Photo by Marcus Ganahl on Unsplash
For the past few days, everything has felt like it’s on pause. It all began on Tuesday, when I had my first appointment with the obstetrician. Initially, everything went as expected. I waited. I was called into an examination room and a nurse checked my vitals. More waiting. The doctor came in, and asked the usual questions about my health history and family background. Have I had surgery before? (Yes!) Was I taking prenatal vitamins prior to conception? (No!)
Then came the moment for the ultrasound. The obstetrician applied that familiar cold jelly to my stomach and began moving the wand over my abdomen. As he scanned, his expression shifted. He measured, frowned, measured again. I read concern on his face. Everything came to a halt.
The embryo was small. Too small. Nearly a week behind the expected size. (In the initial weeks, every cell counts!) I was referred back to the hospital for a more thorough ultrasound. The obstetrician made it clear that he wanted me to be seen ASAP.
I left that appointment and cried in the parking lot. Too small is a big problem.
Wednesday morning was the earliest I could be seen for an ultrasound. Jason and I went to the hospital and waited until I was called in. Once in the examination room (thankfully, this time the gel was warm!), the technician performed the ultrasound, her face betraying nothing. It’s not their job to interpret the results, so they don’t usually say much. I tried to read her face anyway. Was that sadness? Concern? Just how she looks when she’s focused? I searched for clues.
Post-ultrasound, we were given the green light to leave, with the assurance that the obstetrician would be in touch soon. Finally, the wait was almost over. We decided to make a trip to the grocery store, and I returned to work, attempting to distract myself from my growing anxiety. Jason took care of household chores, periodically checking to see that I had my phone nearby. We waited, the minutes stretching into hours.
The phone finally rang around 7:45 PM. After a day of worry, the doctor’s voice began with the dreaded word “unfortunately…”
There was no heartbeat. No more growth. There was death where there was supposed to be life.
I believe our culture needs to open up about experiences like these. It’s scary, but it’s common. A loss happens in 10-20% of known pregnancies, and in countless undiagnosed ones. It’s far more normal than we realise.
That said, while I thought I was prepared for the possibility of miscarriage, the reality hit me harder than expected. My life is still paused. My soul floats in darkness. There is no baby. This collection of cells was never going to be a person in this world.
And that’s alright—or at least, that’s what my logical mind tells me. There are even perks; I no longer need to follow the rules of pregnancy. Espresso is back on the menu. I can feel my energy coming back. My Garmin watch tells me that my energy level is now at a staggering 90% of its maximum capacity. 90 friggin’ percent. A couple of weeks ago, 40% was a struggle. So much goes toward growing a baby, there’s not much left for you!
Energy coming back should be good, but it makes me feel worse. There’s a certain guilt in even momentarily enjoying its pleasure. How could I? How dare I?
Since I have a ‘silent’ miscarriage, there have been no symptoms. No cramps. No blood. This seems a mercy, but it is the opposite. It means that my body isn’t working to expel what is no longer viable. As you can imagine, it still has to come out.
There are three options. Each with drawbacks and benefits:
You wait it out. It’s natural and doesn’t typically require medical intervention. However, you could be waiting weeks for the blood and cramping to start. That’s an uncomfortable thought!
You take medication to bring on a medical miscarriage. This way, you get to control approximately when it happens, but this may not always go to plan. (Sometimes it just doesn’t work.) Also, you have to physically take a pill knowing that it will make you feel very sick. That sucks.
You can also have an operation/ D&C. Dilation and curettage is a procedure where you can be put under anaesthetic and have the contents of your uterus suctioned out. Although it’s a quicker option, there is a potential risk of injury.
Now, while all of these sound like an extremely pleasant weekend, I have chosen the medical route.
So that’s what I’m doing today. I’m not sure how much of an update I’ll give. I can honestly say that I never thought this would happen to me. I was wrong. Thank you to everyone who has been so kind and supportive so far. I know that I am surrounded by love and support.
Critical Happiness 