November 6, Part II

There are a lot of those, what do you call them? Oh, right, feelings. There are a lot of feelings in this one. It is probably pretty difficult to read. And,

(b) On a “globalization of emotions” note – this has brought up other feelings of powerlessness, miscarriage-related. That’s not something I’ve talked about here before, I don’t believe. That first week in June when everything happened, I probably experienced every negative emotion ever felt by a human being. Fear anger sadness grief confusion everything. And the physical pain. Next to (or maybe even tied with) the grief, the inability to do anything to change the outcome was the worst. When I initially called the OB office when the bleeding first began, the nurse said to just wait and watch, but “You know, if your body is going to reject this pregnancy then it’s going to happen and there’s not really anything you can do about it.” That looks pretty harsh written out, but it was said with care and concern.

When we went to the ER at our local hospital that Saturday, we waited in the ER for two hours and while we were triaged we were never actually seen, and we finally left because it was about midnight. I cried in the parking lot outside, feeling I was not doing the right thing, not doing everything I could. But I knew in my heart that really, nothing could be done. I could’ve complained loudly until I was seen, then waited probably another 2 hours to have an ultrasound, all to be told what I already knew, deep down inside: the pregnancy was going to end and there was not a thing anyone could do about it. That was a horrible feeling (some tears as I write this) – to feel on the one hand that I was giving up on the baby, abandoning it (we didn’t know yet there had been two), and on the other hand knowing the truth (I did used to work in an OB clinic) that if it was over, it was over. …

Pregnancy, and especially miscarriage, are really private, solitary matters. You (the pregnant woman) are the only one who really knows the baby. The majority of miscarriages happen long before you ever feel the baby kick, perhaps before you even really see anything on the ultrasound. You listen to the doctors and your brain accepts that it’s not your fault, there was nothing you could have done, but you don’t really believe it. It’s your body, you are the only one who has control, and if you didn’t do something to cause it then there’s nothing you can do now, no behavior you can change, that will make it better. And there’s nothing you can do to make sure it doesn’t happen again. It’s awful.

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And yes, this is pretty much the exact definition of pregnancy loss – the vast majority are completely random, there’s something wrong and it’s not a viable pregnancy, and usually you are miscarrying now as opposed to miscarrying later or having a baby that will be stillborn. And yes, this is the classic defense mechanism – looking for someone or something to blame, even if it’s yourself, because if there’s no one to blame then no one is in control and terrible shit just happens with no apparent reason. Not a good feeling about the universe.

So we went home Saturday night with the plan to get some sleep and go to the ER in Asheville the next morning, since it’s a much bigger hospital (where David was in the NICU), and there would be an ultrasound tech there, and probably an OB if one were needed whereas at the local hospital they’d have to be paged and it’d take forever. And we had the ultrasound that showed us that more than a month before the bleeding started, development had stopped, so it was way too late. And even if I’d had an ultrasound at 4 weeks, then I would’ve had the miscarriage anyway – something was wrong right from the start, I had a small (small) flicker of hope when the ER doc described it as an “abnormal pregnancy.” I thought well shoot, we can do that. I can carry an “abnormal” baby, that’s what we do in this family. That maybe made me feel better and worse at the same time – when I prayed I could say to God, fully informed, I don’t care what is “wrong” with this baby, I just want it to live. We know what is involved in a high-risk pregnancy, long NICU stay, and lifelong disability – we would know what we were getting into. I didn’t care, I just wanted it to live. But that also added to the powerlessness – no matter what I was willing to do or say or accept, it was still too late.

(( OBTW when you are talking with a woman who has recently miscarried, even though what I say above is likely true – there’s a major defect and the baby wouldn’t survive anyway – that is really about the last thing most people want to hear. Let the woman come to that conclusion on her own, especially if you are just a casual acquaintance or a co-worker. It is not a helpful thing to hear right away. Most folks don’t care, they just wanted the baby ))

(( Likewise don’t say that this is somehow God’s will. Aside from the fact that I don’t agree with that premise – it’s just a random thing that happens – it is just not helpful at that point. Trust me. I hope the woman is able to eventually come to a point that she can integrate this loss into her overall beliefs, if any, about God. But chances are you are not the one who will help her see it, and anyway now’s not the time ))

A follow-up ultrasound on Monday confirmed what the initial one showed, and we talked with one of the midwives about our various options. On Tuesday I had what I thought at the time were some pretty bad cramps. They were bad enough that I thought everything was over – after the last, extra-long cramp, the pain went away completely. Then on Wednesday I had cramps that made the previous ones feel like tiny twinges, barely felt. This was the worst pain I’ve ever felt in my life, “agony” is not too strong a word. The pain was everything, the pain was the whole world.

I’d been reading a lot online, and several sites recommended using your prepared-childbirth breathing techniques because that’s what this is, technically laboring and delivering (more tears). One woman (who had been through the process) even recommended lighting candles or whatever other thing you would’ve done to comfort yourself during labor, sort of as a way of honoring the baby (I guess that’s what she was saying). And I understand where she was coming from. But my thoughts on that were, FUCK THAT. This was really the first time I’d experienced anger so far in the process, and about the only time I felt sorry for myself. Fuck that, that Lamaze crap is a lot of work. I thought to do that would be giving in, cooperating, and fuck that shit I am not going to cooperate with any of this, I am not going along with it. I was able to see, even at that time, that it was a counter-productive thing to think – the pain was so bad and the experience was so awful, why wouldn’t I do something that might help? But even at that time, I was also able to see this was a power/control thing – there is not one single thing I can do to save these babies, but I can choose how I am going to do this, and I say fuck it. And I’d said earlier to Matt, I wanted to have the miscarriage proceed naturally, without immediately having a D&C once we got the news, because it felt like the right thing to do. Again, the only control I had was over how I handled things, and it seemed the right thing to do, for the babies – it was the only thing I could do for them; envisioning a D&C was more than I could bear. But when the pain started, it was more than I could bear. The midwife had given me some Vicodin or something, but I threw up the last one along with the Ibuprofen I’d taken.

(( Note: I had c-sections with both Simon and David, and never really labored with either of them. With Simon, I had a few of those end-of-pregnancy cramps, but never regular contractions. And David was delivered so early there was never the opportunity to labor. And if this is what labor is like, then labor sucks. Especially when you know you are not going to get the baby at the end? It sucks. I’m imagining that regular labor pain is awful, but the idea that this new little life is about to join you would sustain you to a degree. When your situation is the exact opposite … yeah, “sucks” is about as eloquently as I can say it. ))

(( I will admit, I did some deep breathing and counting and it did seem to help some of the time. ))

I wanted to go to the ER, but the hospital is 45 minutes away and as bad as I felt, the thought of being belted into a car for that whole ride, and probably getting carsick from all the mountain curves, was daunting. Eventually it got so bad I told Matt he had to take me to the ER. This was about 9:30 in the morning and I was still in pajamas, which was fine, but they had a little, um, blood on them (sorry) and I wanted new ones. Matt brought them and I was in so much pain, I didn’t think I was going to be able to put them on. That’s bad, huh? But I got it, we got to the car, and then of course on the way down the mountain the pain stopped, so we went to the doctor’s office rather than the ER. I got another prescription for more pain meds, and went back home.

There’s more to this but I am pretty emotionally exhausted from this. If you have made it to this paragraph, thanks for hanging in there and continuing to read. I had written a lot of this in journal form at the time, but sharing it is also helpful. My hope is that if you have come to this site after searching for “miscarriage” because you are having one or have had one, I hope it has been helpful to you to read about my experience, to see that most of what you might be feeling is totally normal and expected.