Looking back on the doctor's visit now, I feel like a stupid person in a horror movie who didn't pick up on the signs.
The ultrasound took awhile. I thought it was just my discomfort at the transvaginal part, but no, she was really doing a thorough job to make sure the Nothing she saw was accurate. I guess I was distracted and didn't remember what was supposed to happen - at 9 weeks, they should show you the heartbeat and the small embryo. I asked if everything looked ok, and she said very neutrally that the doctor would go over my results.
We waited an hour in the lobby for what was supposed to be a back to back appointment. I was agitated and impatient. I wanted to hear that everything was ok. Plus I had a more mundane concern - we had budgeted an extra hour before we were supposed to be back to let the plumber in, and now were cutting it close.
Finally made it into the doctor's office, and the first thing he said was "Are you experiencing bleeding or cramping?" And then I knew something was horribly wrong. My brain was jumping to horror stories I'd heard of - ectopic pregnancy, or that thing where the organs grow outside the body. But I got something I'd never heard of before - a blighted ovum. Conception had happened, the egg had been fertilized and implanted. But something was chromosomally wrong enough that it never grew to be an embryo. My body continued growing a placenta and churning out enough progesterone and HCG that I tested pregnant and I felt pregnant. But the ultrasound showed the truth - a womb like a black hole with no body and no life inside it.
(I recognize that this was lucky - a nonviable embryo that was alive with a heartbeat would have been a more complicated decision. Even my super-Catholic OB/GYN could recommend the D&C for my situation. But at the time, I did not feel very lucky.)
The doctor said that this was proof that my body was trying to be a good mom, and kept caring for what was past the point of help. I felt instead that this slightly undermined my belief that "my body is wise." However, I bounced back from the D&C so well (so far) that I am appreciating my body a little more again.
Like last time, I didn't feel any of the common guilt (sliding into a kind of helplessness and despair instead.) I knew that there was nothing I could have done to prevent this. But I wished I had caught it earlier. What if I'd insisted on an ultrasound at 6 weeks, would they have caught it then? Why did I schedule this appointment right before leaving town for a week, where I'd be in this terrible limbo for days, waiting for the surgery that would truly end it? I had been feeling all lucky and proud that my symptoms were not too bad - I thought I was managing my diet and anxiety well because I never felt nauseous. But what if I just had lower hormones than would be found in a normal pregnancy and that's why it was so bearable?
I was and still am pretty angry, at God I guess? If he doesn't want me to be a parent right now, why not have the conception fail? Or pass the fertilized egg so early I don't realize it? Why allow it to go until the 9 week mark, and I start to think I'm safe this time before I find out the truth?
Two in a row is considered normal, with no medical reason to believe I'd have another loss. Of course it's impossible to think about trying again right now. 1/4 is common. 1/16 - 2 for 2 losses - is bad luck. But if I hit 1/64 ... how many more times will I try? Now is not the time for discernment, but adoption sounds really good right now. Spare myself the worst of the physicality of it. Avoid the guilt of bringing a new person into a crowded warming world, and take care of someone who's already here.
I had the symptoms of depression the week after, which I think is normal. I feel so much sympathy for people who feel this way for months with no cause to point to. I cried alone in my room at my in-laws house. I felt like I was sleepwalking through molasses - the basics of carrying on a conversation felt burdensome, or like something I'd forgotten how to do. I'd get moments of relief, losing myself in a book or movie or game. I ignored my meditation app, because I did not want a deeper dive into my thoughts. Each morning when I woke up, I felt the hours of that day stretch on for too long - what was I going to do to fill that time? I felt terrible and useless, like my presence had no value and was just worsening the mood for others. I prayed that God would let me die, maybe just drift off during the upcoming D&C. My husband would be sad for a bit, but would soon find someone else to love I knew, someone who was less anxious and less moody and could have kids easily. He deserved a better life than I could give him, in so many ways.
I saw the whole rest of my life stretching on as a pointless march to my old age and death. I saw the things scheduled for later in the year that I'd do again - setting performance goals at work, going to Vermont with his family, chill Halloween parties. I couldn't bear the thought of doing these things over and over, the same but every year I just get a little bit older. My 30s may be fun as a DINK, but I can't imagine being 50 or 70 with no kids or grandkids. What if one of us dies young and the other lives another 30 years with no other family? I felt ready to do something different, to show the world to a pair of fresh eyes. Living for myself felt pointless.
I remembered the lesson of Enneagram that a Type One may slide into an unhealthy Type Four under stress, and I was acting like such an emo kid. It was like a breakup at 15 again, with the terrible pseudo-poetry I was churning out. I think at one point I said that "my heart was a black hole just like my womb" and "I can only bring death into the world," following up with "That's just science." I am now unimpressed with the metal / goth culture is so dominated by men and their anger and sadness. Have you spent Christmas Day waiting to see if the dead child inside you will stay put long enough to be cut out, or if you'll bleed it out instead? Then take a fucking seat.
After the D&C on 12/27, my outlook brightened considerably. I'm sure I'm not out of the thicket of depression yet, but at least the fear of the procedure is in the past. After multiple nights of stress dreams - the anesthesia didn't work and I stayed awake - and then a 3 hour delay the day of, while I was hooked to an IV not allowed to eat or drink, I was so relieved to have the surgery done with. I knew it was low-risk, no incision even and less than an hour to do. But I received the general guidelines for the surgery wing of a large hospital, which included things like "bring a copy of your will." But the nurses were all friendly, attentive, and competent. I didn't feel as bad as I thought having an IV in for hours. This is the same hospital where I'd go to deliver (if that happens someday), and that part of it feels a little less scary now, like I got a teaser of some of the unfamiliar hospital stuff. I was also amazed at how good I felt afterword. I felt lucid and clear-headed right away, and had almost no cramps or bleeding. I'm very glad that I chose the D&C rather than the pill at home.
Mr. Cat was great. He dealt with me at my worst that morning - impatient and hangry. I'm sure he had his own fear, and had to be alone while I was in the OR, but he was very strong for me. When we got home, he kept insisting I had to sit down & lie down, even though I felt ok. And he made a great dinner for us. I felt so happy just to be with him, and it was hard to imagine that just 3 days before I really truly wanted to die and stop living this life. I guess that is a good reminder for me that mental illness lies.
I still feel very alone in my situation. I know women who could never get pregnant, who had stillbirths, scary labor complications, alternated between kids & miscarriages. But I don't know anyone in my boat, who gets pregnant fine but can't keep it. (Or maybe I do and they are quiet like me.) Even the Catholic blogs tend to be either "can't conceive" or "8 babies + 3 in heaven."
The father-to-be shares my loss, but not my primal fear of the pain and my own life being in danger. The weeks of adrenaline spikes every time I feel hunger or gas or dampness, wondering if I'm starting to bleed. The hormonal shift after that brings an odd relief when I feel like "myself" again.
I don't want to be part of the cultural silence on this. But how do you bring it up? I don't feel embarrassed or ashamed, but I don't want to put that awkwardness on someone else. It's easier after the fact I think, when enough time has passed that people know you're not looking for urgent comfort. Or for people to hear indirectly - I know my mom & sister have told others, and I think that's good. The news can spread, but no one feels the pressure to linger on the topic or offer some advice or sympathy to me if I'm not there. And those people may stop asking when am I gonna have kids. I think it will be easier for me to share when I've made my own sense of it all. How does my story end - DINK, adoption, or miracle baby?
