroom to change my enormous pad, but finally around two in the morning, I fell asleep.
On October 30th, I called the doctor's office and asked if they felt I should still have the surgery that was scheduled for that day. They said they couldn't know for sure if all of the tissue was out until they'd started. I called my midwife next, she asked how I was feeling and I still felt crampy, she felt that was a good indication that not everything had come out on it's own, she recommended I continue with the D & C. By the time we reached the hospital, it felt like the contractions were getting ready to start again and by the time I was finally taken back for surgery the pain had picked up to an uncomfortable level. I signed the release form for the hospital to handle the "tissue," it is the only document I ever signed as someone's Mother, something I was completely unprepared for and was an emotional blow that I could not process. I was then taken in a bright room filled with seemingly 20 people, to experience what can only we refereed to as one of the worst days and moments of my life.
I have to say that the doctors, nurses, and staff and I interacted with during this whole process were amazing, and such a comfort, I was truly in the best hands.
When I woke up, I instantly felt the relief. No cramping, in fact, I was able to recognize how hungry I was (when was the last time I ate?). My doctor explained that the D & C had been a very good choice, there was still a lot of tissue that was she able to remove and that I should be feeling much better, with less bleeding very soon. Compared to what I'd experienced that last few weeks, after we got home I had practically none.
We stocked up on our favorite Chinese food and went home. A few days later, I ordered a small figurine (one of the Willow Tree ones) to remember our baby. While most of the people in my life had no idea what we'd gone through. Life went on.
Some blog posts that I found very helpful during this time:
I disagree with #2, but the rest are excellent, when in doubt, stick with #1.
These all, are awful in fresh painful, guilty, gut-wrenching ways. I cannot tell you how painful the reactions of some of the people I told were for me, if you aren't sure what to say, please stick with #1 from the above article.
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