Originally posted 6 June 2017.
Last week I took a pregnancy test and was shattered. I sat on my bed thinking about what the specialist had said earlier that week. "Don't be disappointed if it doesn't happen."
I reassured him that I'd taken several negative pregnancy tests before and that I'd be fine either way. Now on the other end of things his advice seemed stupid. Really stupid.
I know he was well meaning and just trying to stop me from feeling heartbroken, but now two years down the fertility track was that possible? We'd been trying with successes that shortly turned to complication and loss. After a few months with the specialist, we had finally got to a place of hope. Literal-actual-proper hope.
But it wasn't. And it broke me for a few hours. I stayed home from my plans that night because I didn't feel like pretending I was okay when I wasn't. I meditated, but mostly just cried. Josh came home and we watched P.S I love you while I cried in his arms.
There's something magical in the beauty of a nights sleep because the next morning life seemed a lot better. I felt grateful to know my insides were working and I felt excited to live my day. I was okay again.
Actually okay.
Not just, time to move on with my life okay, but proper 'life is good' okay. But something happened that night that changed me.
In my intense grieving state, I was properly scared to go on social media. I felt like if a pregnancy announcement popped up in front of me that I would be completely ruined. It had me totally re-evaluating one particular thing.
I'd been in the spot of seeing a ridiculous amount of pregnancy announcements online, while grieving and wanting my own children. I never wanted to take away that person's or couple's happiness, but in a small self invested place, I wished that that person might acknowledge me and how much I hurt.
Maybe it's a totally selfish thought?
I sometimes pretend to be someone who hasn't experienced pregnancy loss or infertility and I can see that perspective. It is an amazingly happy time and it should be allowed to be about just you and your excitement. But, the reality is that I'm not someone who hasn't felt that hurt and I didn't want to do that to someone else. Number fifty four was going to be a video. In that video, I wanted to make an ever so brief announcement that Josh and I were expecting, while swiftly moving onto a new and important topic.
Other women. I wanted to acknowledge them and their hurts. I wanted to tell them that I'd been in similar shoes. I wanted to tell them that I understood. Most of all I wanted to give them permission to not say congratulations and to not feel pressured to talk to me. In fact, they could avoid me if they needed. I'd been in that place, and I understood the fear of bursting into tears in a pregnant women's face.
I wanted to do this video so badly. But last Thursday everything changed. I wasn't in a good place and someone else's happy news right then would have hurt me more than I could bare. Although without ill intention, I didn't want to do that to someone else. And there would be no possible way to know if any of my fertility struggling friends were in a bad place the day I happened to go public. So, I changed my mind. I scrapped number fifty four and decided that I would never make a pregnancy announcement on social media.
**Please let me make it clear**
I do not disapprove of, or condemn those who make pregnancy announcements on social media. I think they're practical, cost effective and super cute. I love seeing the various, creative ways people make them. The only however I add, is that there's something about that element of surprise that hits in a really not nice way when you're not coping.
Truth be told, I've psyched myself up before logging on just in preparation for any pregnancy announcements. I am all for the sharing of pregnancies, especially early and in public. But I've felt the attack-type-hurt that comes from the online surprise and that makes me especially conscious of other's pain. I want those women (and men) to know that they're allowed to be 'not okay'. I am one of them.
I've been blessed to have beautifully wonderful friends that have reached out to me in private to let me know of their exciting circumstances and their intention to make it public in the real near future. These people are golden and I'm ever grateful for their love and concern.
Once number fifty four was scratched out, I was a little unsure about what to do with the empty space. I've been trying to trust that all I need in my life (big or small) will find its way to me. The more I believe it, the more I see it happen. I didn't know I was going to take the pregnancy test that day. Earlier in the day I dropped a book back at the library. I had a full day and only intended to drop the book and keep on my day. On an impulse, I decided to go inside and have a quick flip at the health and well-being section. I picked up a pregnancy book, and another I thought was a pregnancy book, but instead was personal stories of miscarriage and pregnancy loss.
My focus had been learning about pregnancy, so I thought to put it back, but on a whim I checked it out and left.
I began reading the introduction that night. I'd already taken the test. I kept reading it the next morning. It spoke about the taboo of talking about miscarriage. I was shocked when I read that death certificates are not issued for pregnancy loss until after 20 weeks.
Which essentially means that scientifically, medically, and socially, the world doesn't recognise a pregnancy as being an actually person until then. What the actual? It moved something within me and I felt a great desire to do.
I suddenly knew what would replace my original plans for number fifty four... share my miscarriage story.
There are millions of miscarriage stories, and I imagine close to the same amount, if not more, remain unwritten. Sadly, I have more than one story, but today I'll start with my most recent.
Disclaimer: This story may contain elements considered uncomfortable or rather graphic for some.
November 2016
I was in the final swing of my university studies. I had finished my 8 week prac, and I had 3 weeks to get 10 assignments finished. I've always felt a great desire to do my best, so there was a little pressure looming. I was feeling pretty stressed because in a case of mega pre-planning, we had booked a trip to the US just 2 days after my final showcase presentation. I literally started and finished packing the morning before we left for the airport. My period was two days late, but being a couple of days late was a pretty common occurrence, and I started what I assumed was my period the day we left for America.
We'd been in the states for a week and my period continued. This was a little longer than normal, but I didn't think much of it. I had began using an app to track my periods a month or two before, and I'd logged that I'd been having breast tenderness for a good 3 weeks but again, I didn't think much of it. Two week long tenderness had been a pretty standard experience too. I fancied the possibility of pregnancy for about a minute, but shrugged it off. I'd been wrong so many other times before. This was definitely the same case.
A few days later, the fam-bam had planned a day trip for us and that's when my thoughts started working into overdrive. I started having weird type cramping. It wasn't particularly painful, but just really uncomfortable. I was beginning to freak. I started to think I was pregnant and that something was properly wrong. We were out all day and the opportunity to discreetly duck to the shops for a pregnancy test wasn't really possible. I spent most of the day thinking about it, and talking myself out of telling Josh about it because so many times before I'd told him and been wrong. I didn't want to go through that.
Again.
Friday, 1st December 2016
The next day I woke up early and went to the nearby Walmart. I came home, but for reasons I can't remember, I didn't take the test straight away. Josh eventually woke up and headed out for a run, and I headed to the loo. I burst into tears. It said 'pregnant'. It was the first time I'd ever seen a positive result. I told Josh when he got back and he was a little shell shocked. I'd known him to not get his hopes up too soon, and he was doing that now.
For the next few days, I was on edge. I was in a foreign country and my cramps weren't letting up and I was still spotting. After having a phone session with my beautiful friend, I realised it was emotional pain. I was so adamant to protect this baby, that my anxiety was getting the better of me. I felt reassured about the spotting as it was dark and brown, rather than red. The next day the cramps were gone, the bleeding started easing up, and I began to get excited. And tired.
One afternoon we took off to the George Washington Carver Museum and I took a nap in the theatre, while Josh and my cousin watched the 45 minute film presentation. We were home 10 days later, on a Saturday. On the Monday I headed to a GP to start the blood test and pregnancy care process.
Tuesday 13th December 2016
The next day, I visited my friend and started telling her all about my trip. When she asked about my favourite part, I casually answered, "Well, I think that would have to be when I found out I was pregnant." She freaked in a good way, and it felt so exciting. I complained to her about some lower back pain I was having, and she hoped that it didn't mean I'd have a back labour. I went to the toilet and my heart stopped. Bright red blood. It was the smallest amount, but I felt sick. Trying not to stress before I knew anything, I let my friend know that I was feeling pretty tired and was going to head home for a nap. Even to this day, I haven't told her the real reason I left.
As soon as I got home, I went to the toilet again to see if it had gotten worse. I called health direct and spoke to a nurse who advised me to get to emergency and make sure I had someone with me. Josh was at his second day of work at his new job on the central coast, so I called mum to come and get me. I spent the waiting time trying to stay calm, but also accepting that I'd lost the baby.
At emergency, I continued the same method. Only this time, allowing the thought that I hadn't lost the baby and that until I knew that I had, I should stay positive. As if positivity had the power to ensure I would keep the baby. Mum kept asking me if I wanted to drink water, but I refused. She said they'd want a full bladder to help with the ultrasound. But I was scared to drink anything, because I was scared to go to the toilet, because I was scared by what I might find.
I already felt a mass inside me needing to come out. I wasn't ready to face the worst.
The nurse did the ultrasound and thought she saw the sac, but wasn't happy leaving it there. She wanted to do an internal ultrasound, which meant I needed to go to the toilet. I went and found clots. I studied them intensely, trying to make out if it was in fact my baby that I was holding.
Mum held my hand, while I looked at the faded stickers that had been placed on the roof. I talked. The nurse joined in every now and then, but said nothing about what she saw. I kept talking, trying to distract myself from the fact that I had lost the baby. Finally, the nurse asked if I wanted to see what she was seeing. I faintly said yes. She turned the screen to me and pointed and said, "See this here. This is the heartbeat."
I don't know what hit me first. The shock that the baby was still there, or that I was watching its heart beat. She said that everything looked good and that the bleeding was unexplained and common in early pregnancy. I measured at 6 weeks and 6 days. After a few blood tests, I was given the clear, no precautions needed and sent home.
I ended up at my mums who put me on bed rest for the unforeseeable future. The bleeding continued, but after a day, the clotting stopped. For the next two nights, I experienced pretty intense cramping for that would last for an hour. That was it.
Saturday 17th December
I can't really remember what happened during this day. I know that Josh and I were supposed to go see the new Star Wars movie, but given my condition, we gave the pre-booked tickets to my parents and watched one of the previous ones on Netflix. On schedule, my nightly cramping began again. The only difference this time, is that all I could think was, "Hospital. Hospital."
I apologised, and reluctantly told Josh that I needed to be driven to the hospital. The pains were getting worse, so I focused on my breathing and learned that breathing actually does diddly squat for pain relief. I asked Josh to drop me off at the entrance while he parked the car. While crossing the road, I felt a gush, as if I'd wet my pants. My stomach flipped, but I kept walking.
Finally seeing the triage nurse. I began to tell her what was going on. Behind me I noticed a man tell someone not to sit on a seat. It had blood on it. I was mortified.
I had been sitting on that seat. I quietly asked Josh to grab some tissues and hand disinfectant to clean it up. The nurse directed me to sit elsewhere while I waited for a bed in emergency to open up, but as soon as I stood, I saw I had been sitting in a mass of blood. I apologised and wanted to start crying right there. She grabbed me a wheelchair and took me to an empty bay, to wait until an available bed was wheeled in. She told me Josh was sorting out my paperwork and then she'd send him in.
I sat in the empty bay, watching nurses walk past. The pain got worse. The absolute worst. Before having experienced miscarriage for the first time, I'd read that it was accompanied by bleeding and cramping. That doesn't sound too bad, right? Well let me make this very clear. 'Cramping' is the biggest, fattest, understatement in the universe!
I clutched at the sides of the wheelchair and prayed over and over. "Please. I don't want to do this alone. Please, send me an angel. I don't want to be alone. I can't do this alone. Send me an angel."
I cried, and cried as I endured the worst pain. My insides were being taken from me. My baby was leaving and there was nothing I could do about it except pray.
A man came and wheeled in a bed and then left. I sat, scared to move. A nurse came by and I wish I remembered her name. She helped me on the bed and then found Josh who had not been directed to where I was.
There was backwards and forwards between the doctor, who was not convinced about the ultrasound taken a few days before. "Are you sure they located the sac?" He said he didn't want to do another ultrasound, but rather an internal exam. I asked to go to the toilet because I knew I was holding on. The nurse walked me to the toilet and inserted a tray to catch anything that might pass.
As soon as I sat down I heard a thud. I knew, but I didn't want to know. I let the nurse know I was finished and started washing my hands. I looked over as she emptied out the tray. I saw it, but I didn't want to believe it. It was surreal.
"I guess that doesn't look too good does it?"
I think I was somehow hoping that she would tell me that it was fine and not at all what I suspected. Instead, she told me that not too long ago she was in my same circumstances and that every time she had to look after women like me it broke her heart.
I walked back to the bay and told Josh that I'd lost the baby. He helped me back on the bed and I cried. The doctor returned for the exam, letting me know that he understood that I'd "passed some matter".
After the exam he reported that my cervix was open and that there was "evidence of conception." He never actually gave any condolences or apologised for the circumstances. It was just a case of "unfortunately".
In fact, he never straight out said, "You've had a miscarriage." The gynecologist came and it was more of the same. The nurse was different. She was my angel. There was not a question she didn't want to answer or a task too big for her to do that might help.
The nurse brought me an adult diaper because I'd soaked everything I came in wearing. She kindly offered it, noting that it didn't give a lot of dignity, but that it was clean. I started putting them on, and looked at Josh and laughed. I felt ridiculous. Then laughter turned to tears, and I couldn't cope with it. She was gone. She had only been with me a short time. I knew scientifically it couldn't be proven, but I knew she was a she. For seventeen days, I'd known her as my Matilda Mae.
...
I took a pregnancy test just last week, and was shattered. One line. Again. It wasn't until this intense disappointment that I realised I was feeling grief.
The day after the miscarriage I felt good. Two days later, a friend came to visit and found me putting together a fan. At the time, I wasn't trying to suppress my grief or ignore it. I just didn't feel it in such a large degree. I felt good to keep living life. It was last week, that I realised that if things had worked differently, I'd be due next month. It was last week, that I realised that if things had worked differently, I'd be sporting a massive stomach right now. It was last week, that I realised I was still grieving the loss of my baby girl.
There's a lot wrong with how the world deals with pregnancy loss and infertility.
One thing I know for sure is that it's something that you would never wish upon another, but at the same time you know its the only way some one could really understand. No two stories are the same, and no two women's pain are the same. It is not something that should ever be made to feel like it must remain hidden.
