Monday - Part 1

I awoke early on Monday to find Jeremy already hard at work from our home computer. Somehow I managed to locate our phone and dial up the number to the Women's Center. My call was transferred to a nurse who was very sympathetic. She made note my situation and went to speak to the doctor on duty, promising to call me back with instructions. In normal circumstances, I would expect a busy doctor's office to take hours to call me back, but a mere 20 minutes later, the nurse informed that I should come in right away. As I was still laying in bed and it was not quite 9 am, I muttered something in my half asleep state that might have equated to 'I'm not ready to come in because I'm not dressed yet'. She told me to come in at 10 and they would work me in for another ultrasound.

On Thursday of the previous week, I made an appointment at this same clinic to be seen for the 8-week ultrasound. They had a record of my appointment, but the doctor I had chosen was not available on Monday. So I would be coming in to see someone else, but I figured it didn't matter at this point. It's not as though I was going to be discussing the diet for my pregnancy, or my thoughts about a birth plan, or any other baby-related subjects.

There was no baby. This would be all about me now.

We arrived just a few minutes before 10 and seated ourselves in the very comfortable waiting room of the East Cooper Women's Center. For some reason, I had been reading forums the night before that talked all about the trials of miscarriage and the less than compassionate way some women were treated by their doctors. I don't know if that is what sewed the seeds of what I was feeling, but I felt the strength and rationality finally begin to break.

There was no going back now, no ambiguity about was happening. The people here knew about pregnancy - women's health was their specialty - and when they took my blood again today they would able to tell me for certain if the ER doctors had been right. I started wondering what it was all for, why, if there was no baby, why I had craved things, why I had been tired, why I had been so dizzy. It didn't seem right. Both my husband and I had tried so hard to do everything right, and now we would have nothing but emergency room bills to mark the passage of the life of our child.

Was I really even a mother? Could I even call myself that? Could I even call whatever was inside of me a child? It seemed technically wrong that a dead ball of cells in an empty liquid sac could be considered anything other than waste. It was all a waste. And there I was, bleeding out this waste into a pad, sitting next to a man who was trying desperately to distract himself from the present situation with the games on his phone, and all around me were mothers. Real mothers. Mothers with big bellies. Mothers who were far too young, brought in by their own mother. Mothers with one or more children in strollers or in their arms or both, with yet another growing inside them. What had I done? One girl I was looking didn't seem quite 16, and her baby was alive. She wasn't holding a dead, defective egg inside of her, and she probably didn't even want it. It was likely a mistake, not a carefully and deliberately planned new member of her family that would have been welcomed and loved.

I thought about all the other women I knew who had 'accidents', whose first pregnancy went off without a hitch and they now had children who ran them ragged. Some of them probably didn't even want the baby at first - why did theirs survive and mine die? I considered more of the posts I had read on those online forums - some women had multiple miscarriages before they had a healthy child. Multiple? How could anyone who was experiencing what I was experiencing ever want to take that chance again? At that moment, I didn't, I couldn't, and it made my heart twist in my chest. Maybe I would never be a mother.

I felt like I was going to implode. The thirty minutes I spent in that room, waiting for the doctor to have a chance to see me, were hell. I have said many things were hell throughout my life - jobs, living situations, the world in general - but I was wrong. Those minutes were actually, truly hell. The smiles on those women's faces were hell. I would have rather been subject to some form of physical pain than think about all the women in the world who had children they didn't want, or who ended their pregnancies on purpose without a viable reason. If it was possible, and I knew that it wasn't, I would take their places. I would take their babies, their eggs, whatever they had that they didn't want, and give them the chance to live. The impossibility of it all, the cruelty of an unfair universe, saddened me even more.

The tears that wanted to come couldn't, because I was sitting in that room with all those happy faces. The front desk receptionist looked over and said something along the lines of 'You're still waiting?' I growled yes at her, like something angry and injured that just wanted to crawl into its den and be left alone to die. She must have said something to one of the nurses because a moment or two later, relief came at last. Finally we were called back and I shakily explained what was happening to whatever nurse was admitting me. I don't really remember her face. I didn't want to talk to her because I was going to cry, and I didn't know if the tears would ever stop once they started. But I had to talk, and I did. The nurse was patient and compassionate with me in a way that only someone who is truly suited for such a profession could have been. She couldn't soothe what I was feeling, so she merely softened her voice, nodding her head as I continued to explain. That's the only memory I have, her soft voice and the gentle nod of her head as she wrote down the words I was saying. When I was finished, she left, and a few minutes later, I got to meet the doctor that the universe had randomly chosen for me.

She listened to my story again, and this time I was able to pull myself together. I don't know if it was just her presence, but almost instantly my mind was set perfectly at ease. The doctor nodded along with me, interjecting things and asking questions so that she could have the full, complete story of the pregnancy and the last few days. There was an exam, which seemed normal to her, and then I was informed that it was time for the second ultrasound. The images from the ER had been transferred over to her office, but she wanted to what was going on with herown eyes. It was as though she wasn't giving up when I already had.

The ultrasound was different this time. It wasn't some random hospital room, it was small space (almost cluttered) filled with monitors and images of babies in-utero. At the top of the wall across from the examination table, there was a large screen so that we could both see what the tech was seeing. My doctor made a particularly dramatic gesture as she turned off the lights, saying something I don't quite remember but that made me think that this really was a special moment, even if it was a sad one.

When the picture came up, it was a cross section of my uterus. I saw that familiar shape that I recognized from biology classes long in the past. My doctor pointed out the thick folds of tissue that were inside. So, I wasn't imagining this. I was pregnant. All those things I had been craving and feeling were building up this structure that looked like the coziest place on Earth. In the center, there was a small black sphere that was completely surrounded and cushioned by all that tissue. It was like a tiny little hole drilled right through me, a void where there had once been something, and despite all my efforts, voluntary or instinctual, the sac was empty, and I couldn't grow something from nothing.

I remember explaining to her about all the dates, when I thought I conceived, when my first positive pregnancy test was, and her telling me that it should be bigger and she should be able to see something in there by now, even though it was extremely small. She insisted that I get some bloodwork, just to be sure, and I know I told her it was unnecessary. I told her that I knew that something was wrong and that what she and the ER doctors had guessed must be true. But the blood was taken anyway, because I think somewhere in her mind she wanted me to know that she wasn't just going to give up - that she wanted to be sure of what she was saying and that she had the evidence she needed before she told me definitively that my egg was dead.

When I made my first appointment, my family doctor had initially suggested two different women because I had told her the kind of flexibility I wanted in my birth plan. But that possibility was being passed over, and a new reality was coming into focus for myself, my husband, and our families. I happened to need to come in on Monday, and this particular doctor just happened to be on duty. For this reason, I think the very first incidence of me being able say, 'Some good came of this' happened. That silver strand in the clouds of the looming storm was the fact that a doctor I had not considered seeing ended up being the right one to help me through this and guide me on my way.

The Emergency Room

Morning came, and the cramping and weird pink stuff continued, along with two or three tiny red clumps no bigger than a pencil eraser. Obviously, something was happening, but I couldn't be sure what. Symptoms like these apparently occurred in normal, healthy pregnancies, but I had never been pregnant before, so I didn't know what to expect. The thing that was the most disturbing was that I felt great. No nausea, no dizziness, no hunger, no soreness in my breasts - none of the symptoms I had been experiencing for almost two weeks. Some online sources indicated that this could be because my hormone levels had dropped, and while it was nice to feel a little better, that definitely made me a lot more worried. I waited an hour or two, called the nurse hotline from my insurance, was referred to the after hours clinic that is tied to my regular doctor's office, and was basically told to go to the emergency room and find out what was wrong.

So we did. Before we even had any breakfast, Jeremy and I went to the nearest ER (which was thankfully empty). They took blood to check my hormone levels, and while we were waiting for that to be processed, they wanted to do an ultrasound to see what was going on. Jeremy went to find some coffee while we waited for the tech.

Previously, I had an ultrasound to check my ovaries, and at that time I needed a full bladder for the machine to be able to pick up things in my abdomen. This time, the tech informed me that I needed to make sure everything was empty, so I complied and went to the restroom.

I wished I hadn't. There, on the paper, was a bright splotch of red. No pink stuff this time, actual blood. It was surreal. I remember saying no and shaking my head. Nothing was sinking in. I hadn't even fully accepted that I was pregnant yet - I was still getting used to the idea. And here was this blood coming out and that meant something was wrong? We called everyone two days ago and told them the good news. What was happening now? I wandered back into the room and told the tech I was bleeding, and I needed to see the doctor, but she just insisted we do the ultrasound anyway. Jeremy finally got back just as she was starting and got to see whatever she was seeing. I remember the tech not smiling much, just kind of muttering for us to 'take care' and wheeling her machine away.

The nurse came in to check on us a couple of times, angel that she was, answering our questions and bringing me some supplies to clean myself up with. I guess it wasn't sinking in yet, because I remember saying, 'well if it doesn't work we'll try again', and watching my husband react sadly to the those words. I felt sort of detached from the situation, functional, rational...I tend to get like this when bad things happen, at least at first.

Finally the doctor returned. He explained that for being at 6 weeks, my hormones were very low. Not only that, but the ultrasound showed something that they call a blighted ovum. The egg had been fertilized, and implanted in the uterus as it was supposed to, but the sac itself was empty. The embryo stopped developing at some point early on (which is usually from a genetic defect of some kind) and my body had apparently finally realized this. He said that on Monday we would need to get a second opinion from an obgyn, but as far as he could tell, the pregnancy was going to miscarry.

I remember being very positive, very cordial, leaving the hospital, getting some lunch with Jeremy...and then going home. On the coffee table, I saw the book I had just bought for him, The Everything Father-to-Be Handbook. He wasn't going to be. I wasn't going to be. I knew it. There was no false hope in my mind, no grasping at straws and saying, 'oh the ultrasound is wrong.' No, I knew it. We both did. Our baby was no more, and soon, it would be leaving me permanently.

We crawled into bed that afternoon and wept. It was all that we could do as we waited to see what the future would hold. There was an evening spent on the couch watching Star Trek, some kind of dinner I don't remember, a jug of milk sitting in the fridge that I realized I didn't need anymore but would finish anyway. In my mind, there were doubts about thinking we should be parents at all - was this a sign we shouldn't have even tried? I thought I stopped believing in things like signs and meanings, but it was all I could hold on to. Then my brain started to tick through everything I could have done wrong, anything that could be at fault, anything I would have to do differently if I would succeed next time - if there even could be a next time

My obsessive circles of thought kept focusing on what could have been. How could I have avoided this pain? Maybe not being so arrogant and naive to think my first pregnancy would succeed? Should I have not wanted children, as I had sworn for many years was the case? Maybe never meeting Jeremy or giving him a chance? Should I have never left California? The things my mind started to come up with began to shock me. Was this really such a deep and personal pain that I would have given up all my present happiness to avoid it? No. I had focus on what I could do and stop listening to all that meaningless chatter. But what, really, could I do?

There was no way to stop this. I could only take care of myself. So, I could rest. I could sleep. I could eat. I could sit with the person I loved most and try not to feel the sadness pressing against the back of my eyes and pounding in my skull. I could talk with those few close friends who knew my pain, or who at least granted me enough sympathy to help me wade safely through the rivers I wanted to cry. Simple, basic survival was all that I could really do, and so that's what I did.

Somehow the evening came and went, and Sunday was much the same as Saturday. More waiting, talking to a family member who had called and telling her what was going on, and then sickness. Dizziness, nausea and fever. I seriously had trouble just standing up from the couch. Part of me wondered if it wasn't some weird reaction to the trauma that was setting in. The other part took a look at the discharge papers and saw those things as warning signs labelled 'seek medical attention immediately.' Maybe there was an infection happening, even though I had obeyed all doctor's orders since the day before.

We went back to the emergency room. The staff that were working that day didn't seem nearly as pleasant as the ones the day before. They acted as though I wasn't there for any discernible reason. My blood sugar was checked, they looked for infections, and it was decided (more by me than them) that I was coming down with a very nasty cold which was unrelated to the miscarriage. I have a condition called benign paroxysmal positional vertigo, which means that if I don't take my allergy medicine, or if I a cold that's bad enough to clog my ears with liquid, I can get dizzy and nauseous feelings. Typically I treat this with some Dramamine, at least until the cold starts to resolve itself, so I went home and did just that.

I was sick. I was miscarrying my pregnancy. My mind was dazed. And I had to get up early the next day to make an appointment to see the obgyn. Jeremy decided that because of all this, he'd work from home the next day and just be around to support me and take me in at whatever time the appointment was.

Another night of uncertainty, more Star Trek, and another dinner I don't remember.

The First Day - January 6th

I had known I was pregnant since three days after Christmas. One over-the-counter test, a day of waiting, a second test - both had been positive. It was completely surreal. My husband and I had decided to start trying to have a baby in November, and here it was the end of December, and - success! We waited the long week to get confirmation at the doctor's office, we had a night out (dinner and a movie), and the next day I went to work, bubbling with excitement. I had already mentioned to a few friends about my suspicions, and they were pleased to hear my test results were confirmed positive.

The symptoms had already been throwing me for a loop. I normally eat a low carb diet, at least I had been for the last 8 months. I had lost enough weight to lower my blood pressure to a healthy level, which would be important during pregnancy. That's really why I started it, but once I was pregnant, my body had other ideas. Because of the life growing inside me, I needed many more carbs than I was used to eating. If I didn't eat sweet potatoes and fruit and drink large quantities of milk (which I despise but was craving like mad), I would feel dizzy and nauseous. There were other physical changes as well, perfectly normal things like outgrowing my bra and my pants fitting weird. So to me, there was no indication that anything would be wrong. Hence why, on that Thursday, my husband and I decided to call our families and let them know the happy news.

But back to Friday. I was at work, and had been experiencing mild cramping on and off for the last few weeks. This, I had heard/read, was normal and to be expected. During one of my many visits to the bathroom that morning, I saw something strange in the water. It looked like a tiny piece of the curled skin of a yellow onion. Weird, but I didn't really about it at the time. The next time I went to the bathroom (drinking a lot, pregnant, so in the bathroom a lot that day), I noticed a lot of clear discharge that was tinged very slightly pink.

It was all I could do not to panic. After all, things like this do happen during pregnancy - for example, around week 7 or 8, when the placenta fully grows in, it's normal to have some spotting. But I was at week 6. Everything I read online said it could either be normal or something going wrong. There was really no way for me to know. So I finished my day at work and went home and took it easy, trying to relax.

The cramping got worse that night, but the discharge was still only light and pinkish, so part of me kept saying it was going to be okay. I remember laying in bed late that night, listening to one of my meditative cds and talking to it, talking to the baby quietly while my husband lay asleep. Earlier that day, before the weird discharge had started, I bought a colorful notebook and decided to start writing notes to the baby, so that I would remember everything I was thinking and feeling and would later be able to share that. There had been mention of everyone we had called, our joy and surprise, and the fact that when I was this age, around six weeks in the womb, my mother went on a roller coaster because she didn't know she was pregnant.

In bed, I continued that conversation out loud.  I told the baby it was strong and it would make it because I strong and I had survived the Revolution at Six Flags Magic Mountain.I also remember saying that while I wanted this pregnancy to succeed, while I was sure that we were ready, if something was wrong, there was nothing anyone could do, and I wouldn't be angry or care for it any less.

I did a lot of slow breathing, relaxing my muscles to alleviate the cramping, and when I did finally sleep, it was deep and dreamless.