I have always been amazed by and proud of my body - it has climbed mountains, run countless miles, lifted weights heavier than most would believe a 4’11” frame could. And I have always given my body the very best care - I eat vegetables, take whole food supplements, see my chiropractor, drink water. I trust that my body knows what it's doing, carrying on dozens of complicated processes simultaneously without direction.
So when I became pregnant for the first time (on the first try!), never did I dream it wouldn't last. I had planned a home birth with a midwife, but at 10 weeks we couldn't find a heartbeat with a Doppler, and the next day I started to bleed. I went for an ultrasound, and as I lay on my back looking at what I knew was not a healthy embryo on the monitor, the doctor looked at me and said, “I'm sorry, this isn't a good pregnancy.” I thanked everyone and walked out, no emotion on my face.
My husband and I walked back to the car where I sat and cried and asked the Universe out loud what I had done wrong, all the while knowing the answer was nothing. I just wanted something, or someone, to blame.
I made an appointment with my OBGYN to go over my options, since I was experiencing what is called a “missed miscarriage”, where the baby is no longer living but remains inside the uterus for a while. I was given the options of waiting to miscarry on my own, scheduling a dilation & curettage (D&C) procedure (the uterine contents are manually removed under anesthesia), or taking a drug called Cytotec orally to induce uterine contractions so I could miscarry sooner and at home. I chose Cytotec.
I put the pill between my lip and gums and let it dissolve as instructed before swallowing. And then I waited. It took hours before I noticed anything, but eventually felt cramping, like I was having my period. I filled the bath with warm water and got inside to help soothe the pain and sadness of what was happening to me, of what I was losing. I was naked, alternating between the tub and toilet, since the bleeding had begun. The cramps intensified, and I began to realize they were coming like waves, and happening in a pattern. These were my first contractions. After hours of build-up, I lay in the tub as one particularly intense and painful wave pulled the amniotic sac from my womb, and I fell asleep in the water.
When I awoke I moved to the toilet, and my baby slipped away from me. The amniotic sac had remained whole. I thought about looking inside to see what my baby looked like, but was warned by a friend who had also recently miscarried that it wouldn't help anything. She knew because she had seen hers.
And then I flushed the promises and dreams of that baby down the toilet.
As a person, I'm more logical than emotional. I rarely have mood swings, even with the hormonal shifts of my cycle or pregnancy. I am able to see through my feelings and determine if they serve me. If they are holding me back, I deal with them and let them go - no sense in wasting precious time on being upset or angry.
In private I was sad, but I still had to go to work and make other people feel cared for, so I held my grief. I had told probably a dozen people that I was pregnant, and now I had to tell them that I wasn't anymore. I dreaded it. I dreaded it because it's awkward and sad to face it over and over again with each person. I dreaded it because no one ever knows what to say when you tell them you've lost a baby. They feel bad for you, but they also give off this vibe that lets you know that you have made them uncomfortable by sharing, and it's palpable. I didn't expect to feel bad about feeling bad, even though no one meant to hurt me.
The other thing I didn't expect when sharing my story was how many other women would open up and say that it had happened to them, too. I had no idea how common miscarriage was until it happened to me (as many as 1 in 4 recognized pregnancies in the first trimester). Sharing my story with others, and them sharing theirs with me, made me feel like I wasn't some freak of nature with a broken reproductive system. I was a woman who, despite a setback, had the potential to get pregnant again and become a mother, as many of my confidants had.
It wasn't quick or easy, but I would go on to become pregnant about 9 months later by Intrauterine Insemination (IUI), and to become a mother the following year. I was fearful during that pregnancy, as opposed to being care-free and joyous like I had been with my first. Every week until I heard the heartbeat I was afraid, and even after that I wasn't totally at ease. By my third pregnancy, however, I felt safe again and was able to relax and enjoy the process (when I could breathe/didn't have Restless Leg Syndrome/could feel my hands/didn't have acid reflux...).
Sharing a story of loss is hard, but it can help us to connect with others who understand our suffering, and that can help us to heal. If you have a story you'd like to share, even anonymously, consider it. You never know how many other people share your pain until you let it go.
