Disclaimer: I am sharing my very personal, very real story about my experience with multiple miscarriages below. The intention in sharing is to help others who may be going through something similar so they know they are not alone. I am also attempting to spread a little awareness about some of the less known details and deeply emotional things that maybe some of your friends/loved ones have gone through or are going through right now. It’s likely they won’t volunteer this information because the topic is not usually openly discussed-especially not in the middle of it. I want to try to paint a picture, through my own experiences, to help others to understand so that they may support as best they can. But mostly, I want to share this because I want to try to help someone who may be going through this, right now, like me.
Before posting, I have shared this story with my husband, family, and friends to ask for their feedback because, although I speak confidently about wanting to share/help, I am still unsure if I’m making the right move doing so in such an explicit way. And when I say explicit, I mean...explicitly long. The friends/family consensus about sharing was, “YES, DO IT!!!!”. They believe it could help a lot of people. Others also loved it but said I’d reach more people if I shortened it.
It’s long. I’ve read it and reread to see if I can lift anything out, but it physically pains me to think about dismissing anything. This is my story. It’s how everything played out and I’m choosing to tell it the way that it happened. My sister told me it didn’t feel that long. My sister-in-law said that she nearly overflowed a bath she’d started and burnt her chicken dinner because she couldn’t stop reading. You should also know that my friends constantly roll their eyes at me because I am notorious for telling long stories. If you aren’t into reading that much, I totally get it! You are, in no way, obligated to read and are welcome to leave running now. People who may wish to stay are the people I’m hoping to reach. It’s worth it for me to share, even if only one person reads and finds hope. I know that I scoured/still scour the internet looking for stories like mine and will eat up blog after blog on the topic/similar topics. I’ve found it incredibly helpful to sit down and write this all out. I plan to continue writing and to share my story over time as my own source of therapy. So it will get longer :).
I’ve also gotten feedback to warn me of negative commenters and people who may point out that I don’t have it that bad; that I actually haven’t been trying for that long and that there are people out there who have it way worse. They’re right, and absolutely there are! I am in no way trying to say that my experiences are novel. Far from it, actually. I am EXTREMELY lucky in the support I have. I have a phenomenal life with my husband, friends, and family. If you find yourself saying “At least you have/haven't…” I just want you to know that this was never...ever...a competition and this post may not be for you. And that’s ok.
Then there may be the people who are mean just to be mean. I know I’m opening myself up to that going in. Sometimes that’s just how people are. In the words of my lovely cousin Jessica, who you will read about below (if you choose to), if that’s how they’re going to be, “Well, then fuck em”. She told me she’d Kool-Aid man into their houses and kick their asses for me. I’m actually hoping that the length of this story might be a natural defense mechanism to help ward off the jerks. Ha!
Please, if you don’t want to read, but know someone who might because they are hurting, send this along to them. Let them know there’s someone, somewhere out there, who is thinking of them. I loved two movies as a kid, The Wizard of Oz and Fievel and I still sing/hum the songs to myself. I’m hoping to someday sing them to my children, maybe biological, maybe made with a little bit of science, maybe not. For now, these lullabies are for anyone who needs/is comforted by them.
Thank you for reading and for being kind and gentle with something very personal.
Bad US Tech. Off on Fridays.
Written 4/28-5/5/20
I’m sitting down to write this and I don’t really know where I’m going with it. All I know, right in this moment, is that I can’t get an image out of my head. Be aware, it isn’t a pleasant image. We are in the middle of the COVID-19 quarantine and I’ve taken to watching Naked and Afraid-the show where two people try to survive in the wilderness…naked and afraid. On one particular episode, a man steps on some sort of large thorn and continues to walk around with this injury, untreated, for an extended period of time. It is clear that he has an infection and his foot swells around the wound. It becomes so inflamed at one point that he is rushed out of his camp to receive medical attention from a doctor who tells him that he could lose more than just a foot if he continues. The infection must be drained. The man screams in agony as the doctor cuts into and pushes the infection through the small opening. The show does not censor any of the blood/liquid/incisions, and while I would usually raise my shoulders as close to my ears as possible and sharply turn my gaze away from the TV, my shoulders gently sank as I watched the man’s wound deflate. I felt…relief.
I realized that, over the past 8 months, I have been filling up and am now too full, as if I could burst like a balloon at any moment. I guess, sitting here right now, I’m attempting to slowly pour out in a more controlled and manageable way as to not flood the world around me. Funny, I decided I needed to begin writing this in a nearly overflowing bathtub.
Originally, this was just for me, but I’m changing my mind on this. I realized that one of the main reasons I feel so full and unwell is because I’ve felt quite alone in what I have been going through since this past September. I’ve had amazing support from close friends and family, so not alone in that sense, but alone in feeling like I’m a small percentage. Not many people willingly talk about their experience with miscarriage, but that’s part of my problem. I have been feeling my way through the dark since this past fall and have only found small cracks of light by sharing my experience with close friends. I need a window to be thrown open.
Of course! Sharing like experiences is 100 percent the preference of the individual going through such loss. But the stigma surrounding miscarriage, for me, is debilitating and much of the stigma is created through a lack of knowledge and understanding on the topic. You likely do not know how incredibly common miscarriage is until you go through it and learn from doctors, like I did, or from very close friends who have gone through it and share their experience with you. A quick Google search will show that one in four women miscarry and it is believed that the rate is actually much higher as many women will often miscarry before they even know they’re pregnant.
What is a bit less common, though, is experiencing consecutive/multiple miscarriages. You hear even less about cases like these. I wish I knew of more people going through what I am currently going through. I’m sure there are groups and different forms of support that I could seek. I guess I just want others within reach to know that for every four baby announcements they see on their newsfeed, there is at least one case like mine and theirs. Miscarriage is painful and can be perceived as failure (it’s so not) so it’s hushed. How many people are out there silently suffering, feeling guilt and fear on top of the pain?
I recently saw a post on Facebook of someone’s baby announcement. They were excited to announce that the baby was made “with love and a little bit of science” and I cried because I felt like there were options. It gave me hope. They’ve since shown glimpses into their IVF story with the happy ending of a beautiful baby girl. I am constantly wondering if our story (mine and my husband’s) will have a happy ending, but that isn’t always the case. Or- I just may not have a happy ending in the way I imagined.
I wondered, though, if that person was afraid to post because maybe they felt they might be judged or their viscerally emotional and personal experiences would be scrutinized. What I do know, though, is that I want to contact them and tell them how much their post meant to me. I think about it all the time. I know I will think about that post as I continue through this.
Originally, I was going to share this after I got pregnant and was into my third trimester but I honestly don’t know that I will ever get there. That also defeats the purpose. I want to share now in all of the uncertainty. I want people to know that there are others who have gone through/are going through similar experiences. Even if it’s just for one person. Maybe I can guide someone to that window and pour a bit of light on the dark pit that is a miscarriage journey. Maybe they’ll reach out to me and let me know that I’m not so alone either and we can push the window open even further. Maybe we can even climb out.
Here’s our story.
My husband, Justin, and I decided to start trying to have a baby in the fall. We knew it could take a while-some people try for years, so we honestly didn’t think too much about it. We didn’t change or track anything. I was out to dinner with a friend on a Friday night a few weeks later and immediately got sick after drinking one margarita. I thought it was weird, but it passed. When I got home, I sat outside because it was a perfect night. It was mid-September. The bugs weren’t out and the sky was clear. Where I live, on a clear night, the sky is like a magnet. The stars were so bright and looking at them somehow felt like dessert after dinner. I figured I’d wait outside for Justin to get home. I thought about how good I felt in that moment and remembered that I was sick only a little while ago. That was when I thought I might possibly be pregnant. I had been waiting for more overt symptoms to come on as a sign and honestly didn’t really expect them on our first try. But maybe this was something?
Now, I have a thing with stars. I realize this is a vague and confusing statement but I won’t go into much detail about what the “thing” is. My husband and close friends know about it, and to keep it as special as it is to me, I won’t give much more information than that. What I will say, though, is that weeks prior to me sitting outside under the stars waiting for Justin to come home, a shooting star punctuated the beginning of this journey and helped us decide to begin trying. Cut back to mid-September under the sky, just as I thought about the possibility of being pregnant, I saw a spark float above the tree line.
We didn’t expect it to be that easy. We were beyond belief excited. I was as high up as that tree line.
You all know the rule, don’t say anything until three months. You tell a few people though. You do not tell your friend who you know recently had a miscarriage in January, even if you think (have a strong feeling, actually) she also might be pregnant again and you will likely give birth within weeks of one another. Although they say not to, you plan. We planned a babymoon early on while we still had some money before needing to invest in baby furniture and all other necessities. We were thinking about names and definitely not agreeing on any. This was all prior to the first official ultrasound. There wasn’t even an appointment in the books yet.
Just 5 weeks and I started bleeding. We had gone out to a restaurant for dinner that night. Same place we went on our first date. I got steak with lobster and a small side pizza because, well, I was pregnant and I could. I remember we discussed getting a bigger vehicle to better fit a car seat. I got home and wanted to change into sweatpants-I was too full. That’s when my heart stopped and I yelled loud enough for Justin to come running.
I thought it was my fault-because I ate too much. As silly as this sounds, I just didn’t know enough. No one in my family had dealt with miscarriage, and I absolutely did not anticipate that I would have one. When you find out you’re pregnant you are so excited about the future, you could float away. And then it’s just gone. You have to recalibrate your perception of loss after because you just keep asking yourself, “How can you be so devastated about something you never even had?”.
We knew there was nothing we could do to stop it, but from what you read quickly online, it is possible to have bleeding and to not miscarry. It’s advised to get checked by your doctor. It was a Friday around 7:00pm or so. Seeing my doctor wasn’t an option. I called my sister who works at Women and Infants Hospital. I hovered over the call button because I just kept thinking, “This is not how I planned on telling my sister I was pregnant”. I evened my breathing and called. I broke the news in past tense (was pregnant) and told her that I thought I was miscarrying. I further listed off symptoms and the more I spoke, the more I realized how bleak it all sounded. I broke and felt awful crying on the phone, seeking comfort from my little sister. She advised me to head down to triage, the emergency center at the hospital, and told me which nurses and doctors were the best.
We were admitted and I was examined by the on-call doctor who my sister had secretly recommended. I naively thought that she would take one look and I would be able to describe the bleeding to her and she would tell me if I miscarried or not. That was not the case, and as early in the pregnancy as I was, it would be even more difficult to tell. We waited for an ultrasound, which in the emergency section of Women and Infants is understandably not high priority. The doctors were incredibly kind and we waited a few hours until we were taken down to the basement floor. It was dark and cold, but the technician placed a warm towel over my midsection and legs. She was painfully quiet throughout the imaging. I looked at Justin knowing it wasn’t good, who said “She’s finding Nemo”. He thought my uterus resembled the ocean floor. I laughed with tears in my eyes and a sinking feeling in my stomach. He was able to get me to laugh in that dark basement and I will be forever grateful for him and that moment. It wasn’t lost on me that he was also going through this with no warm towels and no one to make him laugh.
We got absolutely no information. The doctor needed to review the images and to relay the information directly. I fell asleep on the bed and Justin sat upright in a chair beside me. At 2:00am, the doctor came in and sat down next to the bed. She said that I hadn’t miscarried but the pregnancy wouldn’t be viable. All I heard was that I didn’t miscarry. That was it. Everything else faded out and I was better again-ready to go home. Then she began drawing a picture of my uterus which I thought was weird, but to each her own. I watched and secretly hoped she would hurry so I could get dressed and leave. She showed me where viable pregnancies implant and I watched as she drew where my pregnancy was. It was close to the opening of my fallopian tube. She let me know that this very rare type of pregnancy, called an interstitial ectopic pregnancy, is fatal to 1 in 6 women. She put her hand on my leg, (knowing I wasn’t really getting it) and told me they would have to admit and monitor me closely throughout the night. My ears rang, my vision closed in and I began sweating. I fell backwards onto the bed.
We were taken up to a room. This was my first ever hospital stay. I had thought that my first time would be to give birth. I wore a bracelet that read “Fall Risk” because I had passed out. So began my descent from the tree line.
The next morning the doctors came in and told us the options we would have after further imaging. Bloodwork showed that my levels were increasing exponentially which meant the pregnancy was progressing. If it continued this way, I would need to have surgery to either remove it, which has a high rate of scarring and can cause difficulty for future pregnancies... or, I would have to have recurrent injections of methotrexate to terminate. Methotrexate is a form of chemotherapy and I would feel very ill and likely experience hair loss as a result. We would not have to decide for a few days, though. Since I was so early on and the pregnancy was so small (I didn’t have any severe pain-just mild cramping), they wanted to monitor my hormone levels in the event the pregnancy terminated on its own. I would need to stay in the hospital a few more days.
The worst part. A few days later after bloodwork, they took me down for the next ultrasound. The pregnancy appeared to have moved lower into the uterus. The technicians and doctors were stumped. This could have meant that the pregnancy was on its way out, but my hormone levels were still rising, so it could also have meant that there was an initial misread of the imaging. They could not tell us with any certainty what was happening. The amazing news was that I wasn’t going to die or need chemo treatment, but I was still crushed that there was no answer, and quite frankly, still a bit scared. What if the second ultrasound was the misread, not the first, and the pregnancy was still interstitial? My hormone levels were rising…
And then they weren’t. They were basically stagnant. My cousin, Jess, who had immediately rushed to the hospital when she heard about our situation, was there with me when I was released and sent home to wait some more. I would not receive any more information until my seven-week appointment. I was only in the hospital for three days, but when we walked outside, I commented to her that the leaves had begun to change and it felt colder. It was getting darker sooner than expected.
I went back to work immediately. Mind you, at least five women where I work at this time are pregnant. No one really knew what I had been going through-my boss and a couple close work friends but that’s it. My boss (who was pregnant and showing at this point) was amazing and encouraged me to take the time I needed. It’s incredibly hard to act normal when you’re in a state of such uncertainty, but that’s all I really wanted to do. I wanted to keep my mind off of it. I chose to bury myself in work and to just hope the next week went by as quickly as possible.
After my first day back, I stopped for fast food because I was not up to cooking and Justin was also away for work. I saw a man and woman, who looked to be in their late 20s, cross the street as I turned into the drive through line. It looked like they were asking people for food and getting turned down. I reluctantly opened my window, mostly because I was just emotionally drained at this point, but I wanted to help; to feel a bit of positivity after everything. He first asked if I had any money, I told him I had no cash. He then asked if I could buy him some food, and I agreed. He asked for two cheeseburgers and a fry. I assumed one burger was for the woman and they would both share a fry. I was happy to provide them with dinner. After paying, I saw the two waiting ahead and drove up to give them their bag. I rolled down the window and the guy collected his food and began to walk away. He turned back, I assumed to say thank you, and said “You don’t have any money?” I told him no once again and he said “Well, you have a card, can’t you go take out 20 bucks?” My eyes widened in disbelief and I said, “I gave you food, you didn’t say thank you, and you want me to go to the ATM for you?”. He then yelled “YEAH! I NEED 20 DOLLARS”. I drove away and cried silently.
I waited without hope for my next appointment. I did not see any way that there could be positive news since my levels didn’t rise. Justin had come home in the meantime and then left again on another work trip. Jess came with me, though. We planned to go to the local casino after (we’d never been) to gamble (I’d never gambled) and drink blue alcoholic drinks. We waited in the room for the doctor after the ultrasound, and on the wall was a painting of an ominous looking woman wearing a dress with a sheer cloak. The color pallet chosen for this painting was a bit of gray, black, and white. We both kind of tilted our heads, stared at it… and began to laugh. It was a strange painting. To be honest, she looked like an interdimensional embodiment of a female “death” who comes to steal the souls of unborn children. Now, I know this is a super dark thought considering my circumstances but, in that moment, it was absolutely hysterical to us. We named her Patricia. We laughed hard while we waited for the doctor. Jess also took out a starburst and threatened to put it in the sculpture of the female reproductive system. We laughed even more. I knew she was doing it for me. I don’t know where my mind would have been without her.
The doctor came in and said there was growth. There was evidence of a fetal pole where there wasn’t before and that they couldn’t determine, at this point, if I would be miscarrying or not. I’d have to wait another week to see if the pregnancy would show a heartbeat. I was stunned and didn’t know what to say. Jess filled in and took the lead on the questions. “There was growth!” was all I kept thinking. Not this time, Patricia!
We did not go to the casino and drink. Instead, we went to a chain pizza restaurant, our favorite place to go as kids, where we would immediately head over to the jukebox and play “I’m Too Sexy” over and over again until our moms would take our quarters away. We ate an entire pizza and went back to my house to watch “The Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown”. I made pumpkin cookies. Later, we watched some ghost story show and we wondered if we’d see Patricia and laughed again. Jess stayed with me the entire day. I don’t know if I’ve ever told her how much that day meant to me.
For my next appointment, Justin was home. This was the one. I thought back to the night we went to the hospital and thought we’d have answers. I pictured myself getting on one of those carnival rides-I think it’s called the Zipper-where you’re confined by a metal cage, disoriented from the spinning, while being hurled up and down. An odd mix of fear and joy. That’s how the last few weeks had felt.
There was no growth and no heartbeat. I finally got off the ride only to feel excruciatingly sick.
We stopped at the pharmacy near my work to pick up the medications I would need to try to have the miscarriage without intervention at home. We were in the parking lot while I cried holding the bag of prescriptions that were causing me mental pain and would later cause pain that could mimic labor. We just sat there for a bit. Then we heard a tap on the window but I didn’t look up-my face in my hands. I heard Justin say something about a homeless man and a girl and I snapped right up. “Roll down the window”. It was, serendipitously, the same man I’d bought food for. He smiled at Justin kindly and began by asking for any spare change but didn’t get too far because I screamed, red-faced and (I’m sure) crazy looking from crying, “HEY! Remember me!? I’m the girl who bought you burgers! You’re not getting any fucking money!” He stared stunned, wide eyed, and mouth agape-Justin too, but with a slight smile. I then yelled, “What are you looking at?! Get the fuck out of here!” and he quickly walked away. I thanked the universe for giving me release at that exact moment in time.
The people who did know about my situation were incredible and made me feel so much better in the following weeks. I received flowers and notes and cards and they checked in to see how I was doing. One small gift from a friend at work was a little fertility statue. The gift was on my desk and included a little hand-written note. It also came with two stones. One was for you to keep and the other you were to give back to the earth in a body of water/stream. I thought this was the cutest little thing and the note was so thoughtful. I kept the little statue on my kitchen counter display to be able to look at it often, the little note tucked into a shell within the display.
I’d see the statue every now and then and be reminded how incredible everyone around me was and I truly think it’s because they had insight. They say not to tell people you’re pregnant early, but everyone I told had a better sense of what I was going through. They celebrated alongside me and then could see how far down the fall was. With all the branches from the top of the tree line to the ground.
It also helped me a lot to be able to just talk to friends during this time. Especially after I found out that the meds didn’t work and that I’d now need to go ahead with the surgery (Dilation and Curettage-or D and C) anyway. That was one particularly large branch.
Justin was away again, so my lovely mother in law, Leslie, drove me to this appointment. I took Percocet for the first time in my life and felt quite strange on the car ride, but not bad strange. I asked Leslie if she thought they were going to use a needle…you know where… and we both laughed at the outrageous thought.
While in the room waiting for the procedure to begin, I peeked at the tray of utensils and spotted a large needle. I calmly asked, “Is that a needle?” while panicking severely on the inside. Leslie and I looked at each other, wide-eyed ,as the doctor removed the tray from sight. Leslie held my hand.
Once everything began, I felt incredibly overwhelmed all of a sudden and I began to cry. Not because of the needle, but because of everything. This was the end of it, but it was a long and drawn out process. There was something symbolic in that it ended with shock and fear of the needle; of the unexpected, and it hit me all at once. Actually, maybe I had finally hit the ground.
Jessy called me to check in, always. I went to follow-up appointments alone now, because I couldn’t keep asking her to leave work early or go in late in order to come with me. I let her know Patricia said hi though. I haven’t mentioned this yet, but Jess and I have had a pact for a few years to begin trying to get pregnant at the same time and had a pre-existing deal that we would start in October. I jumped the gun a bit but, again, I didn’t think that it would happen so quickly.
On one of her check-in phone calls, (she’d usually call while I was just pulling in the driveway after work) I asked her, out of nowhere, “So, are you pregnant yet?” and she paused and began to cry. She was. She wasn’t going to tell me because of everything. I was absolutely crushed. Not because she was pregnant, but because she couldn’t tell me and share her excitement. She was the first person I told after Justin and because of my shitty situation, she couldn’t tell me and had to stifle her excitement so I wouldn’t be upset. I cried that night harder than I cried at the doctor’s office. I thought the D and C was the end, but it wasn’t. I walked in the house as it was getting dark. It was overcast and there were no stars.
Sometime in November, I met up with two of my closest friends at our go-to coffee shop. The same friend who had miscarried last January and who I thought was pregnant again, was, in fact pregnant. I was so excited for her and it gave me hope to know that she had no trouble getting pregnant after her first miscarriage. She was just beginning to show a hint of a bump and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t thinking about what I would look like had I not lost my pregnancy. I remember trying as hard as I could to not let the sadness show in my face and to not think about how awesome it would have been to watch our kids play together.
We talked about everything, as we usually do. We discussed what we were doing for Thanksgiving. I was going to be away in Kauai, but was hosting a family dinner the week prior. This vacation was supposed to be our planned babymoon, but now it was just a severely needed getaway.
We also talked about how I was doing. I told them that I was ok and just drained, but I told them about a quote I saw that I couldn’t stop thinking about. They know my thing with stars, shooting stars in particular, so it makes more sense in how meaningful it is to me (but it certainly makes sense without the secret backstory, too). Every night before bed, I do this thing where I try to find a good quote to match how I’m feeling. I know it sounds weird, but it helps me to close out and punctuate the day. This quote was a very simple quote. It read it with my voice breaking mid-sentence.
“A shooting star only lasts a second, but aren’t you glad at least to have seen it?”.
Justin and I flew to Kauai for the week of Thanksgiving. The first full day of the vacation was spent traveling and when we got in, it was late and dark. We were exhausted so when we got to our room, we showered, and went to bed. I woke up around 3am while it was still dark, probably because of the time difference. I went outside on the balcony and was immediately blown away. The stars were so bright and there were so many. I sat there and just stared up. The sliding door opened and Justin came out to sit next to me in the dark-not really talking and he just held my hand. We saw three shooting stars. I cried quietly.
We were cleared to start trying again beginning in December. Looking back now, I wasn’t emotionally ready in the slightest. I immediately became obsessive and started tracking with ovulation strips. I was letting myself get excited, too. Not good. I thought that since I got pregnant the first time we tried in September, it would definitely be that easy again. We were quickly approaching Christmas and as timing would have it, I was likely to find out right before. Our original plan with my previous pregnancy was to give my mom and Leslie an ornament to open at the same time, letting them know we were expecting the first week in June. June 3rd was my due date. I thought that as hard as it might be to get through Christmas eve remembering our original plan, knowing we were pregnant again would make it all more bearable.
A few days before Christmas I began taking pregnancy tests, all of which came back negative through the morning of Christmas eve. I wanted to stay home through Christmas but Justin got me to go out. As we pulled into my brother’s driveway (where we do Christmas Eve each year) I saw Jessy and her husband Mike pull in beside us. In my own selfishness, I forgot that this would likely be the best time for her to announce to our family, too. I had picked up a small gift for her in Kauai, a little onesie, and had brought it to give to her on the down low. The boys went inside and I had her stay out with me so she could open the tiny gift bag. I asked her if she was going to tell everyone today and she paused again. She said she wasn’t sure. I told her that she absolutely should and that I loved her.
We had eaten dinner, and I drank a few glasses of wine and wasn’t getting nauseous like I did with the margarita. It was nice to be with family but I was hurting. Jess, Justin, Mike and I made a quick trip to a nearby gas station. Justin drove, and in the car I asked Jess when she was going to tell. She said that she didn’t think she was going to. I knew it was because of me.
When we got back inside the house, I stopped everyone and told them that I had an exciting announcement, “Jessy’s pregnant!”. I shared her news. I was afraid she might be upset with me because it wasn’t mine to share. She hugged and kissed me. Everyone circled in on her with congratulations. My sisters-in-law pulled me in for side hugs. One of them asked, “That was really hard, wasn’t it?”. I shrugged and watched the excitement that surrounded Jessy and was happy she didn’t need to hold back her own excitement anymore.
Later, everyone cleared out for dessert and I lingered in the room with the Christmas tree. My mom waited until it was just me and her and handed me a small wrapped box. Our family doesn’t buy gifts for everyone at Christmas. We keep it more manageable by doing a secret Santa exchange. I commented that we had already exchanged gifts. She said she knew and that she saw this while shopping and just wanted to give me a little something—I’m sure because of everything. I opened it and saw two small ruby red slippers. An ornament. She had picked it out specially to give to me not knowing that I was supposed to give her the ornament. “Your very own pair!”. I loved the movie The Wizard of Oz as a kid and would sing Somewhere Over the Rainbow…all the time. It was my favorite song. This was my favorite gift.
“Someday I’ll wish upon a star and wake up where the clouds are far behind me.”
2020 was going to be better. (HA). January came and the tracking began. The waiting followed and the anxiety loomed. I went to dinner with friends and had pear martinis and wasn’t getting sick. Days passed and tests came back negative. It was looking like it wasn’t going to happen this month.
I was at work one day and watching all of the pregnant teachers (I work in an elementary school) come to pick up their students from lunch. Their bellies were getting bigger and they were walking more intentionally with their hands on their backs to try and relieve pressure. I thought, “I’d take that pain over this pain any day”.
One day at lunch, a particularly adorable little boy with glasses that magnified his puppy dog eyes raised his hand for me to come over. He asked “Are you having a baby?” and I thought I felt my ribs implode with the blow to my heart. When I said no, he said, “Oh. I thought you were because of your belly.” and continued to eat his SunButter and jelly sandwich AS IF NOTHING HAD HAPPENED. Apparently, I had gained a little weight in all of this and hadn’t really noticed it myself. I was also bloated because I was a few days away from that time of the month. 2020 sucked.
At the end of that week I was on morning hallway duty where I greet all of the kids as they come into the building and up the stairs. Sometimes a few will stop and chat for a moment before heading to class. On this particular day, I was not having a good time. It was now definite as of that morning, that I wasn’t pregnant this month. I was feeling sorry for myself but smiling as the kids passed and chatted. One little boy stopped and asked if I was ok, which I thought was odd. I laughed a little and said I was. He told me he had something for me. He took out a stack of ripped out coloring book pages that he had colored for select teachers. He sifted through the pile and handed me mine. A shooting star. I nearly cried and I hugged him. Probably a little too tight.
February is always cold. I had just about gotten tired of the ups and downs of trying. Still we tried, and same deal, it was getting close to me being able to test again. I decided to wait and not test like I had the last two months, though. We went to dinner for my brother’s birthday and I ordered my first litmus test-another pear martini. We were having a great time and talking and my brother was opening his cards. I drank my martini and didn’t feel sick. I had a second. Nothing. Then I ordered a third. Our dinner party was separated into two big tables and from the opposite table, my mom joked with my sister about me ordering a third drink. They were excited about the possibility of me getting a little sloppy. I didn’t disappoint. I was at the table with my sisters-in-law and I was watching Justin play with my nephew Declan at the other table. I looked at both of them and told them that I thought I would know for sure if I was pregnant if I drank and got sick like the first time. They looked back at me and we laughed because of how stupid it was. The laughing turned into crying and they instinctively understood. Right then, Justin threw Declan over his shoulder who squealed and laughed with uncontrollable joy.
Jessy came over the next night. I made lasagna. I didn’t hide my depression but we had fun regardless. She was showing now and had on the cutest nautical-striped maternity shirt; the stripes thicker over her belly. We ate and kind of just sat around and talked. I told her about dinner the night before where I got drunk and cried and we laughed.
The next morning, I woke up and didn’t feel right. I couldn’t put my finger on it but I felt different. I decided to take a test just to rule it out. I left to go clean up a bit from dinner the night before and came back later to find two pink lines. I took a sharp breath in, put my hand over my mouth, and didn’t exhale for a bit. I called Justin who was on a plane and had just landed in Detroit and told him. A little lackluster in terms of surprise but I was alone with this test at home and couldn’t hold that in! I let myself feel excited with him on the phone but I cried after because I was scared. I hadn’t thought that far ahead. What if we went through everything all over again? I had also drank…a lot… because I really didn’t think I was pregnant and that made me nervous. Tons of people told me that they also drank before they knew and went on to have unaffected pregnancies so that made me feel a lot better.
The next few weeks were terrifying. I didn’t even look at coffee, wouldn’t walk too fast or breathe too deep, and I refused to carry anything. All was going well and I had morning sickness which is a good sign. Justin and I went to NY over my school’s February vacation and I called to schedule my first appointment while in the hotel. We didn’t talk much about it, we hinted at the idea of using one of the spare bedrooms as a nursery but that was about it. Every once in a while, I’d randomly say a name to gauge his reaction and he would emphatically say no, either to me getting excited, or the name itself. I’m not really sure.
It was the week before the first appointment when I noticed a little bit of blood. I called the doctor and she didn’t seem too concerned, even after I explained my last experience. She let me know that the blood I saw was actually old blood and was common in most pregnancies. I didn’t like the answer and didn’t feel right. A few days passed and it seemed to subside. Then, while at work, I started bleeding bright red. Panic and fear radiated from my heart out to my limbs. What if it was interstitial?
I didn’t have an appointment. I just left work and showed up crying at the window at the OBGYN office. They escorted me to a privacy room with tissues where a nurse listened to my symptoms and told me I was likely just miscarrying again. I think her goal was to alleviate my fear of having another dangerous pregnancy, but miscarriage was not necessarily the lesser of two evils, and wasn’t a comforting possibility. She left to check and see if there were any openings for an ultrasound which was unlikely, but they were able to fit me in.
The imaging didn’t show much again. There was a fetal pole but nothing much to indicate an impending miscarriage. The gestational sac was slightly irregular but the doctor said there are many cases in which the gestational sac is not perfectly round and pregnancies continue without issue.
Great news, the pregnancy implanted in the right place and was not interstitial. I would just need to wait in fear again until my next appointment. I pulled the metal bar over my lap, fastened the harness, and felt the slow hum of the Zipper starting up again.
Justin would be away again for this appointment. I hesitantly asked Jess if she would come with me because I didn’t want to be alone if there was no growth and no heartbeat again. Of course, she took the day off without hesitation and I worried that she wouldn’t have enough time for her own necessary maternity appointments. The day of the appointment was abnormally sunny and warm for early March. The high temperature would top out at 70 degrees that day. Overall, I felt good. I mean, I was nauseous, but that was actually a good sign to me, and the weather just felt right. I mentioned to Jess cautiously, pausing a bit between every few words, that I had a good feeling about today and that I knew it was not smart…but I did. She smiled.
We were in the room and I got the good ultrasound technician. Her name is Sandra. The other one does not like it if you ask her questions and makes it known. Sandra, though, is really great with the balance of comfort and discretion. She has a very soothing way about her. We sat quietly for a bit and we stared at the screen. I searched the ocean floor. Then Jessy blurted, “There’s a heartbeat!” because I clearly hadn’t seen it while looking for Nemo. She pointed out the flicker while Sandra provided sound. It was a beautiful day.
A heartbeat meant we were good. I was still nervous though. The doctor did say that the pregnancy was presenting differently. There wasn’t a visible yolk sac but it could have been obstructed by the fetal pole. The gestational sac was also not perfectly round, but again, there are plenty of cases in which the gestational sac is irregular and people have perfectly healthy babies. And… I saw and heard a heartbeat. Over the next two weeks I ended up telling a few friends and filled them in on the details because I was still nervous and felt better with them knowing. I knew that I would need them to fully understand if things didn’t pan out.
My next appointment was supposed to be the “nurses visit” when you begin discussing and planning more long-term. It was late March now and Covid-19 precautions were beginning to emerge. Justin couldn’t come with me to this appointment as a result, but I told him to stay home. He was going to drive me there and wait in the car but I didn’t think it was necessary. I drove up to the building and noticed the small flowering trees in full bloom and thought about the spring ahead of us. As I pulled into a parking space, though, it began to snow. I watched a pair of joggers run across the parking lot in the distance; their breath visible in the cold.
I went into the room and I didn’t get Sandra. I got the other one. She gave instructions about where to put my clothes and said she’d return to do my ultrasound in a moment. When she came back in she barely acknowledged me as a human and went straight to work looking at her screen. I wasn’t allowed to see her view like I was with Sandra. I’m assuming this is to prevent questions and talking. I remained quiet until she finished. There was no visual and no audio of a heartbeat with this technician. She began shutting down her screen view and finally spoke to say “There’s no growth, did the doctor discuss next steps with you?”. I was confused because of how light and airy she made this statement, “There’s no growth…” so I had to ask, “There’s no heartbeat?”, to which she replied, “No, no heartbeat.”, like I offered her a bit of my snack and she was declining the tilt of a bag of chips.
She told me that I could get dressed and to sit in the chair outside of the room, but I missed the last part because my ears were ringing at that point. As I got dressed, I heard her outside of the room discussing with a co-worker what they would be having for lunch and laughing. I sat in the room wondering how I was going to be able to do it all again. A few moments later she tapped on the door to ask if I was ok and I began sobbing. She escorted me to the privacy room with the tissues. Right outside the window were the flowering trees. I watched the snow pile onto the blossoms while I waited to talk to the doctor.
I promised myself that I would stop crying after I left that room. I couldn’t be stuck in this anymore and I needed to just move on this time. Justin had gone out and gotten flowers before I got home and I saw them when I walked in the door. It took every fiber of my being to not collapse at the sight. A symbol of all that Spring could have had in store but no longer did. Cut at the stems, already dead. I stopped to smell them, then walked into the kitchen to make lunch.
I got my D and C rather quickly. I chose the quickest route this time; to do the surgery and get it over with because I didn’t want another prolonged situation. I was able to go in two days later. Justin had to wait in the car. I took two Percocets this time. Both are given in the event you are very nervous about the pain. I just wanted to cushion the experience as much as possible. It was just me and the doctor and the nurse who happened to be at my last D and C. Déjà vu! I promised them I wouldn’t cry this time. The procedure went very smoothly, no tears. I knew what to expect.
After it was over, the nurse walked me to the door where Justin met us. Once the nurse was out of earshot, I told him that I was going to collapse. My vision was closing in and I needed to lay down. We made it to the car where I fell into the backseat. As we drove, a few tears leaked out down and into my ears. I pushed them off angrily with my sleeve and sat up to continue on with the rest of the day.
Over the next week, I had the support of my loved ones. They checked in daily, sent chocolate, and let me know that they were there. One friend sent me a Willow Tree angel holding a star. She didn’t know that I have a full collection of these angels that I put out at Christmas each year. My two friends, who I went to the coffee shop with, got me an amazing bath kit which I used on a daily basis a few weeks later. Covid-19 had me working quite late with new changes to teaching and educational processes and I voluntarily sank right into the work in order to try and forget about everything. I was working 14-hour days (at least) which is not healthy, but I preferred it. I was honestly very happy about needing to stay home, for recovery purposes, and to be so insanely busy that I didn’t have time to focus on anything else.
You reach a point after a few consecutive weeks, though, where your back cannot handle the strain of sitting hunched over the computer from 8am to 11:00pm each day/night. I needed relief and the bath kit basically took me by the hand and led me upstairs to the bathroom into the tub. I played music as an attempt to avoid silence where thinking could happen. The water was hot, nearly unbearable, and I focused on pain relief. I tried to stop it, but I began to cry. I promised myself I wouldn’t cry anymore but I couldn’t help it. Again, I focused on relief and found a little in draining. I allowed it while taking a bath. I began taking baths every day.
Since the last D and C, I had been tracking my pregnancy hormones on cheap at home tests. A month after the surgery, there were still two pink lines. I called the doctor to see if this was an issue. I needed to go to the lab in the office in order to get some bloodwork done to see where my levels were. After a month, you shouldn’t be testing positive anymore. I went on two separate days so they could measure pregnancy hormone decline in my case. They called the next day to let me know that the levels were not super high, but also not super low. I’d need to get another round of bloodwork done to make sure they were dropping. The next call confirmed that they were dropping but not substantially enough. I had also begun to bleed again. I’d need to go in because I might have had retained pregnancy tissue after the D and C. It was possible that I’d need another. I took another long and hot bath that night.
Justin drove me to my appointment. At this point, we’re now deep into the Covid-19 quarantine. We stopped at the gas station and I watched as everyone filtered in and out of the store with their masks. My eyes began to well up because I felt the oppressive sense of uncertainty on such a large and small scale. I pushed the feeling away before Justin got back in the car. He leaned over and gave me a kiss and held my hand.
I got the bad ultrasound tech. again. While waiting in the chair outside of her room, I overheard her tell a nurse that she is off on Fridays and I frantically grabbed my phone to write a note to schedule all future ultrasounds on Fridays. Am I sure I will need one in the future? No. I haven’t given up hope yet, though.
After the ultrasound they put me in a room. I hadn’t allowed myself to really be alone with my thoughts besides when taking a bath, and didn’t want the doctor to come into the room to a blubbering maniac, so I focused my thoughts elsewhere. I had a bag of Jolly Ranchers in my purse so I stuck one in the female reproductive sculpture, snapped a picture, and sent it to Jess. It was green apple. She thinks I kept it in there and I haven’t told her otherwise, but I took it out.
My doctor came in and said that the imaging showed there was still something in my uterus. They weren’t sure if it was pregnancy tissue or a small blood clot, but she recommended taking the meds I had taken the first time around (that didn’t work) if my levels didn’t continue to drop. She recommended this option because going in for another D and C would increase chances of scarring. I told her I’d rather wait it out than do anything at all. I wasn’t in any pain and there was only a small risk of infection at this point, but if my levels didn’t drop significantly, we’d have to make moves. She told me to stop at the lab on the way out to do more bloodwork and that she would call me with the results that night. She kindly paused on the way out the door to say she was so sorry this was so prolonged for me. She walked out of the room to put in a lab slip for the bloodwork. I collected my things and watched her go into another room nearby. As I passed I heard her say “Congratulations!” to her current patient. I was glad Justin was in the car waiting for me.
This was this past Tuesday 4/28. When we got home I cooked tacos and we went about the evening. The looming uncertainty was and has been our normal since the fall and we were forced to trudge through; make dinner, clean up, hope for the best, take a bath…cry. After doing the dishes though, I spotted the little fertility statue and smiled. I was glad I had my friends in this. I untucked the little note and read it again.
“Meg- Whether or not this brings you some sort of “magical powers” or “good luck”, I hope it is at least able to support you to stay strong and never give up hope! <3, KO”.
I hadn’t given up hope- the bad ultrasound tech. isn’t in on Fridays! I don’t know where I would be if I didn’t have the support of friends and family and Justin to get me through this. I am and will forever be glad that they knew about this experience to the extent that they did because I needed them. I just keep wondering about the people out there who are keeping stories like this to themselves and suffering alone.
I found the little stones that came as part of the fertility statue gift and realized that I never “gave one back to earth”. I decided which one I wanted to keep and then brought the other down to a small runoff pond that Justin and I kayak in on our property. Justin asked what I was doing. I told him and he asked me not to because he didn’t want me hinging on this moment; hoping for this to be our mystical source of better luck. With him pleading in the background and me laughing at the edge of the pond, I waited. I didn’t know what I was waiting for…maybe I also was nervous that I was allowing myself to hold onto hope a little too much. A small fish, a few yards away, must have brushed the surface of the water because small rings began to grow and radiate outward. I threw the stone to try and get inside the rings and of course I missed, but I came close. I watched as my rings met the others to create a Venn diagram; overlapping in the same cold place.
That night I took a bath and cried again. My phone rang. I dried my face and hands and answered while trying not to drop it in the water. It was my doctor. My levels went down a good amount and I wouldn’t need to go forward with any interventions. I was glad, but I just wanted to let it all go. I was too full, and so was the bath. I hit the drain and opened the notes app in my phone. In the same note about the bad ultrasound tech not working on Fridays, I began to type this. Over the course of the next few nights after working, this long story poured out.
Last night, Justin asked me to go for a ride with him. I had asked him to run out and pick up some wine. He wanted me to stop what I was doing and join him. I was busy writing and said no at first. He pleaded with me and said that he understood why, but that I’d been closed off lately and he just missed me. I realized then that I had let it get lost on me that he was in this too. He wasn’t getting the chocolate, flowers, or words of support, I was. He drove me to appointments or waited for me to call him while he was traveling. He waited anxiously for news from the car. He fell from the top, too.
I went for the ride. I decided to shut the computer and just watch a movie with him when we got home. Before we went to sleep, as I was collecting my quotes, he thanked me for taking the ride with him. We are mending and we have one another in the depths of this.
I’m finishing this story up today because I want to get it out there for people who might need to know they aren’t alone. I have my reservations about actually sharing this with anyone, though. I found a quote last night that says “Courage is knowing it might hurt and doing it anyway. Stupidity is the same. And that’s why life is hard.”.
When Justin left this morning to go to help his dad do some work at the family mechanic shop, I gave him grief for leaving on such a beautiful day. He assured me that he would be back in time for us to spend a good portion of the day together and told me that he feels best when he’s helping.
I want to feel my best. I think I need to try to help too.
So here it is. Our story. We’re still in the middle of it-with all of the uncertainty. I know that my chances of having a successful pregnancy have now decreased after a second consecutive miscarriage and they will decrease significantly with a third. I don’t know what the future has in store for us. What I do know is that keeping this in does not do any good and that I want to help and feel as best as I can. I also know that my story and other people’s stories are bound to be different. Maybe though, our rings in the pond can meet and we can help each other with the differences while sharing similarities. Together we can shed a little light on miscarriage so that other people don’t have to feel trapped in the dark. I don’t have any answers here. If the best we can do is to sit in the dark together, well, then that’s what we will do.
Here’s a quote I found and saved in the middle of all of this:
“Keep the honest moments close to your heart. The ones that are the most human. When you laugh until your ribs ache with your friends, when you feel stars exploding inside of you from falling in love, when life breaks you open and those tears of transformation pour like a river from your soul. Life is really quite simple. We get to experience this planet for a brief while. We get to learn how to love ourselves and one another for the strange, messy, and magical creatures we are. What a gift to have human life. If you look a little closer, there is always something to be grateful for. True gratitude isn’t ignoring the darkness. It’s participating with your whole heart in whatever life brings. It’s leaning into the unfolding process and having the courage to not need all the answers.”
-@alliemichellel
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