In an attempt to normalize this (miscarriage) a little bit more, for myself and whoever might be reading this, I think I need to write down all of the feelings and thoughts that I experienced before and after the miscarriage as I trekked back and forth to the doctor. When you’re in the thick of everything you just want it to be over. I never had a doubt that I had a miscarriage. From the moment it happened to the moment I walked in the doctors’ office. I thought they would just confirm what I already knew, but the process felt endless.
When it comes down to it, a woman knows her own body. No one can tell her that looking into a toilet and seeing blood during her pregnancy (days in a row) isn’t the most anxiety-inducing thing in the world. Or that feeling cramps on and off is “normal”. I know some people have those symptoms and their babies are fine…but for me I had a hunch it wasn’t going to be. The doctor told me when she examined me that there wasn’t too much blood. I nervously laughed and said, “It seemed like a lot of blood.” Throughout the visit, I tried not to make my concerns a big deal. The doctor wouldn’t appreciate it if I seemed anxious or if I questioned what she said, so I should smile from my eyes and sound cheerful at the end of the visit. That visit didn’t reassure me very much, though. The weekend was spent crying in the shower and dreaming about the upcoming ultrasound. I’m not blaming this doctor for not catching things before they happened–it was going to happen. There’s no one to blame. My point is you know your own body and your concerns are valid.
Even during the hours leading up to the miscarriage, I was so concerned that I was making a big deal out of nothing. “It might just be gas pain, and it would be embarrassing to sound the alarm over something so small.” The only moment this thought left my mind was when I realized I had been on the toilet for an hour, I was sweating and shaking and exhausted, and there was no relief from the cramping. At that point the thought ‘push’ crossed my mind, and I did, and that was it. Like I said earlier, I had no doubt what I had just pushed out was my baby. It’s going to take me a long time to get that image and feeling out of my head.
No one tells you what you’re supposed to do if you miscarry at home, especially on a weekend when the clinic is closed. Some people have to go to the hospital for excessive bleeding and pain. Some people are like me who are healthy and fine, but stuck at home with what used to be their baby. And then you finally get to the OB clinic and no one talking to you is expecting you to say “I think I miscarried”. But once you say it, it’s even more painful to answer the rest of their questions. How is anyone supposed to answer all of these questions less than 48 hours after they’ve lost their baby? Covid-19 has definitely made this harder. No one could go into room with me and help me to answer their questions. “Was it your first baby? Was it your first miscarriage? How many weeks were you? Are you still bleeding?” The worst part, though, was telling the nurse that I brought the tissue in for them to examine, holding the Ziplock bag out to them awkwardly, and then watching them leave the room with the last physical reminder of my baby. That still kills me. I cried a lot during that appointment…I feel sorry for the nurse who had to deal with this uncomfortable situation.
From there it was a slew of blood tests, an ultrasound, and a follow up to see if everything was okay or if I needed to have a procedure done to remove the rest of the tissue. Spoiler alert, my doctor said I didn’t need to have the procedure done unless I wanted to. Some women are not given that choice because there’s too much left inside. I feel very deeply for the women that have to have the procedure done because my deepest anxiety was that I would have to have the rest of my baby medically removed from me. I can’t imagine the emotional and physical toll it takes on women who undergo this. Doing the ultrasound was emotional in itself also. I couldn’t get over the fact that this was supposed to be the first time I saw my baby. Instead, my first ultrasound was to see if there was anything left.
It’s traumatizing. Not having closure because you need to do all of these tests and examinations. Having to go to bed each night, unsure of what the doctors visit or results will be like. Telling different medical staff and technicians “I miscarried” when they ask why you’re there, and hearing them say “So this would have been your 9th week”. As if you didn’t already know or you might have forgotten. I don’t use ‘traumatizing’ lightly. I’m the last person who wants to make a mountain out of a mole hill. The relief of staying home to recover without checking in and out of clinics every single day is palpable. And every day is still hard. But at least I have the support of my husband, and my friends and family. Truly, talking and writing about this has made this week 1000x easier to bear.
Drops of Jules 