Today I should be ten weeks pregnant. I should be getting ready to go to my doctor's office and hear my baby's heartbeat. Instead, today I went to the operating room to finish a miscarriage my body never really even started.
At first I wasn't going to blog about my experience, but I learned the best way for me to heal is to talk about things. We all know women have miscarriages, but there is this silent understanding that society doesn't talk about them. That does not help. Each couple who lost their baby, no matter how early or late, lost a person they already started to love and to imagine being a part of their lives. Not talking about it doesn't mean people stop feeling that love. Something like a miscarriage can't just be swept under the rug. So, that's what brings me here. This will probably end of up long and rambling, but it's for me, so I can write as much as I want.
I had something called a missed miscarriage, meaning the cells stopped growing, but my body never responded. At approximately 8 weeks, I had an ultrasound for dates, which showed the embryo to be 5wks6days. While I know my dates could be off, I personally knew then that the pregnancy was in trouble--I should not be a whole 3 weeks off. A repeat ultrasound a week later confirmed no growth. Being in the medical field, I know my miscarriage was likely the result of chromosomal abnormality, but that doesn't make it easier. Right now, I feel mostly betrayed by my body. When I told my best girlfriends and had my prenatal counseling, the baby had already stopped growing. If my body recognized the signs, I wouldn't have experienced the excitement of telling my friends or had to answer an ungodly number of questions about my family history.
After my second ultrasound, the tech told me she had to get the doctor. I already knew then. As soon as the doctor walked in, I looked at her and said, "I know." Mom was with me and suggested I just let the doctor talk and tell me what's going on. I can't remember if the doctor ever said the word miscarriage. I don't think she did. I think she picked up on my cue. Me telling her I knew what's going on was my way of protecting myself right then and there from hearing, "You've had a miscarriage." After that, it's interesting how people speak in code. I called the office the next day to "schedule my procedure." The nurse looked up my name, saw what I needed, and didn't even mention the word D&C. The following day, the anesthesia nurse called to get my history and we too only used the word, "procedure." At that time it was self-preservation. I have since been able to say "D&C" and that I've had a miscarriage. As I said, talking about it means I've started accepting it and I can't heal until I accept what's going on.
In terms of today, right now I feel physically normal. In recovery as soon as I woke up the nurse asked, "Can I get you anything?" I said, "my baby back," and started crying. She understood. I still feel bad for putting her in that situation, but that's what I wanted. That's what I still want right now.
I know time helps. I know this means we can get pregnant and some couples can't. I know the odds are in our favor that our next pregnancy will be normal and healthy. I also know that when February comes, I'm going to wish I was taking our baby home from the hospital. I know that I'm always going to feel a piece of us has been lost.