An Awful Path
Recent events have gotten me thinking more about our miscarriage. Don't get me wrong, I think about it nearly every day--especially being pregnant again--but these events have put it into the forefront of my mind. I've been reliving those days, and, truthfully, I don't like it. But that is okay. It is all part of grieving. And yes, even though it's been over 2 years, I am still grieving. I will grieve for that lost life for the rest of my life. It gets easier with time, but it never goes away. And each time I hear the same awful news of a friend or loved one, I cry again. Both for them and the pain I know they are going through, and for myself. In the past month alone, I have had two friends come to me for support in their time of pain. And both of them have been a bit hesitant, understandably. I don't hide that I am still dealing with emotions from my miscarriage. But I am so glad they were able to reach out for support, and honoured that they thought of me. Miscarriage is painful--emotionally, physically, and spiritually. I don't think God would have put that path before me without a purpose. I think He would want me to reach out and help other women who are joining this awful club that should have zero members. And so, that's what I try to do, with all my heart, no matter how much it makes me relive those days.
I have been wanting to blog about those days for months now, but I just haven't been able to "put pen to paper" so to speak. Each time I would open up the page, I would close it immediately. I am not sure why, as I have no problems sharing my story and do so willingly when it is needed. I suppose it's because I don't have control over WHO is reading it. Regardless, today I will tell that story. And in order to so, I need to start at the beginning. And I will warn you, the next three paragraphs might be a bit graphic in parts.
We had tried for eight months to conceive. It felt like forever. Finally, in early June, I got that blessed "+" on the Clear Blue test. We were ecstatic. I began making plans for this little one that was due on Valentine's Day. We told our family within days of finding out, and then slowly started telling our friends. I was teaching Grade 1 at the time, and the morning sickness hit me full force. Not fun with 15 six year olds, trust me. June ended, we met our doctor, and then went on a trip to BC to see my family. While visiting my grandma, I noticed a tiny bit of red spotting after going to the bathroom. I told myself it must be implantation bleeding (even though I was 10 weeks at the time).
We went home, and a week and a half later on a Wednesday, something didn't feel right. I was a bit crampy, and, in my gut, I KNEW something was wrong. I didn't much move that whole night, and I started to spot again. The next day, mrblueberry and I went to the walk-in clinic as we couldn't get in to see our doctor. We waited forever both in the waiting room, and then in the actual room. When the doctor came in to see us, she had a student with her. She asked us a bunch of questions, and then asked the student if there were any she would like to ask us. The first thing out of the student's mouth was "Have you been hit in the stomach?" I wanted to hit her in the stomach. I am surprised mrblueberry didn't actually do that. The doctor told the student that would have nothing to do with anything and told us she was going to send us for an emergency ultrasound. We went for the ultrasound on Friday morning. At this point, I knew what was happening. In my heart, I just knew. At the ultrasound, they brought me alone into the room. I laid there, staring at the ceiling, trying to look anywhere but the ultrasound technician's face where it was clearly written that something wasn't right. I will never forget the look on her face when she told me she had to get the doctor and would then get my husband. After, they brought mrblueberry in and the doctor came in and told us what we feared. Only it was worse. We had an anembryonic pregnancy. In other words, the baby didn't develop from the start. All that was there was an empty sac. That baby I thought I was carrying was never there. He said I would start miscarrying in a couple of days and that he was very sorry. He was very compassionate, and looking back, I really appreciate that. We went home and I made mrblueberry phone our family. I couldn't stand having anyone think I was pregnant when I wasn't. Nobody should have to hear their father weep because his little girl was losing his grand-baby.
Fast forward to Monday night. I had started to bleed (and there is a lot of blood in a miscarriage, more than you would think) and had very intense cramping. Mrblueberry kept wanting to take me to the hospital and I told him "no." Finally, at 6 am, after a sleepless night of pain and nausea, I gave in. We went to the hospital, where we waited in emergency for an hour while I continued to gush blood and cramp. There was this homeless (?) lady there who was just released for some sort of drug use. She kept walking around the emergency waiting room (in which I was one of the only patients at the time) and saying loudly, "Nothing is even wrong with these people." I wanted to kick her, to yell at her, to punch her, but all I could do was cry. Finally, they got me into a "room." Only, it wasn't really a room, just their triage area. I laid on the bed (not an actual bed, more like the bed in a doctor's office) and cried. The pain was horrendous, worse than the back labour I had with E. And the blood was everywhere. Poor mrblueberry felt so helpless as he couldn't do anything to help. It took over two hours of laying in a puddle of blood and being in terrible pain for them to finally come in and give me some morphine and something else for the nausea. The nurses cleaned me up, threw out my bloody clothes, and I was brought to an actual room. From there, I was sent for another ultrasound to see if my body had "expelled the tissue" or not. It hadn't. After discussing with the doctors and mrblueberry, I opted to go for a D&C. I did not want to face that pain again. I just wanted it to be over.
The worst part of a miscarriage is NOT the actual miscarriage. It's the time after. It's every time you wake up and remember what happened. It's every time you see a pregnant woman (especially one who is doing something that is not "safe" in pregnancy, like smoking). It's every time you see a new baby, or a stroller, or some cute baby clothes. It's every time you are watching a movie or tv show and something about pregnancy comes up. It's when you pass what should have been the baby's due date. It's every time you have to tell someone else that you lost the baby. Some people know the only acceptable response to hearing such news: "I am so sorry." Most people don't. Most people are not being malicious in their response to such news. But unfortunately, unless you have gone down this awful path, you just don't realize what your words mean and how they sound. That isn't to say that some people who haven't experienced miscarriage are not compassionate and do not know what to say. I got great support from some who had not experienced it. But, I also heard some terrible things too:
To my friends who have gone through this already, or who may be going through it as they read this, I am so sorry for your loss. Please remember that my arms are always here should you need a hug, and my ear is always here should you need someone to just listen. I hope that I can support my friends and loved ones if they have to go down this same path as I was supported. Through that support, I came out stronger and truthfully, I don't think I would have survived had I not had it. So, thank you to my friends and family who held me up in my time of pain. I appreciate it more than you ever know. And I offer the same support to you should you ever follow in my awful footsteps, though I hope to never see you journey down that path.
For more information about miscarriage and stillbirth, please visit Unspoken Grief.
I have been wanting to blog about those days for months now, but I just haven't been able to "put pen to paper" so to speak. Each time I would open up the page, I would close it immediately. I am not sure why, as I have no problems sharing my story and do so willingly when it is needed. I suppose it's because I don't have control over WHO is reading it. Regardless, today I will tell that story. And in order to so, I need to start at the beginning. And I will warn you, the next three paragraphs might be a bit graphic in parts.
We had tried for eight months to conceive. It felt like forever. Finally, in early June, I got that blessed "+" on the Clear Blue test. We were ecstatic. I began making plans for this little one that was due on Valentine's Day. We told our family within days of finding out, and then slowly started telling our friends. I was teaching Grade 1 at the time, and the morning sickness hit me full force. Not fun with 15 six year olds, trust me. June ended, we met our doctor, and then went on a trip to BC to see my family. While visiting my grandma, I noticed a tiny bit of red spotting after going to the bathroom. I told myself it must be implantation bleeding (even though I was 10 weeks at the time).
We went home, and a week and a half later on a Wednesday, something didn't feel right. I was a bit crampy, and, in my gut, I KNEW something was wrong. I didn't much move that whole night, and I started to spot again. The next day, mrblueberry and I went to the walk-in clinic as we couldn't get in to see our doctor. We waited forever both in the waiting room, and then in the actual room. When the doctor came in to see us, she had a student with her. She asked us a bunch of questions, and then asked the student if there were any she would like to ask us. The first thing out of the student's mouth was "Have you been hit in the stomach?" I wanted to hit her in the stomach. I am surprised mrblueberry didn't actually do that. The doctor told the student that would have nothing to do with anything and told us she was going to send us for an emergency ultrasound. We went for the ultrasound on Friday morning. At this point, I knew what was happening. In my heart, I just knew. At the ultrasound, they brought me alone into the room. I laid there, staring at the ceiling, trying to look anywhere but the ultrasound technician's face where it was clearly written that something wasn't right. I will never forget the look on her face when she told me she had to get the doctor and would then get my husband. After, they brought mrblueberry in and the doctor came in and told us what we feared. Only it was worse. We had an anembryonic pregnancy. In other words, the baby didn't develop from the start. All that was there was an empty sac. That baby I thought I was carrying was never there. He said I would start miscarrying in a couple of days and that he was very sorry. He was very compassionate, and looking back, I really appreciate that. We went home and I made mrblueberry phone our family. I couldn't stand having anyone think I was pregnant when I wasn't. Nobody should have to hear their father weep because his little girl was losing his grand-baby.
Fast forward to Monday night. I had started to bleed (and there is a lot of blood in a miscarriage, more than you would think) and had very intense cramping. Mrblueberry kept wanting to take me to the hospital and I told him "no." Finally, at 6 am, after a sleepless night of pain and nausea, I gave in. We went to the hospital, where we waited in emergency for an hour while I continued to gush blood and cramp. There was this homeless (?) lady there who was just released for some sort of drug use. She kept walking around the emergency waiting room (in which I was one of the only patients at the time) and saying loudly, "Nothing is even wrong with these people." I wanted to kick her, to yell at her, to punch her, but all I could do was cry. Finally, they got me into a "room." Only, it wasn't really a room, just their triage area. I laid on the bed (not an actual bed, more like the bed in a doctor's office) and cried. The pain was horrendous, worse than the back labour I had with E. And the blood was everywhere. Poor mrblueberry felt so helpless as he couldn't do anything to help. It took over two hours of laying in a puddle of blood and being in terrible pain for them to finally come in and give me some morphine and something else for the nausea. The nurses cleaned me up, threw out my bloody clothes, and I was brought to an actual room. From there, I was sent for another ultrasound to see if my body had "expelled the tissue" or not. It hadn't. After discussing with the doctors and mrblueberry, I opted to go for a D&C. I did not want to face that pain again. I just wanted it to be over.
The worst part of a miscarriage is NOT the actual miscarriage. It's the time after. It's every time you wake up and remember what happened. It's every time you see a pregnant woman (especially one who is doing something that is not "safe" in pregnancy, like smoking). It's every time you see a new baby, or a stroller, or some cute baby clothes. It's every time you are watching a movie or tv show and something about pregnancy comes up. It's when you pass what should have been the baby's due date. It's every time you have to tell someone else that you lost the baby. Some people know the only acceptable response to hearing such news: "I am so sorry." Most people don't. Most people are not being malicious in their response to such news. But unfortunately, unless you have gone down this awful path, you just don't realize what your words mean and how they sound. That isn't to say that some people who haven't experienced miscarriage are not compassionate and do not know what to say. I got great support from some who had not experienced it. But, I also heard some terrible things too:
- "It was for the best"--How is losing my baby for the best?
- "You can have another baby, you're young"--I don't want another baby, I want THIS baby.
- "Good thing it was so early"--Are you kidding? I would give anything to be able to hold my baby, even for just a minute. Besides, don't you realize that from the second I found out I was pregnant, I was making plans not only for the baby's room, but for the baby's life?
- "Everything happens for a reason"--I know this is true, but at this point in time I cannot fathom what possible reason losing my baby could have.
- "The baby's in a better place now"--The only "better" place is in my uterus growing. I don't want to hear about the baby being in heaven or somewhere else, even though I believe in that. I only want my baby WITH ME.
- "Get over it, it's been months"--Really? How long is "okay" to grieve for my lost child? Would I be "allowed" to grieve longer had my child been born alive?
To my friends who have gone through this already, or who may be going through it as they read this, I am so sorry for your loss. Please remember that my arms are always here should you need a hug, and my ear is always here should you need someone to just listen. I hope that I can support my friends and loved ones if they have to go down this same path as I was supported. Through that support, I came out stronger and truthfully, I don't think I would have survived had I not had it. So, thank you to my friends and family who held me up in my time of pain. I appreciate it more than you ever know. And I offer the same support to you should you ever follow in my awful footsteps, though I hope to never see you journey down that path.
For more information about miscarriage and stillbirth, please visit Unspoken Grief.
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