Maybe we told "too many" people. I'm glad that our parents and siblings knew, that our close friends knew. I told my 101-year-old grandmother. I had the extra-morbid thought that I may not tell her this update until close to my due date (late August). In case she dies in the near future, she doesn't need to know about this.
I'm less glad that I told friends in the outer circle my exact reason for cancelling or altering plans. I'd emailed a close friend's sister trying to opt out of the winery tour part of a bachelorette party in March. And now of course I want to opt back in. But how do I phrase that email? I've suffered a tragic loss & am ready to party again! But what else can I do, sit alone in the rented house, no longer in need of a nap, and reflect on how not pregnant I am? I'd rather be tacky than depressed.
It's funny the things I worried about. Why do I care what this acquaintance thinks of me? Why do I care if the funeral home people think I'm insane that I saved the body? But I still had my regular levels of social anxiety as an unhelpful anchor.
We were only at 6 weeks, so many of the people we regularly see didn't know. No one at work knew. I'm glad for that, to have a chance to be my old self and have people treat me naturally and offer up all kinds of distractions.
Next time will be different. 6-10 weeks is the big danger zone, and up to 12 weeks is still thin ice. So we'll tell people from the start, but less excitedly and more nervously. It will feel less like a sure thing, and more like that in-between time, waiting for your period to come, wondering if you should take the test. Schroedinger's baby.
I assume there will be a next time. That I will have no trouble getting pregnant again, and that I can carry a child to term. This time may have been just "one of those things." It may have been caused by my hyperthyroidism, which is expected to go into remission in a few years. It may have been caused by PCOS-induced low progesterone, which is easy to treat. Next time, I'll catch the signs sooner, take the test sooner, go to the doctor sooner, because we'll know there's a risk.
On Tuesday afternoon, we had the first doctor's appointment. We could see the little one, a small flicker on a black & white screen. There was a heartbeat already, 129 beats a minute, normal range, and surprising that we could see it so early. "My child is determined," I thought. I had to get the transvaginal ultrasound, so I was glad we had something to see for it. They drew blood, and said they'd call if I had low progesterone. They printed out pictures for us to take home, and scheduled a followup for two weeks. I wrote a little love note from the baby to my husband on the envelope.
On Wednesday afternoon, I had a stomach ache. Maybe it was just constipation. I was bleeding a little bit. Maybe that was just because of the ultrasound, the internet says sometimes transvaginal ultrasounds cause spotting. I was terrified. How long would these unclear symptoms go on? How could I work or sleep or leave the house when at any moment I might lose my baby or start hemorrhaging? I rode the metro after work, feeling pretty bad, but nothing happened. I bought wine for a friend's birthday, and went to book club. This was starting to feel, and to look, more like I was starting a period. These were clots, not just spotting. These were menstrual cramps, more intense than I'd had since I'd been pregnant. This could only mean one thing right? I went to the bathroom and cried out of fear and frustration. I thought I should pray - but for what? I didn't want to miscarry. But I didn't want to be pregnant anymore either. A miscarriage was sad, but it would be over soon. If I stayed pregnant, how many days would I spend crying in bathrooms, terrified for myself and for the health of the little one? So I prayed that, if this kid wasn't gonna make, to let it be over quickly. And then I prayed that I have a less selfish, less cold heart.
Even as my body was taking action because I wasn't able to parent this child, I was realizing just how deeply not ready I felt in my heart. I wasn't thinking about the life of my kid, I was thinking about my own wants and my own fears. A mother would not pray the way I had.
For three hours after I got home, the cramps were getting worse. Heat pads, drugs, even masturbation, weren't lessening them. The style changed from a period to what must have been mini-contractions - they were more intense and SPIKED and then went away. I went to bed because I was tired and miserable, but I couldn't sleep through these and they were getting more frequent.
At one of my trips to the toilet, around 10:15pm, I felt something pass that was more solid than blood. My rational brain switched off and on pure instinct I reached in to see what it was. The embryonic sac, white, gelatinous, the size of a large coin. And inside, the tiniest little thing. No longer than my pinkie nail. It looked more like a shrimp than a person, translucent & pale, but with a dark red spine running the length. I'm glad I saw it. I knew then that it happened. It was done, I probably wasn't going to die too. It had come out, I wasn't going to keep bleeding and need the ER. I didn't have to inspect any other clots closely. And that moment made it feel more real than what we'd seen at the doctor. There had been a small person inside me. But no longer.
The shock and the body horror were real. I sat down next to my husband, trying not to pass out. I told him that it had happened, that he could see if he wanted (he did not). I was crying and hyperventilating, even as I realized that the pain had subsided. I didn't want to call the doctor. I wanted to be in my own home and rest. I was bleeding at the level of a normal period, and I didn't feel in any danger. I convinced him to sleep, so he could be more helpful in the coming days.
I stayed up about three more hours, running between the sofa & the bathroom. I was very calm, operating in crisis mode. I ate the second half of dinner. I emailed work that I had a nasty sinus infection and wouldn't be coming in the next day (techically true). I took the remains and put them in a mason jar, and then sealed that in a box so we couldn't see and put that in the fridge. I hadn't thought ahead to a next step of what we'd do with this tiny body, but I couldn't bear to flush it like a goldfish. I had a few more contraction-like cramps, but they were spacing out, and the clots were getting smaller. I tried to go to bed around 2 am. Sleep wasn't really happening, but at least I was near my guy so he knew I was ok.
Thursday, I felt physically like I was on my period & hadn't had enough sleep, but nothing worse than that. I called the doctor first thing in the morning, and they ran through a checklist of my symptoms and agreed I could wait until the next day to come in for a checkup. I told my husband that I'd be ok if he went to work, since he thought that would be the best thing for him. I wasn't bad enough that I needed help, and I was just going to lie around all day and cry. Since he didn't need to physically heal, it was probably best that he rejoined the land of the living.
I called a funeral home and asked if they had any options for burying a very small preborn child. Technically this was still an embryo, not even a fetus. It felt like maybe a bit much, but I had saved the body. What was I supposed to do, bury it in my parents' yard alongside the pets? Was that even allowed from a Catholic perspective? They could do a regular baby burial which would cost about $3000 for the plot, the casket, and the bronze marker - half the cost of an adult burial. That seemed a high cost, but how does money factor into this? We were prepared to spend a lot more than that on the kid this year. Maybe it would be worth it, to give me peace of mind and closure, to do one nice thing for this little life. Maybe I'd be happy there was a spot we could go visit.
Calling people was the worst part - my sister, my mom, my best friend (Thursday was her birthday, so I waited a couple days to tell her). At least no one burst into tears. I texted or delegated to tell most others. People were very happy to help however they could, such as spreading the word, which was appreciated. Four people brought food; I was surprised how weak & unmotivated I felt to cook. I probably would have lived off soup & fruit otherwise.
My mom came over the first day. She drove as I returned all the baby books I had from the library, and we picked up a form from the funeral home for the doctor to fill out, certifying fetal death. But mostly I lay around with my heat pad, cried, watched tv, and replied to texts.
Friday morning, husband & I woke up first thing and went to the doctor. I got another transvaginal ultrasound followed by a different kind of good news - my uterus seemed to be empty, no need for a D&C or drugs. We sat down with the doctor, who was comforting and discussed the option of genetic testing. I didn't think it was necessary; 25% of pregnancies end this way, most with no clear explanation. And I had TWO endocrine issues that could easily be the cause. If the test showed the kid had been fine, I'd feel worse that my body had failed. If the test showed a genetic problem, I'd be more worried this would happen again, even though it wouldn't happen every time.
Husband decided he really wanted to do the testing. We'd already talked about it, and I wasn't in the mood for re-making the decision. He thinks it could help us know how soon to start trying for the next one - if it's my hormones we wait, if it's a genetic problem we try early & often to beat the odds. I don't think there's any information we could get that would make me feel better or less confused, but at least that would be a form of closure. I could hand over the box with my dead child, and at least that part would be done.
The doctor told us they just got the results from Tuesday - my progesterone had been very low. But was that my body's failure to support a healthy pregnancy? Or was that my body noticing that the kid wasn't going to make it and stopping support? No way to know. If I'd started taking progesterone earlier, would that have saved this pregnancy? Or just delayed the inevitable and made it more traumatic? No way to know.
I'm recovering better than I thought I would. At times I worry that I'm recovering "too well" - I feel almost gleeful at times that I have my old life back. I can eat what I want, exercise without feeling terrible, get through a day without feeling exhausted. I can ride the metro with no fear of throwing up. I don't have to eat constantly or suffer reflux. We can share that Christmas beer I bought right before I found out. We CAN go to that wedding in September, and I won't have to worry about what I'm able to do on the family vacation. I don't have to miss the solar eclipse that I've been planning to see for years, and was the same week as my due date.
Even on Thursday, I felt very suddenly and deeply like my old self as the hormones dissipated. I expected more of a crash or a depression, but it was a relief. Even the first month of pregnancy was a rough ride, and I don't miss the physical limitations of it. I was still weak & tired, but in a totally different way. Pregnancy feels like riding in an uncomfortable car in stop & go traffic with no end in sight. Now I felt like I'd survived a beating, but at least it was done & I could heal.
Also, even as I cried for what now will never be - send this kid to college when I'm only 46, the baby shower I'd started to plan, the first family Halloween costume, being hella pregnant in the pool, adorable Christmas pictures - I'm feeling a million stresses evaporate away. I don't have to buy all new clothes for myself. We don't have to move. We have enough money to get through this year. I don't have to negotiate maternity leave with my boss. I don't have to miss out or partially miss out on all the big events of this year. My sister & best friend will probably both get engaged this year. I can be 100% there for their life events - planning the bachelorette party, dancing at the reception, staying up late prepping favors - with no physical or logistical drags.
I feel a little guilty. Not that it's my fault I lost the pregnancy, but that it's been too easy for me to find silver linings. Especially as a Catholic who was not considering abortion, I don't love this glimpse into my heart, where I considered my own child to be such an inconvenience. I thought I'd had more time to grow to be more loving, but our relationship was so brief, and mostly negative from me. If I meet them in the next life what will they think of me? Will they understand? I made it to church on Sunday, the feast of the Epiphany. Part of the homily mentioned that while the wise men travelled far to meet the newborn king, and rejoiced even though he was not what they expected, King Herod couldn't be bothered to make a much shorter trip, and his reaction to news of the birth was to find his way of life threatened rather than to rejoice. So I thought, great, I'm King Herod for my own child.
Probably, parents consider their kids of any age to be an inconvenience, and I hadn't had time to bond with this one yet. Or you find your sick parents a bit of an inconvenience, and it's almost a relief when they die, and your & their suffering is at an end. Maybe I'm just human. And despite my ambiguous feelings, I did everything I could to take care of this little one. And aren't actions more important than feelings & passing thoughts in showing your character? Didn't I prove my beliefs and values by acting according to them even when I didn't feel like it? I know that I did just get a huge dose of empathy for women who do consider or get abortions, which is a headspace I've never really understood before.
I also read a blog post about dethawing pipes, sitting with a hair dryer in the cold for a long time, unsure if you're even in the right spot, as a metaphor for prayer and how it can thaw a heart. I should probably start praying now that I can more joyfully welcome the next one.
This was a very gendered tragedy. There was no escaping it. This happened inside my body, and I felt the physical pain and the disgust and the hormonal shift. I imagine the man's burden feels different, to be so helpless and distant. They feel like they have to be strong for her sake, even as they process their own loss. I think he was more worried about my safety than I was, since I knew I was ok, and he only had my report. It's also true that I felt the most immediate benefit though. My husband and my mother have only lost something, but I've regained some freedom, and that's been comforting to me. We said in this pregnancy, that he'd be the Sam Gamgee to my Frodo Baggins - I'd be weary & depressed, and he'd just take care of me. But now I remember how that story ends - Sam went back to life and Frodo couldn't quite heal.
I keep having images flash through my mind - the tiny body in the toilet, picking it up, carrying the box into the doctor. I'd read somewhere that fixating on something shocking right after it happens is your brains way of protecting itself from PTSD. If you can desensitize yourself & process it early, you won't have triggers or flashbacks later. I feel like if I were to have complications they'd be closer to PTSD than to depression, so I hope that this image popping into my mind over and over is a healthy thing to be experiencing, even if it is upsetting for now.
And so far I'm not being upset by baby things. I'm still following parenting blogs (as I had been for years). I got one more baby book in the mail, and I packed it in the box with my vitamins and the welcome packet from the doctor. It just feels like something for another day. I may be a bit sensitive to any jokes about dead babies in the freezer though. Or the "what's in the box" meme from se7en.
I wrote in another post about being a matriarch, with wisdom about wedding planning & households and pregnancy. Maybe I can also be a dark matriarch, who can speak frankly about mental health counseling and now miscarriage too. I could see some confusion with my mom, that I've gone through this rite of womanhood that she never experienced. More confusion with my dad & my brothers, who are sad that I'm in pain, and have no idea what to do about a pain that is far removed from what they can imagine. My dad could offer advice to me as a teen girl about relationships, and hygiene, and how to get blood out of clothes. But this was finally a step too far.
Talking about it scientifically was one of the best things, although everyone apologized when the moved into that perspective. One of my friends who stopped by, as well as my mom, have medical backgrounds, and you could see their curiosity when I mention different hormones or possible causes of what went wrong. I have that curiosity too, I was eager to talk about the biological explanation. When I called the nurse the morning after, she asked me to describe the color of what I saw, and apologized. But I thought, this is easy. It's a fact, something that I know how to answer. The things that can be known, that I can put into words, are reassuring.
I hope that some day, I can see a point to all this. On the outside, I'm back to life as usual. But on the inside, I'm not 100% the same, and I don't want to be. I don't feel broken, but I do feel changed. I feel closer to my guy then ever. I want to just have slow days and be with him. Maybe I'll try to live more in the moment and appreciate the kindnesses around me, and not be swept up in anxieties about things that don't really matter.
Maybe I'll feel more ready to be a parent next time. I've already done some learning and psychological prep work. I'll be more grateful to stay pregnant and complain less about my symptoms. And I learned how excited everyone was for me, and how supportive they were this week. They say the oldest kid preps you as a parent so you can do better with the other kids. Maybe my oldest has taken on that role in their own way.
Here are all the ways that I got "lucky" and had the easiest miscarriage possible:
- it was an unplanned pregnancy
- i only knew for 10 days - more confused than sad right now
- it all happened around the holidays, so it feels like a dream or alternate timeline
- i'm still young and believe that i can have a family
- we hadn't told too many people
- we didn't know the gender or a name or even a due date (that last one i am grateful they couldn't set, i just had a 6-day range)
- everyone has been loving and supportive; no one said anything terrible
- i still have a great life - i'm safe & loved & healthy enough
- it was not physically traumatic or dangerous for me
- i had a heat pad to help with the pain
- i attended a Con close to home that felt like a big step on Saturday - it was a good distraction, and i got to dress up and be someone else for a break
- i'd read about this experience before, so wasn't caught completely off guard
- i was home when it happened, and with mr. cat (we'd been at his parents and driven from NY just two days before)
- it was right before a 3 day weekend, so i only had to take one day - no one at work was too fussed, and i had plenty of time to rest
- being religious is some comfort. maybe this baby is with my grandmother now. and maybe ill meet them someday. even though my body failed, i still created a person who may exist somewhere.
No comments:
Post a Comment