I had a miscarriage last week. It was pretty awful. And though I always was very afraid it would happen, I never really thought it would. If that makes any sense.
I was eight weeks along, looking for a doctor in our new town, considering a midwife. We'd told our parents but very few other people. I had already started thinking about how we would juggle sleeping arrangements, where we would put the newborn clothes, how much maternity leave I would take if I got a full-time job.
But it was not to be. At least not this time. Last Saturday, I noticed some brown blood. I felt a twinge of worry and informed T, though I knew this could be entirely normal. I felt tense and unsure, worried what would happen next, but still not despondent. Then the blood turned red and much more plentiful. The cramping started. We called the doctor on call, and she said to just wait it out. I laid on the couch. I poured over websites. I held out hope.
But later that night, it was all over. T was putting the kids to bed, when a larger piece of tissue passed. We knew what it was, and we carefully wrapped it and put it in a little blue box. I cried a lot. To go from such a jubilant high to such a crushing low was jarring and depressing. I had absolutely no control over what was happening and no way to reverse it. It was a horrible feeling. It was gory and bloody as well. I felt very shaken.
My subsequent doctors visits were not much more pleasant. I went to a primary care doctor at my clinic on Monday (not my own because she wasn't in). The doctor said my story sounded credible and gave me a uncomfortable pelvic exam before sending me on my way. No ultrasound. No blood test. I felt no closure.
So T made me an appointment at a OB clinic, and I went in on Thursday. I sat in the waiting room for an hour, falling asleep as the woman across from me looked at me curiously. The young resident was professional and thorough, but not very empathetic. She did order a blood test and an ultrasound, but then couldn't find my uterus (it was all trans-vaginal by the way...not the most enjoyable experience). She made me go across the hall to pee with a sheet wrapped around my waist. Then she had her attending physician try to help. When that failed, she called in a male ultrasound tech who reached down and jabbed around the wand. He finally found my elusive uterus to the far left and apparently it was small and contained just a bit of remaining blood that would pass on its own.
These medical professionals were very focused on their task but they seemed to forget that they were examining a woman to determine whether her body had completely purged the fetus it once carried. But at least I had my answers. And though I had my small blue box containing the baby that was not to be, they didn't need to look at it, and so I took it back home, still not sure what to do with it, but not wanting to just throw it away. T and I think we might bury it somewhere.
My body is returning to normal now, and I am feeling OK. My kids bring me a lot of comfort, especially little R. I can imagine this would be a horrific experience if it happened on one's first pregnancy, and there were no other children there to occupy your mind.
I know this just happened by chance and was almost certainly for the best as the fetus probably had some sort of genetic problem. I am confident we will be able to expand our family in the future. But I do feel a little defeated and knocked down. I just didn't see it coming. But I guess no one does. I feel tentative now and apprehensive.
So life will go on, but this will leave an indelible mark and the understanding that happiness can be fragile.
--MM
