We go home and I’m confused and I’m Googling the crap out of stuff trying to make sense of it all. I call the nurse at the doctor’s office, she asks me when my last period was and I tell her I had one on March 1st. She then asks me if I even want to keep the baby. I have no words for this, of course I want the baby, we’ve been trying for eight months! I can tell by her tone of voice that she doesn’t think it’s very hopeful either and she tells me to come in to get my blood drawn. I break down and cry again after I hang up the phone. If she doesn’t think it’s viable, then that’s pretty bad. I want to be happy that I’m pregnant, I’m trying to stay positive but I can’t help but be worried. I go get my blood drawn and the nurse wants to do another pregnancy test. She tells me I must be farther along because it turned bright pink really fast. This is exciting, that’s good news, until I realize that I’ve started spotting. We Google and Google until I can’t take it anymore. Some say bleeding is ok, some say it’s not, it’s all just driving me insane and none of it really matters anyways.
The next day I’m still spotting but the nurse says my levels are perfect and this nurse says to stay positive. The weekend drags on and my spotting never stops. I talk to a few friends and I feel better about the whole situation. After all, bleeding is a normal part of pregnancy, it doesn’t have to mean something is wrong. I have to get back to accepting that no matter what happens it’s ok, I’ll be ok, we’ll be ok. And don’t get me started on the pregnancy symptoms starting to kick in! I can barely stay up past nine, I’m taking naps with my son and I’m sick.all.the.time. I hate coffee (which really makes being tired even worse) and I have an aversion to everything, except French fries, bread, any carbs really and ice cream. None of my pants fit anymore and I feel like a bloated whale.
On Monday, I rush to the doctors to get my blood drawn again. I have been feeling positive and looking forward to telling my family in person next week about being pregnant. On Tuesday they call to tell me that my levels doubled which is great and I should come in today for an ultrasound because we should definitely be able to see something. This is what I have been waiting for, this could be it, I might actually be able to see my little baby.
My husband and I are in the room waiting to see what appears on the screen, the nurse finds the sac and I ask her if it looks all good. She hesitates and tells me she needs to look a little more. She can barely see a yolk sac and there is no embryo yet. She kindly smiles at me and tells me to come back on Friday for another ultrasound. At that point, if there is no embryo, I have a blighted ovum. My heart begins to feel heavy again, still no answers, still no good news.
I hate all this waiting. I hate feeling sick, I hate not knowing, I hate laying in wait for a fate I have felt in my gut this whole time. In addition, there is that little picture of what should be my baby – I stick it in on the fridge and pray. As the days roll on, I am still bleeding and my hope begins to fade. I feel so raw and vulnerable and I want this all to be over with, I just want to know, is it ok or is it not.
I wake up on Thursday and as I stand, I feel blood gush out and I run to the toilet crying as I pass a clot, a small clot but a clot nonetheless. I text a friend because I cannot talk on the phone, I am crying too hard. She tells me to try not to worry, she helps me to calm down. I take it easy that day but when Friday comes around I’m done, I can’t take anymore. There on the screen is nothing again. The nurse says, “I’m sorry honey but I just can’t see anything.” I hold back the tears and look at my husband as he strokes my hand.
As I leave the room she says, “I’m so sorry, I’m really sorry.” The doctor tells us that with my levels and the size of the sac, that something is not right. They should be able to see a baby and a heartbeat. I feel heartbroken but relief. Finally some answers and we can move on, no more laying in wait, grasping at straws. One of my friends texts to say that we could always use another angel watching over us and I cry. I cry to relieve the stress of this whole ordeal. I cry because I’m so emotional and I cry because it’s over. I know that there are good things that have come out of this and I try to remember those. I can get pregnant and it will implant properly, this is such good news and I have to focus on the good.
I call my sister, my brother, and my sister-in-law to tell them the news and then I’m done talking. I don’t want to talk anymore, I don’t want to think about it anymore. The next morning I know it’s almost time and that afternoon I pass a large clot and I begin bleeding heavily. The idea of what’s going on is killing me and I can’t fathom the idea that a baby was trying to grow but didn’t have a chance. That night I bleed more and I pass even bigger clots. I feel nothing physically but the emotional wear of it is enough. When I wake that morning I feel like I’m in a cloud – I’m so depressed. Church makes me cry and I want so badly to be out of this fog. I want to enjoy life again – to move away from this experience and feel like myself again.
That afternoon I wake up from my nap and my prayers are answered. I no longer feel depressed, I no longer felt sick, I no longer feel tired, I am no longer pregnant.
I went back and forth about sharing this experience because it feels so personal but had it not been for those that shared with me online and over the phone, I wouldn’t have gotten through it. Never underestimate the power of being honest and vulnerable with your family and friends. For me it helped to have something bigger on my side too, to remember that this is all part of the plan. I know that so many women go through this and sometimes it’s much worse. I always looked at people who miscarried and wondered why it happened because they were so young or so healthy, it just didn’t make sense to me. Truth is, I just wasn’t educated enough to know how common it truly is. Miscarriage doesn’t mean something is wrong with me and I know now that it wouldn’t have mattered what I had done, I couldn’t stop this from occurring but most of all, it wasn’t my fault.
I hope that none of you have to go through this but if you do, just know that there is a light at the end of the tunnel. Surround yourself with friends and family and they will give you all the love you need to get to the other side.
Have you suffered a miscarriage? Do you agree that it is important to share our experiences with each other?
Belly To Bebe 