When your expected pregnancy turns unexpected. A miscarriage story that could only be told by a mother.
When you google the word "miscarriage", you're flooded with statistics and medical terms. If you're like me you're wondering where the stories are. I wanted real women telling me that it was ok to feel the way I was feeling. Anger. Hurt. Sadness. Empty. Having said that, here is my story.
After being 2 weeks late with no period in sight, it was inevitable. I was pregnant. I didn't really need a positivie pregnancy test to tell me, but I decided to take one anyway. So I did. Not to my surprise, I saw two lines.
My husband was mowing the lawn when I went outside. My daughter was holding my hand oblivious to the fact that our lives were changing. With the test hidden behind my back I motioned for my husband to stop the lawnmower and come over. He hesitated, obviously thinking that nothing good could come from the two of us standing there with me hiding something. Later I found out he thought it was a squirtgun.
I handed the test to him and immediately his eyes gleamed. He was as excited as I was. I asked him if I could call and tell everyone and he insisted that we wait. That didn't last long. Within an hour, we were calling everyone. We sat our 3 year old daughter down and told her. She had this funny little look on her face then told us "no" and walked off as if we had just asked her if we could have one. It took her a few hours before she finally came around. She put two and two together and figured out that she was finally going to have a real baby around to feed bottles and put clothes on instead of her play babies. She was excited.
The doctor I had when I was pregnant with our daughter had moved 3 hours away so I had the task of finding a different one that I felt as comfortable with as him. I ended up having to settle for a doctor that was not exactly my first choice, but with my husband's insurance, I didn't have many to choose from. I immediately called and made an appointment for the following week. I was excited. Although I hated the thought of having to have all the blood drawn and the questions asked, I couldn't wait to "officially" have a due date.
My husband and I sat in the waiting room for a very short time before we were called back. After about ten minutes, we heard the footsteps of what sounded like a horse coming down the hall. We were surprised when this tiny woman in a white coat walked through the door. I remember us both looking at each other and grinning. We were thinking the same thing. Turns out she was not the doctor, but his assistant. She greeted us and asked all the usual prenatal questions. Then the moment I had been waiting for....the due date. January 2. I wasn't too far off, I had Dec 31. I was pleased.
After meeting her, in came the doctor. He talked really fast and my husband kept making faces that told me he didn't like him. After leaving the office, I tried to convince him that he obviously knew what he was doing because he had been in practice for many many years. It didn't do much good though.
The following week we had scheduled to have an ultrasound. This was new to me. With our daughter we didn't have one until week 16. Nonetheless, I was more than happy to take an early look at our little bean (and that's exactly what it looked like). We entered the doctor's office and, once again, were only there for a few minutes before being taken back. The tech led us to the ultrasound room. I remember it being so cold in there. After preparation, we were ready to see the baby. We had brought our daughter with us because we thought it would be a way for her to feel involved and get her even more excited about having a baby brother or sister.
The ultrasound began and she told us that it was showing the baby as being 5 weeks 6 days. Immediately, I was worried. I knew my cycle and I should have been exactly 7 weeks that day. She explained that sometimes implantation takes place later and that could be what had happened. I was somewhat at ease with that. She left and consulted the doctor who decided we should come back in two weeks and have another ultrasound.
The morning of the second one I was unusually nervous. I soaked in the bathtub knowing that once we went into the ultrasound room everything was going to change. I prayed.
I was right. Something was wrong. I knew it immediately when the tech asked me what due date she had given me the last time. When I asked her if something was wrong, she mumbled something and then left the room. I turned to my husband and told him something wasn't right. He knew it too. A few minutes later, the tech and doctor's assistant walked back in. I started crying uncontrollably because I knew what she was going to say. I had had a missed miscarriage. There were no symptoms other than a small soreness in my lower abdomen that I had decided was stretching like I had with our daughter. It only last a day though. I remember the assistant saying that it wasn't a viable pregnancy and to expect cramping and bleeding. I was then sent home. No answers. No expaination.
The next few days are a blur. My husband found himself calling the same people we had just called a few weeks earlier to tell them what we had just found out. We were both devastated. All I could do was cry. How could my baby have died and me not know it?
The doctor had decided to let me try to miscarry naturally so every week I went to the doctor with no change. I ended up carrying the baby for almost a month before I began cramping. A friend of mine was visiting when I began bleeding. My emotions were going everywhere. On one hand, I was relieved that I was no longer going to have to wake up every morning and wonder, "is today going to be the day?". On the other hand though, my maternal instinct was kicking in and I wanted to keep this baby inside me forever so I wouldn't have to say goodbye.
My miscarriage lasted for 8 hours. I had read that if you soak over one pad an hour to go to the emergency room. I didn't and ended up passing out three times before I could yell for help. After that episode though, it was over. My baby was gone and there was nothing I could do about it. The unexplainable sadness kicked in and every single feeling that I had pushed back in that month had come pouring to the surface.
I searched for ways to cope on the internet. Everyone has their own little ways. Some have a box that they put the ultrasound pictures in and anything they had bought for the baby. Some go ahead and name the baby. Then there was me. I had nothing but that one ultrasound picture. That's the worst aftermath of a miscarriage. There's no funeral. No flowers. No time set aside for others to mourn over a lost soul. I had a picture.
Now, over 5 months later, I still mourn for my child. Yes, I consider it a child. I didn't lose a fetus...I lost a baby. When someone asks me how many children I have, I tell them I have a beautiful little girl that I get to hold everyday and one that God holds everyday.