**Please note, the following post contains sensitive material related to pregnancy and miscarriage**
This is my story, of our little one that never came to be. There are lots of stories like these, but this one is mine.
I have been attempting to wrap my head around how to adequately express my feelings as of late, and it has been somewhat difficult. I had inkling that it may get worse before it got better. I had hoped that with coping skills that I have learned, I would at least move through this with relative ease. I did initially, reality allowed me to focus and my brain just kept moving forward. As time passed however, I found little spots that would cause me to pause. I had little circumstances that would stop me cold. It is why I haven’t been able to write, it’s because I didn’t know how to right now. I am not sorry I didn’t do more, I am not sorry I didn’t provide more contexts until today. However, all of a sudden it’s everywhere. Allow me to explain, and please understand this is more for me, than anything else, but I need to continue this journey and want to do so through writing. If it is not your cup of tea, I respect that and fully understand.
Around the beginning of August I found out I was pregnant. My boyfriend and I were excited. Surprised, but over the moon. I followed up as one does and made an appointment with my OB/GYN. The first indicator that there was something strange a foot with my provider was that they made it clear that they needed to test me when I came in. I am fully aware that there are other reasons they test as there can be complications and more insidious outcomes and reasons for a positive pregnancy test, but I was cautious because it felt strange to complete another urine test after my own. Frankly I would assume a blood test would more accurately gauge the HCG levels. My first appointment was a disaster and I have never been more grateful for asking my best friend to support for that appointment. She was a superstar, scratch that. She was the gravity keeping me from falling into the abyss, off my axis during the appointment. Now, I am not someone who cares if you drug test me, but I was never offered to consent to this. This concerned me. I was then treated as though I was some insane human, as though “how dare she do something so careless” as get pregnant. I felt within those moments that I was treated as a child, and I did not advocate for myself until it was all over. Thinking back, I am shocked at the impact these doctors had on me, and that I did not advocate for myself. I was ashamed that I hadn’t. I was ashamed that I feel so strongly or the rights of woman and for myself, and yet unable to put them into practice. I decided to switch shortly after this appointment, to the Midwife and Birthing Center in the city. They are spectacular. I couldn’t be happier with the support I was provided, the women centered, loving environment they provided me with has both provided emotional support, but has been thus far substantially more cost effective, even with my current insurance plan.
During my first appointment, the treating physician and her wonderful colleague asked me questions, we discussed diet concerns, prenatal vitamins, my relationship, the support system I had and of course the elephant in the room, my weight. At the previous appointment, it was made astoundingly clear that I was “OBESE” and should only “put on” 11-20 lbs throughout my pregnancy. For the record, that is not the way you talk to a patient about their weight, specifically when you are aware that it is generally a sensitive subject for most woman. This was the nail on the head that made me choose to change providers, because for crying out loud have a little tact. There were many more questions, but I am forgetting them at this present moment. She attempted to find a heartbeat using a Doppler, and did not find one, but reported that given the fact that I was merely 10 weeks, this was not out of the ordinary. I was concerned, because I had assumed, perhaps somewhat naively that it would be possible. She reported it was nothing to worry about and scheduled me for an ultrasound in about a week for my first view of the little nugget. I was nervous throughout and probably interrupted a few more times than was preferable but this was all extremely new to me despite the knowledge I had, and I was so extremely excited I could burst. I finally felt calm and comfortable, despite the nervousness. We scheduled bloodwork, my next appointment and I truly could not have asked for a better follow up after the appointment I had experienced at my original OB/GYN.
The next day, I went about my business, worked, and did ordinary household things, making sure to manage the nausea that continued to plague me on occasion, and not eat all the cured meats and soft cheeses I desperately wanted to indulge in. Instead, I ate pickles. All the pickles! At one point, my bladder becoming the constantly fully being it was, needed to be emptied. But as I wiped, and checked as I had done every single day for the past few weeks in terror, it did in fact present with a stain. Horrified, I began to cry. I walked around my apartment attempting to calm myself, knowing full well it could just be nothing, but also knowing that it was exactly what I thought was happening. Something told me it wasn’t just spotting, that it wasn’t just a bit of blood. I cannot tell you for certain how, but I knew.
I called my boyfriend, Nick, who was so wonderful and sweet and encouraged me to speak with his mom because he knew how much I was losing myself with the unknown. She spoke with me via 3 way call and we decided it was best to call the midwife on call. After speaking with her she expressed that I could go to the ER and address the bleeding or wait it out and see if it continued. Given the concerns that surround bleeding in early pregnancy I chose to make a visit to the ER. Morgan, my friend thankfully agreed to join me and brought her sweet little daughter with her. For some that may seem strange, but truthfully it was a delight. I was concerned that she may be scared or worried and so with every procedure the doctors and nurses performed we talked her through it and she was beyond intrigued. I was so grateful to have Morgan there and even more so for this sweet little angel to give me support. They performed a multitude of tests, and while Morgan saw after her daughter we chatted, all the while she prevented the little one from exiting the room, as one does with a toddler, and we laughed and time passed. So much time past that the little one ended up falling asleep while we waited for yet another doctor to enter the room and talk to us. Even more astounding was that Morgan took her home and then returned, despite the extremely late hours and stayed with me until discharge 8 hours later. Ultrasounds were performed, inconclusive, but I knew what I saw. I saw nothing, no fetus, no yolk sack, nothing resembling a baby. My baby, in whatever gestational age it had been, was gone before I even was able to see it. The reality was sobering and I just kept going. It is important to note that the staffs at the hospital were amazing. They were comforting and kind, and were truly wonderful throughout the ordeal.
Everything remained the status quo as the next day was Sunday and so I rested. I went to work that Monday, but by the afternoon I was exhausted. I had already spoken with my supervisor who was wonderfully supportive and accommodating. She expressed that it was up to me, and I chose to take it day by day, as we all know the risks of missing days at work can have on the fragility of a consistent pay check despite sick leave being an option. Tuesday, to my incredible delight my boyfriend came into town, days before he had intended, with the sole purpose of caring for me. He is an incredible human being and I am beyond lucky to have him as my partner. Things were going okay, and I was following up with blood draws and appointments as required. Nothing would prepare me for Wednesday.
On Wednesday morning I began my morning and went to work, things had not progressed much until I was driving to my first, and thankfully only appointment that day. I felt the cramping as I was driving and knew that it was likely things would get worse. They did. I was beginning to get waves of cramps, which I would imagine were a bit like contractions, but in the smallest way in that they came in waves. I would be working, and the next thing a wave like a 18 wheeler without access to its brakes might look like. Careening off into the distance unaware of who it might harm. I was not prepared for this, and I was not home to remain enclosed in warm womb of my apartment with my boyfriend.
I completed my appointment, feeling less sure of myself. I made it home and immediately began bleeding heavily, and feeling the least like myself I have ever felt. My body, as wonderful as it was and is, was taking control and my brain had no idea what to do. I would like to say that I allowed my body to do its job, but frankly I felt like it was an alien. I knew not what it was doing. I didn’t understanding the feeling of so much weight in my belly, the constant waves that led me to feel as though I had lead weighing my womb down. It was a weight I knew meant things were moving forward, parts of my little nugget, however big it was while nestled in there, was making an exit. I knew at one point it seemed too much. Not for my body, but there was too much. I called the midwife on call who again directed me to the ER, as I was bleeding more than they were comfortable with. I wanted to walk, as I live a mere block from the ER, hoping it would help, despite my boyfriend’s gentle offer to drive me. I had hoped the sunshine and light would direct me. At the last minute I realized it was not an option, and I needed to be driven for fear I might not be able to make it the block without an accident. It was horrifying being in that hospital bed, sans underwear, aware I was bleeding, not knowing whether this process, as strong and wonderful as my body was, was too much for it too handle. The waves kept coming. I wanted to exit my body at that moment despite the support I had; I wanted it to be over. I wanted to move on.
It finally calmed a few hours after we left the ER, and I knew that now was the time to rest, to allow myself to be taken care of. The experience was not one I want to repeat and for over a week, I had a constant reminder of what had occurred. A few months have since passed, and I truly realized that my mind was allowing my body to heal and then it began to crumble a bit, like an old building in disrepair. I found myself feeling blue, unmotivated and scared. What world would I be bringing this baby into, or the next little one to be in my womb? Was it worth it? Should I just give up on having children despite the almost feral desire to have a child? This too calmed after a while, and while I do grieve the loss, it is less consistent in its effects now. It still pops up, and I am sad but I also know it happens for a reason. There was nothing to be done. That no one can be blamed for it, that there was nothing I could to do keep them safe. It was not my fault. I have had to repeat it may times on the days when it is hard and I am feeling sorry for myself. It is harder still with the world we live in and the violence and terror we all experience. I have to believe, I have to, that there is something more. That there is more happiness, more joy and more love to be brought into this world going forward and that we can achieve at least a little bit of it. That we can teach our children love, and acceptance and comfort and that hatred and anger is not what this world is for. I will continue to dream of you little one, and have to believe that one day I will be honored enough to be someone’s mama.
It was necessary and required to complete more sonograms later and complete more blood work to make sure that the miscarriage had naturally come to completion, without the need for medical intervention, and I am so grateful Nick was there throughout this process and for that last sonogram, and the time he spent with me. He is an amazing human being; I am grateful for his strength and also for his sensitivity within his own struggles through this process. It is humbling to watch another person experiencing it with you, who is your partner and I hope that I was the support he needed through his grief.
I need to note as well, that the experience in the beginning, the doctor’s appointment specifically, is not something I want to wish upon any other person, and I will happily stand with any person who has to go alone to an appointment in fear. I will happily be your support, whether you just want someone to hold your hand, or as be silly, sarcastic or serious. Whatever is needed! I want to be what Morgan and Nick were for me. I will be the pillar of strength and support, a good woman in a storm, anytime it is needed.
