***Emotional post ahead that has to do with loss.
If you are uncomfortable with words pertaining to female anatomy or bodily functions, I suggest you exit now.
I was pregnant, but now I’m not.
I knew when I became pregnant with Quinn that I wanted a second child. Not because I enjoyed being pregnant, because I didn’t, despite that pregnancy being what most would consider quite easy up until the last month and traumatic days leading up to the delivery. I just wanted Quinn to have a sibling to grow up with, someone with whom to share the bond of having lived in the same household and being subjected to all the ways in which we’re bound to mess them up.
We struggled to get pregnant the first time, which I’ve talked about before, but this time was relatively short and only took 3 months. I tested positive on January 23rd. I called my doctor the following Monday and made an appointment. They said they didn’t need to see me until I was 10 weeks along. Within a few weeks I started having nausea, but it wasn’t too bad. Just like with Quinn, I was thankful for the lack of vomiting and tried not to complain too much, knowing it could be a lot worse. Each pregnancy is always different, but I noted that I was cold all of the time, didn’t have much of an appetite, and didn’t lose my taste for coffee (one cup a day is considered a safe amount of caffeine and that’s what I drink), all the opposite of my first pregnancy. When I was around 8 weeks, I got super fatigued, much more nauseous, and very emotional. This was a difficult phase for me because I am an anxious person and the way that I combat anxiety is to stay busy, but pregnancy fatigue is like no other and I had absolutely no energy. Add to that an active toddler and you have a recipe for exhaustion.
When I was 8 weeks and 6 days, I started spotting. I immediately freaked out and had a vagal response: I got sweaty, lightheaded, and almost passed out. I had to sit and calm myself down and eventually called the doctor’s office. It was a Saturday so an after-hours answering service took my call and almost immediately had a doctor call back. Dr. Hamilton gave me guidance on what to look for (filling 2 or more pads an hour) in the event of an emergency that required going to the ER and said to rest, which would hopefully make the bleeding stop. He reassured me that this happens sometimes, and many women go on to have a healthy pregnancy. I appreciated his attempt to comfort me.
I rested as best I could with a toddler and an anxiety problem and sure enough, the bleeding stopped the following day. I called my doctor’s office again the following Monday to let them know what had happened and to see if there was anything I needed to do. I called first thing in the morning but didn’t get an answer, so I left a message. When I didn’t hear back from anyone by 1pm, I tried again. When I still didn’t get an answer, I got connected to the main desk worker who I asked if they were in the office. She said they were and tried another extension for me. I was finally able to talk to a nurse, who told me she would note my chart and unless something changed, I should be fine until my appointment later the following week.
Everything seemed to be fine, and I didn’t have any more bleeding. I got a message in my chart that an ultrasound was scheduled for me (without asking me) for the day after my appointment with the doctor. Luckily, when I went to see the doctor, she got it changed to be that same day so that I didn’t have to make a second 40-minute drive up to the hospital. When I went down to have the ultrasound though, the tech asked me some questions that got my mind swirling. Of course, they aren’t allowed to tell you what they see in the ultrasound, so I was left to wonder what was going on. She also did not give me a picture, which is abnormal. After the ultrasound I went for a one-hour glucose test due to my history of gestational diabetes. I told the doctor I had been checking my sugars and they had been fine except for my morning fasting one, which makes no sense. She said if I passed this one-hour test, I wouldn’t have to check them and would repeat the test at 28 weeks. I don’t enjoy poking my fingers, so I did it with high hopes. When I finally got home, after several hours at the hospital and having missed my daily nap with Quinn (which we all know I need!🤪), I got the results of my glucose test in my chart. It was 198, which is way too high. I was very upset and crying, knowing there is a chance that gestational diabetes can remain after pregnancy. I have a long list of family members who struggled and are struggling with it, I am always fearful that it’s in the cards for me, too.
That fear turned out to be the least of my worries that next day when the results of my ultrasound came in. I got an alert that a second ultrasound was scheduled for Monday March 15 and I immediately called the nurse line to find out why. She said she was just getting ready to call me to go over the results of the ultrasound from the day before. She said the embryo was measuring at 6 weeks, 4 days and there wasn’t a detectable heartbeat. She said this would be normal at this gestational age and maybe it’s just an early pregnancy. She suggested the next ultrasound in 10 days would make me further along which should show one then. I told her that I’m 10 weeks, 4 days and said that isn’t too early. I told her I knew the date of conception and asked if that meant the baby had stopped growing. I honestly can’t even remember exactly what she said because I started crying but it was something along the lines of seeing what the next ultrasound said (again). She put a note in my chart that I needed to have bloodwork done to check my HCG (pregnancy hormone) level and that my glucose test result was high (which I already knew) and I needed to check my sugar 4 times a day and keep a log for my next appointment.
That was it. There was no forewarning for what might happen if what I alluded to was right. No instructions on what to do if I started bleeding. No mention of the word miscarriage. Nothing.
I knew, without a doubt, that I was going to have a miscarriage. There was no chance I was just wrong about how far along I was. I couldn’t have gotten a false positive on a pregnancy test in January, only to have it become true in February. Thank goodness for Google, which helped prepare me for what was to come. That, and a few close friends who I knew had also experienced a pregnancy loss.
It was 7 days of torture with a few days of spotting, back pain, and occasional cramping. There were a few days without any physical symptoms and just emotional distress. I started to doubt myself and wonder if I was being dramatic and had drawn the wrong conclusion, thinking how stupid I would feel that I had told the few people who knew and had asked how I was doing. In my heart though I knew what was coming and I just wanted it to be over with. The anxiety of it all ate away at me and made me miserable. The 8th day confirmed what I expected though. I had laid down to nap with Quinn and woke up with the worst cramps of my life. I started bleeding very heavily and passing lots of tissue. Thanks to a friend, I knew this was to be expected. It was so helpful to me that 2 of my friends shared their experiences with me. It helps calm anxiety to have an idea of what to expect in a distressing situation. I called my doctor’s office to ask what I should do and didn’t get an answer. I left a message letting them know that I had started to miscarry and needed guidance on what to do. I was in a lot of pain and crying so I asked Lori to take Quinn until Philip got off work. He was confused and I didn’t want him to get upset but I also couldn’t tend to him in that condition. Philip’s schedule was packed at work, but he was on stand-by to help me or take me to the ER if I needed. There really wasn’t anything anyone could do. It took about 2 hours for the worst of the pain to subside. I called the doctor’s office 2 more times with no luck and sent a message through my chart. I can’t tell you how much relief came over me when the heaviest bleeding ended. I just felt so much better physically. The relief didn’t last though and the next 2 days I had cramping and bleeding that required round the clock Advil to make it bearable.
The nurse got my message early on Monday and messaged back saying that they were out of the office on Friday afternoon and apologized. She asked Dr. Carlson what I should do, and she said to keep my ultrasound appointment, get bloodwork drawn to check my HCG level, and see her afterwards.
Let me divert here to tell you that due to COVID, Reynolds has a no visitor policy for the OBGYN floor, meaning Philip was not allowed to go with me to the first appointment. The appointment where you typically hear the heartbeat for the first time and get an ultrasound picture. Philip was upset about their policy and we felt it is ridiculous and unfair, so he wrote a strongly worded email (those are his words😉) to the hospital administrator about it. He never got a response back. In the appointment reminder email, it states that the policy is no visitors unless the patient or doctor feels is it absolutely necessary. Given our newest circumstances, we determined it was absolutely necessary for him to accompany me to my appointment with the doctor.
We got to the hospital an hour early because I wanted to do bloodwork first so that she would have the result when I saw her, and you never know how long it will take to do that there. I was done in half an hour, so I waited for my ultrasound. Philip waited in the car until my appointment with the doctor. Having a vaginal ultrasound is pretty unpleasant on a good day, having one when you’re cramping and bleeding is miserable. Once it was finished, I texted Philip that I would meet him at the door so he could come up with me. There were 2 nurses manning the door to ask where people were going and if they had any COVID symptoms or exposure. I told them he needed to come with me to my appointment. The one older nurse asked me if I had cleared it with the doctor and said she was going to call them to make sure it was okay. I told her to tell them that I had miscarried, and I needed him to come with me. I started crying at having said those words out loud and the younger nurse said, “just go,” even though the older nurse protested. The younger nurse said it again, so we walked away. I guess some people lack compassion as they get older and have seen or heard it all before.
I checked in at the front desk and was told to sit in the waiting room. The waiting room that held 2 other very pregnant women and 1 with a newborn. I tried very hard to keep my emotions under control.
When the nurse called my name and we were walking back the hall, she informed me that she didn’t know if the doctor would allow Philip to stay in the room. I informed her that he was staying. After the exchange downstairs and then with her, it’s no wonder my blood pressure was high when she took it. I also managed to gain 2 pounds in 10 days even though I lost about 2 buckets of blood. Philip thinks stress weighs at least that much. I think he might be right.
The doctor did allow him to stay, and we found out later it was because someone, I’m assuming the recipient of his email, told her to let him. She wasn’t happy about it and told us about how she performs surgery on people who aren’t allowed visitors and has to call their loved ones sitting in the parking lot to inform them if something goes wrong. I understand where she’s coming from but that doesn’t make our tragedy less. We didn’t want to be an exception; we wanted the rule to change. It’s a stupid rule. Every other floor in the hospital allows visitors. Every elderly person I saw (and there were many) had another adult escorting them. Emotional support is just as important as physical. You can disagree but you’d be wrong.
Anyway, the results of my ultrasound showed that I still had a piece of tissue in my cervix that needed to be removed in order for the miscarriage to be complete. She gave me the option to do it in the office where we were or go to the operating room and perform a D&C. I declined the second option, and she did it in less than 5 minutes. It didn’t hurt and was only as uncomfortable as a Pap Smear. Assuming she got it all, I will avoid infection and any further treatment.
I told her about my experience with having no support on Friday and how the nurse gave me no warning about the possibility of a miscarriage and just voiced my frustration with it all. She apologized, of course, and agreed that it is a shit show up there.
She said I needed to have one more vial of blood drawn for a type and screen and then a Rhogam shot. Philip had enough sense to ask if this could be done at Wetzel so that we could go home, and he could get Quinn and I could go back to the hospital. She said it could and called to order it.
We left the house at 10:45 in the morning and it was 2:30 when we left Reynolds to head home, only for me to have to be at Wetzel at 3:30. We picked up Quinn quickly and ran home so I could go over alone. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast or spent much time with Quinn, so I was hoping it would be a quick trip. The lab got me right in so things were looking good at first. I went to outpatient services and the woman there thought she could give me the shot right away and we could both head out as she got off at 4, which is why I needed to be there at 3:30. The lab informed her that she couldn’t administer the shot until the results of my type and screen were finished. At about 4:15, she called to ask how much longer it would be. They told her thirty minutes so she had to take me to the floor so that someone else could give me the shot since she had to leave. I sat and waited in their “activity room” since I didn’t have a room, and when thirty minutes had come and gone, I started to get antsy. I stood at the doorway, hoping to make them uncomfortable enough to see what was going on with my results. My cousin and aunt work at the hospital and I eventually saw both of them. They were able to get someone involved to tell me what was going on. You guys aren’t going to believe this, but it’s true: I’m a blood unicorn. According to google, I am what’s called a ‘weak D’ and only 1% of people have this. When I was pregnant for Quinn I was originally typed as a B positive blood type. However, later, I was typed a B negative. During my first round of bloodwork for this pregnancy 10 days prior, I was typed as a B negative but the lab at Wetzel was saying I was typed as a B positive, which means I wouldn’t need a Rhogam shot. Since there was inconsistency, they wanted to run my blood again and have me wait to get my shot, if I needed it. I said absolutely not. It was 5:30 at this point. I told them I understood it was not their fault and I wasn’t angry at anyone there, but I was not waiting for another hour while they ran my blood. They said the sample is only good for that day and if I left it would be for nothing. I said I don’t care, I’m not waiting. The lady from the lab eventually went and got permission for me to come back the next day to receive my shot. I didn’t care what they did, I was leaving either way. It was a day from hell. All of that aggravation for a pregnancy that didn’t last. There was a nurse who was working the floor who shared the results with me and she asked if I had had an abortion. I said I had a miscarriage. She said well it says spontaneous abortion, that’s what they call it. I get it, that’s a medical term, but words matter. I’m pro-choice (I’m not going to debate that with you) but I didn’t choose this. It wasn’t a very thoughtful thing to say to an already extremely emotional and exhausted human.
I saw that term in my chart, along with depressive bipolar disorder, a condition of which I have never been diagnosed 😆😆😆. Maybe they made assumptions due to the depression medication present in my blood, along with my crying outburst while telling them I was not staying 🤣. Feel free to label me whatever you want, WCH 👍🏻👏🏻.
I know lots of words but I’m lacking on how to properly portray just how big of a mess this has all been. Shit show is the tip of the iceberg. While I had a complete lack of support from my healthcare team, I’ve had an outpouring of love from my friends and family, and that I’m so grateful for. As always, I miss my mom so much during times of tragedy and heartbreak but knowing how many other people choose to be in my corner is just amazing. I also have the best husband in the world who has been so helpful and thoughtful through it all.
I believe you can’t truly understand something until you experience it yourself. I had no idea how physically and emotionally draining a miscarriage is. You have this unthinkable trauma but the world doesn’t stop and people still expect things from you even though all you want to do is sleep. For those of you who have also experienced one, I feel for you. I also didn’t know how common it is until I started talking to people about it. Maybe that’s why the doctor lacked empathy for our cause and thought it not valid enough reason to allow an exception to her no visitor policy. Being common doesn’t make ours, or anyone else’s, trauma less sympathy worthy. I won’t be made to feel wrong for needing my husband with me in a time of tragedy. I am also not wrong for needing my husband with me in a time of joy, a joy that is half his. Their policy is bullshit and I hope every other dad complains and gets an “exception,” too.
I had started to show and I would’ve been making my pregnancy announcement publicly next week. I still look the part but I’m broken on the inside. My body will heal and life will go on, as it does. I don’t feel as though we’ve lost a “baby” because that’s not my belief (not up for debate) at the stage it was in. However, I will grieve for the future that I pictured and wanted that will look differently now. I wouldn’t normally post something like this so soon afterward but it felt like I needed to get it out of my head in order to begin to move on.
There may be another, who knows. However, this is the perfect example of why you should not ask someone when they’re having another baby, or any of the other millions of stupid things people say about things that are none of their business when it comes to pregnancy and child rearing. Would you be uncomfortable if you told someone in Wal-Mart that it’s time for them to have another child and they told you they had just miscarried? I hope so. Think about that next time you want to ask an inappropriate question; you may not like the answer.
ETA: I’ve had lots of comments and messages saying I’m brave for sharing my story. I appreciate that so much but why are we, as a society, not talking about this? Especially when it’s apparently very common. I know some of you have experienced this multiple times. You’re the real badasses. I hope you know how brave you are to keep trying, knowing that this could be the outcome!
If my story helps just one person, I would be overjoyed. Thank you for reading.
