"How many pregnancies have you had?"
"Three. Three pregnancies, one baby."
That conversation took place this past weekend at the hospital. I was writhing in pain, and sobbing, and desperately hoping the nurse would hurry with the morphine. The doctors were trying to determine what was going on, but we all kind of knew already.
Let's go back to the beginning.
Last Tuesday, I was scheduled for an MRI to try and determine what was causing my sciatica. I had been eagerly anticipating this scan for a while because the pain was getting out of control and I couldn't imagine living my life this way for much longer. I was in the staging area, waiting for the tech to bring me into the imaging room, and he came in and said they had a couple questions they needed me to answer before we could proceed. Basically, even though I told them I had had a period within the last two weeks, they needed proof I wasn't pregnant before they'd let me have the scan. I got upset because that meant I'd have to reschedule until I could get blood drawn and the results forwarded to them. Arrgghh, another delay, and more days of painful sciatica. I was able to get my doctor to order the blood test that same day, so I went ahead and rescheduled the MRI for Friday, knowing the blood results would be ready by Wednesday. Meezy left for Chicago that evening for work, so the last he heard, I was going to have the MRI done on Friday, because we both knew I wasn't pregnant.
Tuesday night, I was giving Dutch a bath, and I got a call from my doctor's on-call nurse around 8pm. She said, "Umm, you got blood drawn today because you are about to have an MRI, right?" Yes. "Well, I wanted to call you immediately because the pregnancy hormone is present in your blood." What? Are you sure? That doesn't seem biologically possible. "Yes, it's present. This test doesn't report the quantitative level of hcg, but it tells us that it's there." My mind started furiously working, and it dawned on me that maybe what I thought was a period, was actually a miscarriage. They say that some women never know that they miscarry because it happens around the time of when they were expecting a period, and it mimics one. Maybe that's why there is hcg in my blood, because it hasn't completely been flushed out of my system yet. I talked to the nurse about this, and she agreed that it was a possibility. She recommended another blood test, so we could actually see what the level of hcg was. I went in on Wednesday for a quantitative draw, and was told the hcg level was 2999. That would correlate with being about 4-5 weeks pregnant. I was thoroughly confused. I really was not convinced I was actually pregnant, so we scheduled another blood draw for Friday. We needed to see if the level was going up or down. In the meantime, the MRI would have to be postponed indefinitely.
I did the blood draw on Friday, and was told I'd have to wait until Monday to know the results. I really wasn't holding my breath, because everything about this felt wrong from the beginning. On Saturday morning, I started having very painful cramps. Meezy told me to just lay in bed until I felt better, and he took care of Dutch for a couple of hours. By lunch time, I felt normal again, so I got up and we went about our day. I did have a little bit of bleeding during the day, but it was light, and I didn't feel bad otherwise, so I didn't think much of it.
On Sunday morning, I woke up in immense pain. I was nauseated, a little dizzy, and felt sweaty. The cramps were unbearable, and I knew something was really wrong. The pain was worse on my left side, and got worse when I coughed. I texted my friend, Colleen, because I needed advice on if this was normal, and if I could handle the miscarriage at home, or if this was something more that needed medical attention. We talked about it and decided an ectopic pregnancy was definitely a possibility, and I needed to go to the hospital just to be safe. Meezy and I dropped Dutch off at my sister's house and went to the ER. By the time we got there, I was so glad we made that decision. While Meezy signed me in, I went to the bathroom and threw up. I came back to the waiting room and laid down, for what felt like an eternity. I couldn't believe I was in this much pain. When we got back to a room, I was given morphine, and the doctors started examining me. They pushed on my abdomen, and it was torture. They took me for an ultrasound and drew blood, and confirmed I had an ectopic pregnancy. It hadn't ruptured, but they saw fluid in my belly, which meant it was probably leaking. That was part of the reason why I was in so much pain. This didn't explain what the "period" was that I experienced about two weeks ago, but we knew what we were dealing with now, so we had to proceed.
I had to schedule my surgery for that same day, because it was too dangerous to wait. Ectopic pregnancies are very serious, and they can be life-threatening. Before surgery, I had to sign various consent forms. If my tube was too damaged, they would need to remove it. If they found serious damage had been done to an ovary, they would need to remove it. If, there was overall extensive damage found during surgery, they might even have to perform a hysterectomy. Talk about devastating possibilities. Luckily, none of those options came into play, and the surgery was a success. I was able to be discharged late on Sunday night.
I am so thankful to my family for rallying together to help us with Dutch on Sunday. My parents and my sisters made sure we didn't have to worry about his care during the day while we were dealing with this emergent issue. I am so thankful to my brother-in-law and sister-in-law for driving over from Ft. Worth to bring Meezy dinner and to make sure I wasn't alone at any time. I am so thankful to my sister for driving me home from the hospital at almost midnight, so that Meezy could be home with Dutch, so that his routine wasn't disrupted too much. My friends have also been an enormous support through this time, from the texts, visits, cookies, flowers, meals, etc. We are feeling very loved and we really appreciate it.
This whole situation developed very quickly and was completely a surprise. Right now, I'm resting at home and letting my body heal. The hardest part is not being able to pick up Dutch for a few weeks. We'll just have to work around that and be creative. I've seen the statistics and what the future could hold for someone with an ectopic pregnancy, but I can't let that get to me. I'm not going to repeat them here, because I'm not going to be a slave to them. This experience doesn't define me, it just makes me stronger. With all that I've been through, I still am able to say I'm incredibly lucky to have the life I do. Lots of love to my family and friends.
I need all of you to stop what you're doing and listen.
Showing posts with label Experiencing a Miscarriage. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Experiencing a Miscarriage. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
Saturday, October 15, 2011
I Am the Face
Today, October 15th, is National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day. I am the face of miscarriage, and I am the 1 in 4 women who will experience the loss of a baby at some point in their lives. Hearing that statistic makes me cringe because it's way too common of an occurrence. I know that it's true, though, because it's happened to more of my friends and family members than I can count. The silver lining is that the taboo around this subject is disappearing, and there are many of us out there available to talk to if you need it.
I think the important things to remember are that miscarriages and stillbirths are predominantly NOT caused by a lack of prenatal care, or something else the mother did or didn't do during pregnancy. They are not your fault, and there's probably no way they could've been prevented. (www.iamtheface.org) The startling truth is that 25-50% of pregnancies end in miscarriage (pregnancy.org), 1 in 160 pregnancies ends in a stillbirth (March of Dimes), and about 20,000 babies each year die in their first month of life (March of Dimes). These statistics aren't meant to scare you, instead they are meant to reassure you that you're not alone, and there are resources available if you need support. Someone somewhere, probably even nearby, has gone through what you've been through.
This day is a bittersweet day for me. I am happy to carry the torch for this cause, because we need voices, and we need solidarity and strength. But, I can't help but think about how my original due date was just two short weeks from now. Back in February and March of this year, I thought I'd be welcoming a baby into the world right about now. It wasn't in the cards, and that's okay. I've accepted that, and my sorrow has turned into joy at thinking about the boy I will be bringing into the world in February.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Where I Am Now
*This is the last in a series of posts about experiencing a miscarriage.*
So, where am I now? It's been about five months since I had to undergo a D and C to remove my failed pregnancy. The sadness has subsided substantially, and I've made it through a few conversations about the experience without crying. That doesn't mean there aren't still times where I get sad. That doesn't mean I was able to re-read all of these posts without getting choked up. Believe me, I'm ridiculously excited that I'm currently 13 weeks pregnant, but that doesn't erase my previous ordeal. It makes it easier to be happy now, but it doesn't eliminate the sad memories or feelings completely. I consider myself incredibly lucky that we were successful in getting pregnant again the first month my doctor told me it was safe to. I look at it as avoiding adding insult to injury. The injury still happened, but it wasn't made worse.
So what have the other effects been, besides bad memories? I think the one that hurts the most is the loss of the pure joy that people get to experience when they see a positive pregnancy test. I had it with my first one, but worry and doubt clouded my second. I couldn't forget what happened the first time around, so my positive test in June was just met with a feeling of "let's hope this one works out." Doesn't sound super joyous, does it? That's not the way it should be, but I had lost my innocent naivete. I couldn't help but remind myself that I shouldn't get my hopes up.
The joy is here now, but I guess it was just a little more delayed for me than it is for others. My 7 week sonogram still left me with doubts, which were almost gone after my 9 week one. I honestly didn't get to have that purely happy moment until my 12 week sonogram, though. I still didn't allow myself to fully accept that this time around would be successful until just this past week.
Another effect on me is a much deeper understanding for what other women have felt. I've known many, many women who had miscarriages, and I (callously) thought I would handle it better than them if it ever happened to me. I'm embarrassed by my previous views, because this experience was stronger than me. It kicked me off my high horse and definitely gave me a reality check. I remember not understanding how a woman who had a miscarriage could still be upset over it after later successfully having a child. I just figured their sadness would go away because they had fulfilled their overall goal. Here's my lame sports brain at work, but this is how I previously related it: If I swung and missed a pitch, but then connected and hit a home run on the next one, why would I still be upset about missing the first pitch? It took it actually happening to me before I realized that each pregnancy is an individual occurrence. Each pregnancy is its own "at-bat."
Obviously there have been other effects on me, like one I mentioned in a previous post about feeling closer to my husband. I'll never forget this experience, but I think time will lessen its harmful effects on me. Hopefully the positive effects stick around forever, though. One thing I know for sure - I can't let myself wallow in 'what might have been.' I am living in the here and now, and cherishing the baby I have growing inside me today.
If you would like to share your story with me, or need an ear to listen, or just want to say hello, you can reach me at vanweezy (at) gmail (dot) com. I'm here.
So, where am I now? It's been about five months since I had to undergo a D and C to remove my failed pregnancy. The sadness has subsided substantially, and I've made it through a few conversations about the experience without crying. That doesn't mean there aren't still times where I get sad. That doesn't mean I was able to re-read all of these posts without getting choked up. Believe me, I'm ridiculously excited that I'm currently 13 weeks pregnant, but that doesn't erase my previous ordeal. It makes it easier to be happy now, but it doesn't eliminate the sad memories or feelings completely. I consider myself incredibly lucky that we were successful in getting pregnant again the first month my doctor told me it was safe to. I look at it as avoiding adding insult to injury. The injury still happened, but it wasn't made worse.
So what have the other effects been, besides bad memories? I think the one that hurts the most is the loss of the pure joy that people get to experience when they see a positive pregnancy test. I had it with my first one, but worry and doubt clouded my second. I couldn't forget what happened the first time around, so my positive test in June was just met with a feeling of "let's hope this one works out." Doesn't sound super joyous, does it? That's not the way it should be, but I had lost my innocent naivete. I couldn't help but remind myself that I shouldn't get my hopes up.
The joy is here now, but I guess it was just a little more delayed for me than it is for others. My 7 week sonogram still left me with doubts, which were almost gone after my 9 week one. I honestly didn't get to have that purely happy moment until my 12 week sonogram, though. I still didn't allow myself to fully accept that this time around would be successful until just this past week.
Another effect on me is a much deeper understanding for what other women have felt. I've known many, many women who had miscarriages, and I (callously) thought I would handle it better than them if it ever happened to me. I'm embarrassed by my previous views, because this experience was stronger than me. It kicked me off my high horse and definitely gave me a reality check. I remember not understanding how a woman who had a miscarriage could still be upset over it after later successfully having a child. I just figured their sadness would go away because they had fulfilled their overall goal. Here's my lame sports brain at work, but this is how I previously related it: If I swung and missed a pitch, but then connected and hit a home run on the next one, why would I still be upset about missing the first pitch? It took it actually happening to me before I realized that each pregnancy is an individual occurrence. Each pregnancy is its own "at-bat."
Obviously there have been other effects on me, like one I mentioned in a previous post about feeling closer to my husband. I'll never forget this experience, but I think time will lessen its harmful effects on me. Hopefully the positive effects stick around forever, though. One thing I know for sure - I can't let myself wallow in 'what might have been.' I am living in the here and now, and cherishing the baby I have growing inside me today.
If you would like to share your story with me, or need an ear to listen, or just want to say hello, you can reach me at vanweezy (at) gmail (dot) com. I'm here.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
The Day to Day
*This is the third in a series of posts about my experience of having a miscarriage.*
I consider myself a strong person. I like to think I can handle stressful situations with minimal interruption to my peace of mind. When something crappy happens, I might complain for a moment, but I've gotten pretty good at fixing the problem or learning how to ignore it. I don't like letting the bad overshadow the good. With that said, having a miscarriage really tested my abilities. I tried to be strong, but it was tough. I tried not to let the stress get to me, but it won sometimes. I think part of that was due to the hormonal changes I was experiencing, and the other part was due to just the extremely sad nature of the situation. I thought I had created life with my best friend, but I had failed. It was a devastating realization.
My first taste of not having my emotions in check happened one morning when a very sweet coworker asked me how I was feeling. I had spent the previous day at home, sobbing a lot, trying to take in the news my doctor had just told me about my molar pregnancy. It was one week after having the D and C, and I felt like everything was crashing down. I needed the day at home by myself to grieve and let out some frustration. My coworker thought I was just home sick with a cold, so when I got into the office the next day, she stopped by to see if I was feeling better. I was angry and sad, and I snapped at her. Without looking away from my computer screen I said, "I'll be fine." I was uncharacteristically curt, and my tone wasn't friendly. She reiterated that she heard I was sick and just wanted to make sure I was okay, and I repeated, "I'll be fine." As soon as she left my desk, I felt horrible. I had been rude, when all she was trying to do was check on me. No one at my office knew the troubles I was having, and I wasn't about to lay it all out there while I was still so fragile. I wrote her an email later in the day to apologize for being short, but I really didn't give an explanation why. I just couldn't talk about it yet.
Two weeks after the D and C, Meezy and I and a bunch of friends went out to dinner. One of my good friends from high school was there, and after everyone else ordered a cocktail, she ordered water. We gave her a sideways glance, and she confirmed our suspicions: she was pregnant. Of course we were elated for her and her husband. It was no secret that they had been trying for months and had previously been feeling discouraged about their lack of success. Everyone at the table was thrilled to hear their good news, including me. I could feel a little bit of sadness welling up inside me, however, and I tried my best to subdue it. But, when she announced her due date, October 27th, I couldn't hold it in any longer. That was the exact due date I had been given, before we knew my pregnancy had failed. What are the odds? The tears started flowing and I was completely embarrassed. My pregnant friend had no idea what we had been going through, so I had to tell her about everything. I felt horrible about the deep sadness I was experiencing right then, and even more horrible for taking away from her joyous moment. She completely understood why I reacted the way I did, though, but it still didn't make that moment any more bearable.
In the weeks that followed, there were more trying situations. Each time another friend or coworker announced their pregnancy, or talked about their kids, I was reminded of my plight. It's not like I wasn't happy or excited for them; it's just that I was also sad for myself at the same time. I know there are people with much worse situations than mine - years of trying, infertility, multiple miscarriages, stillborn births, etc. I'm not trying to minimize their suffering, or compare my pain to theirs, but this was still a personal tragedy for me. This was still a devastating loss that I had to be reminded of constantly. I needed to grieve.
If there is any redeeming part of this whole situation, it can be found in the realizations I have made. Choosing to have a child is a monumental step in a relationship. The hubby and I decided we were ready, and knew it was what we wanted before we started trying, and having a miscarriage just reinforced this. The emotions we experienced afterwards really showed us how much we truly did want this to happen. Instead of becoming disheartened and withdrawing from the situation, it just made us want it more. If it's possible for love to get stronger, then the love between my husband and I has done just that. I'm so thankful my best friend is the one going through this with me. We've been together through some amazing highs, and now a profound low. The way we've made it through it all, never wavering, has just proven to me that I picked the right one. I can't wait to share this love with our future children.
I consider myself a strong person. I like to think I can handle stressful situations with minimal interruption to my peace of mind. When something crappy happens, I might complain for a moment, but I've gotten pretty good at fixing the problem or learning how to ignore it. I don't like letting the bad overshadow the good. With that said, having a miscarriage really tested my abilities. I tried to be strong, but it was tough. I tried not to let the stress get to me, but it won sometimes. I think part of that was due to the hormonal changes I was experiencing, and the other part was due to just the extremely sad nature of the situation. I thought I had created life with my best friend, but I had failed. It was a devastating realization.
My first taste of not having my emotions in check happened one morning when a very sweet coworker asked me how I was feeling. I had spent the previous day at home, sobbing a lot, trying to take in the news my doctor had just told me about my molar pregnancy. It was one week after having the D and C, and I felt like everything was crashing down. I needed the day at home by myself to grieve and let out some frustration. My coworker thought I was just home sick with a cold, so when I got into the office the next day, she stopped by to see if I was feeling better. I was angry and sad, and I snapped at her. Without looking away from my computer screen I said, "I'll be fine." I was uncharacteristically curt, and my tone wasn't friendly. She reiterated that she heard I was sick and just wanted to make sure I was okay, and I repeated, "I'll be fine." As soon as she left my desk, I felt horrible. I had been rude, when all she was trying to do was check on me. No one at my office knew the troubles I was having, and I wasn't about to lay it all out there while I was still so fragile. I wrote her an email later in the day to apologize for being short, but I really didn't give an explanation why. I just couldn't talk about it yet.
Two weeks after the D and C, Meezy and I and a bunch of friends went out to dinner. One of my good friends from high school was there, and after everyone else ordered a cocktail, she ordered water. We gave her a sideways glance, and she confirmed our suspicions: she was pregnant. Of course we were elated for her and her husband. It was no secret that they had been trying for months and had previously been feeling discouraged about their lack of success. Everyone at the table was thrilled to hear their good news, including me. I could feel a little bit of sadness welling up inside me, however, and I tried my best to subdue it. But, when she announced her due date, October 27th, I couldn't hold it in any longer. That was the exact due date I had been given, before we knew my pregnancy had failed. What are the odds? The tears started flowing and I was completely embarrassed. My pregnant friend had no idea what we had been going through, so I had to tell her about everything. I felt horrible about the deep sadness I was experiencing right then, and even more horrible for taking away from her joyous moment. She completely understood why I reacted the way I did, though, but it still didn't make that moment any more bearable.
In the weeks that followed, there were more trying situations. Each time another friend or coworker announced their pregnancy, or talked about their kids, I was reminded of my plight. It's not like I wasn't happy or excited for them; it's just that I was also sad for myself at the same time. I know there are people with much worse situations than mine - years of trying, infertility, multiple miscarriages, stillborn births, etc. I'm not trying to minimize their suffering, or compare my pain to theirs, but this was still a personal tragedy for me. This was still a devastating loss that I had to be reminded of constantly. I needed to grieve.
If there is any redeeming part of this whole situation, it can be found in the realizations I have made. Choosing to have a child is a monumental step in a relationship. The hubby and I decided we were ready, and knew it was what we wanted before we started trying, and having a miscarriage just reinforced this. The emotions we experienced afterwards really showed us how much we truly did want this to happen. Instead of becoming disheartened and withdrawing from the situation, it just made us want it more. If it's possible for love to get stronger, then the love between my husband and I has done just that. I'm so thankful my best friend is the one going through this with me. We've been together through some amazing highs, and now a profound low. The way we've made it through it all, never wavering, has just proven to me that I picked the right one. I can't wait to share this love with our future children.
Monday, August 15, 2011
It Wasn't Over
*This is the second in a series of posts about my experience of having a miscarriage, and what happened after.*
After the D and C, Meezy and I were in surprisingly "good" spirits. We viewed this as a setback, but knew we could overcome it together. My doctor told me I would need to wait 4-6 weeks post-procedure before we started trying again. Okay, no big deal. I could spend the next month eating cold deli meats, drinking sodas with aspartame, and enjoying an alcoholic drink if I so chose (things I had previously given up when I became pregnant). I knew my body was capable of getting pregnant, so I tried to stay upbeat. The time would fly...or so we thought.
A few days after the procedure, my doctor called me with the pathology results. She had sent the evidence of conception off for testing to see if they could determine what went wrong. I didn't think what she said could be worse than finding out my pregnancy had failed, but it was. It was bad news. I had experienced a "molar" pregnancy. This means instead of developing into a fetus, my "baby" had just become a mole, or growth. Something went wrong in fertilization, but my body didn't know that. It thought I was technically pregnant. (Lucky me for being the 1 in 1,000 women who experience this!) Even though the D and C removed the growth and scraped the surface layer of my uterus, if the mole had moved into the muscle layer below, then there would be problems. I would develop a disease and more than likely need to be treated with chemotherapy. Whoa. That's a lot to take in. The way to determine if that occurred was by getting repeated blood tests to check my level of hCG hormone. After a normal D and C, my level should drop to zero within a couple of weeks. If I had developed the disease, then my level would plateau or rise. For three weeks in a row, I had to go in for blood tests to see if my level was decreasing. If it did reach zero, then I would have to start coming in monthly to make sure it stayed at zero. In the meantime, we weren't allowed to take any chances with becoming pregnant again, because that would skew the results. That 4-6 week waiting period just went out the window, and now we were talking about a minimum of 3 months. That news was more devastating to me than the news I got the day I went in for the sonogram.
At my first blood test, my hCG level had dropped from 5,880 to 156. At my second blood test, it had dropped to 22, then to 7 on the third. Finally I went in for my follow-up appointment with my doctor (one month post-op), and the level came back at 0. Whew. This didn't mean I was completely out of the woods, but it did give me reason to be very hopeful. From there, I was required to schedule a monthly blood test for the next couple of months, to make sure the level stayed at 0. I know some of you will think a couple of months doesn't sound very long, but when you go from being pregnant in February, to being not pregnant in March, and then not even able to start trying again until June, it feels like an eternity.
I guess I was "lucky" in the sense that it wasn't worse. It could've become a cancerous growth and could've required chemotherapy. That would've meant at least a year before we could try again. I'm really, really thankful that it didn't come to that, because I don't think I could have handled a year of the emotions I experienced.
More to come...
After the D and C, Meezy and I were in surprisingly "good" spirits. We viewed this as a setback, but knew we could overcome it together. My doctor told me I would need to wait 4-6 weeks post-procedure before we started trying again. Okay, no big deal. I could spend the next month eating cold deli meats, drinking sodas with aspartame, and enjoying an alcoholic drink if I so chose (things I had previously given up when I became pregnant). I knew my body was capable of getting pregnant, so I tried to stay upbeat. The time would fly...or so we thought.
A few days after the procedure, my doctor called me with the pathology results. She had sent the evidence of conception off for testing to see if they could determine what went wrong. I didn't think what she said could be worse than finding out my pregnancy had failed, but it was. It was bad news. I had experienced a "molar" pregnancy. This means instead of developing into a fetus, my "baby" had just become a mole, or growth. Something went wrong in fertilization, but my body didn't know that. It thought I was technically pregnant. (Lucky me for being the 1 in 1,000 women who experience this!) Even though the D and C removed the growth and scraped the surface layer of my uterus, if the mole had moved into the muscle layer below, then there would be problems. I would develop a disease and more than likely need to be treated with chemotherapy. Whoa. That's a lot to take in. The way to determine if that occurred was by getting repeated blood tests to check my level of hCG hormone. After a normal D and C, my level should drop to zero within a couple of weeks. If I had developed the disease, then my level would plateau or rise. For three weeks in a row, I had to go in for blood tests to see if my level was decreasing. If it did reach zero, then I would have to start coming in monthly to make sure it stayed at zero. In the meantime, we weren't allowed to take any chances with becoming pregnant again, because that would skew the results. That 4-6 week waiting period just went out the window, and now we were talking about a minimum of 3 months. That news was more devastating to me than the news I got the day I went in for the sonogram.
At my first blood test, my hCG level had dropped from 5,880 to 156. At my second blood test, it had dropped to 22, then to 7 on the third. Finally I went in for my follow-up appointment with my doctor (one month post-op), and the level came back at 0. Whew. This didn't mean I was completely out of the woods, but it did give me reason to be very hopeful. From there, I was required to schedule a monthly blood test for the next couple of months, to make sure the level stayed at 0. I know some of you will think a couple of months doesn't sound very long, but when you go from being pregnant in February, to being not pregnant in March, and then not even able to start trying again until June, it feels like an eternity.
I guess I was "lucky" in the sense that it wasn't worse. It could've become a cancerous growth and could've required chemotherapy. That would've meant at least a year before we could try again. I'm really, really thankful that it didn't come to that, because I don't think I could have handled a year of the emotions I experienced.
More to come...
Sunday, August 14, 2011
I'm Not Alone
*This will be the first in a series of posts that I'll publish over the next couple of days. They were actually written a while ago, but I wasn't ready to publish them until now.*
I'm by no means alone in this ordeal, but that didn't make it any easier to deal with. I know this will come as a surprise to a lot of people, but here goes:
My first pregnancy did not make it to term. On March 24th, in my ninth week of "pregnancy," I had a D and C. What this means is that I found out I was pregnant in February, but something was wrong. The fetus didn't develop correctly, and I had to undergo a procedure to remove the pregnancy. It was a hard time for me. I had so many things I was supposed to be excited about - the recent birth of a niece, vacation plans, friends and family members being pregnant, friends getting married, etc. While trying to joyfully celebrate these things, I also had to grieve the loss of the baby I thought I was going to welcome in October.
It was supposed to be such a wonderful time. My sisters and I were all pregnant at the same time, and were all going to give birth in the same year. How fun, right?? Three moms going through the same things at the same time. Three little cousins growing up around the same age. I got excited when thinking about what was to come. I secretly shopped for maternity clothes online and started getting ideas about the nursery. I couldn't wait until the day we found out the sex of the baby and got to share the good news with the whole world. Before I was even able to tell my family, though, my big plans were promptly cut short.
At seven weeks in, I went to the doctor for my first sonogram. She couldn't see anything on the monitor, but my body said I was pregnant. The tests were positive, the symptoms had started, and the hormone levels were growing. We thought we might've just been wrong about the timing, so we scheduled another sonogram for a week and a half later. It was tough during that waiting time, because I wanted to believe that everything was fine. I wanted to believe that a baby was developing inside me, despite that nagging feeling that something might be wrong. Unfortunately, the next sonogram confirmed our fears. There was no baby.
Meezy and I had been playing our cards very close to our chest. No one knew we were trying for a baby. We wanted it to be a huge surprise when we made the announcement! What a cruel turn of events. Now, our first mention to our family that we were trying to get pregnant was the news that our first pregnancy had failed. We were so sad that we even had to share the news. The reason we did, however, was because the procedure involved anesthesia and a hospital visit. Having already started experiencing the initial feelings of becoming a mother, I knew my mom would want to know something like this was happening to her daughter.
To add insult to injury, I received a call from the hospital two days before the procedure, telling me they needed a deposit for my portion of the costs. I was at work, trying to maintain my composure, and now I had to think about the cost of the termination of my pregnancy. Awesome. In addition to that, one day before the procedure, I got questions from two different acquaintances/coworkers, "When is it going to be your time?" "What's next for you, a baby?" Nothing like trying to hold back sobs while sitting at your desk. Let this be a lesson, people. Don't ask someone when they're going to have a baby. I've been guilty of this in the past, and I didn't fully appreciate the ramifications of the question until now. You never know what issues they're dealing with; you never know if they're having trouble conceiving; and you never know if they're about to undergo a D and C the next day! I know it seems like an innocent question, but it can have a very, very profound effect when asked to certain people.
The main reason I'm writing this post is because I want other women like me to know that they're not alone. When your friends or family know that you're trying, and then something goes wrong, you have a support system to lean on. You can be open about your feelings, and what's going on, and let people be there for you. When you don't tell anyone that you're trying, and then your first sonogram results are inconclusive, you feel lonely. Your spouse shares your feelings, but you haven't allowed anyone else to. You feel upset, but can't share it. You get sad, but try to hide it. The reason we chose that route was because we didn't want the world to know what we were going through, right as we were going through it. It was new to us, and we needed time to process it by ourselves. We didn't want it to be the only thing people thought about when they saw us. We didn't want people wondering when we'd try again. We didn't want people asking us how we were doing. I just wanted to be left alone, yet I hated the loneliness. It was a conundrum. I didn't want to talk to someone about it who I knew I would see constantly after that. At one point, I thought about trying to find a stranger on which to unload this burden, but I didn't know how to go about it.
Because I know that I'm not alone in experiencing these feelings, this is me telling you that I'll be your stranger. If you are worried you might be miscarrying, or recently have, talk to me. Send me an email and tell me what you're feeling. If I do know you personally, you can be sure that I'll keep your secret. If I don't know you personally, use me however you need to. If you just need to write about what's bothering you, but don't want a response, just say that. Just putting it down in words will probably help. If you want some reassurance that you can get past this, and everything will be alright, let me do that for you. Heck, you don't even have to be a pregnant woman to write me. If you feel like you just don't want to talk to your close family and friends about something, you can talk to me instead. My email is vanweezy (at) gmail (dot) com. Please don't be afraid to contact me.
More to come...
I'm by no means alone in this ordeal, but that didn't make it any easier to deal with. I know this will come as a surprise to a lot of people, but here goes:
My first pregnancy did not make it to term. On March 24th, in my ninth week of "pregnancy," I had a D and C. What this means is that I found out I was pregnant in February, but something was wrong. The fetus didn't develop correctly, and I had to undergo a procedure to remove the pregnancy. It was a hard time for me. I had so many things I was supposed to be excited about - the recent birth of a niece, vacation plans, friends and family members being pregnant, friends getting married, etc. While trying to joyfully celebrate these things, I also had to grieve the loss of the baby I thought I was going to welcome in October.
It was supposed to be such a wonderful time. My sisters and I were all pregnant at the same time, and were all going to give birth in the same year. How fun, right?? Three moms going through the same things at the same time. Three little cousins growing up around the same age. I got excited when thinking about what was to come. I secretly shopped for maternity clothes online and started getting ideas about the nursery. I couldn't wait until the day we found out the sex of the baby and got to share the good news with the whole world. Before I was even able to tell my family, though, my big plans were promptly cut short.
At seven weeks in, I went to the doctor for my first sonogram. She couldn't see anything on the monitor, but my body said I was pregnant. The tests were positive, the symptoms had started, and the hormone levels were growing. We thought we might've just been wrong about the timing, so we scheduled another sonogram for a week and a half later. It was tough during that waiting time, because I wanted to believe that everything was fine. I wanted to believe that a baby was developing inside me, despite that nagging feeling that something might be wrong. Unfortunately, the next sonogram confirmed our fears. There was no baby.
Meezy and I had been playing our cards very close to our chest. No one knew we were trying for a baby. We wanted it to be a huge surprise when we made the announcement! What a cruel turn of events. Now, our first mention to our family that we were trying to get pregnant was the news that our first pregnancy had failed. We were so sad that we even had to share the news. The reason we did, however, was because the procedure involved anesthesia and a hospital visit. Having already started experiencing the initial feelings of becoming a mother, I knew my mom would want to know something like this was happening to her daughter.
To add insult to injury, I received a call from the hospital two days before the procedure, telling me they needed a deposit for my portion of the costs. I was at work, trying to maintain my composure, and now I had to think about the cost of the termination of my pregnancy. Awesome. In addition to that, one day before the procedure, I got questions from two different acquaintances/coworkers, "When is it going to be your time?" "What's next for you, a baby?" Nothing like trying to hold back sobs while sitting at your desk. Let this be a lesson, people. Don't ask someone when they're going to have a baby. I've been guilty of this in the past, and I didn't fully appreciate the ramifications of the question until now. You never know what issues they're dealing with; you never know if they're having trouble conceiving; and you never know if they're about to undergo a D and C the next day! I know it seems like an innocent question, but it can have a very, very profound effect when asked to certain people.
The main reason I'm writing this post is because I want other women like me to know that they're not alone. When your friends or family know that you're trying, and then something goes wrong, you have a support system to lean on. You can be open about your feelings, and what's going on, and let people be there for you. When you don't tell anyone that you're trying, and then your first sonogram results are inconclusive, you feel lonely. Your spouse shares your feelings, but you haven't allowed anyone else to. You feel upset, but can't share it. You get sad, but try to hide it. The reason we chose that route was because we didn't want the world to know what we were going through, right as we were going through it. It was new to us, and we needed time to process it by ourselves. We didn't want it to be the only thing people thought about when they saw us. We didn't want people wondering when we'd try again. We didn't want people asking us how we were doing. I just wanted to be left alone, yet I hated the loneliness. It was a conundrum. I didn't want to talk to someone about it who I knew I would see constantly after that. At one point, I thought about trying to find a stranger on which to unload this burden, but I didn't know how to go about it.
Because I know that I'm not alone in experiencing these feelings, this is me telling you that I'll be your stranger. If you are worried you might be miscarrying, or recently have, talk to me. Send me an email and tell me what you're feeling. If I do know you personally, you can be sure that I'll keep your secret. If I don't know you personally, use me however you need to. If you just need to write about what's bothering you, but don't want a response, just say that. Just putting it down in words will probably help. If you want some reassurance that you can get past this, and everything will be alright, let me do that for you. Heck, you don't even have to be a pregnant woman to write me. If you feel like you just don't want to talk to your close family and friends about something, you can talk to me instead. My email is vanweezy (at) gmail (dot) com. Please don't be afraid to contact me.
More to come...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)