Thursday, April 19, 2012

Miscarriage

As I sat down to write this the first time, I was preparing for my second D&C and fourth miscarriage. So,  I thought if anyone ever read this, readers beware. I was not about to right one of the flowery, hopeful stories.  Instead, I was determind to write a real story. I was determined that if I was going to tell my story, it would not be one of those fuzzy articles you read  in a woman's magazine, a few paragraphs about a woman’s journey to motherhood through miscarriage that ends breezily and happily.  In those articles, the issue of miscarriage is seemingly glossed over and all you can really focus on are the pictures of the mothers now happy, surrounded by their perfect babies. No, I did not want to write one of those stories. This story was not going to be about happy endings.  This story was going to be about miscarriage in all its painful glory. That was my plan at least…

If you have suffered a miscarriage, you may have had a D&C or dilation and currtegge. It is when the doctor has to surgically remove the fetus and placenta because it is no longer living. The procedure is done in the hospital but is quick. You are home within hours, belly empty and heart full. I had my first D&C over almost 2 years ago. I was 8 weeks pregnant, sick as dog, until one day I suddenly felt better. I went in for a regularly scheduled ultrasound, and I’ll never forget the silence in the room when the nurse was examining my baby. You could hear a pin drop. Right then I knew something was wrong. She excused herself and returned with my doctor. He said, “Let’s see if we can find a heartbeat on this little peanut.” There was none. He said he was sorry. I waited until he left the room and balled my eyes out. How could this happen to me? And to make things worse, my husband, who was always there for every appointment and completely supportive, missed that one appointment, so I was staring at the image of the dead baby inside of me alone.  The next day I was at the hospital with my husband and mom by my side – both looking at me anxiously - recuperating from my D&C with “grief” literature in my hand and wondering what to do next.

My husband and I mourned for months. My family and friends tried their best to console me. It was difficult. When you have a miscarriage, people try to console you and say things like, “It’s so common.” This is true. Miscarriages are very common. Because of today’s technology, sensitive pregnancy tests can find the presence of the pregnancy hormone even before a missed period. This means women are trying to get pregnant are finding out when they have conceived much earlier and thus, those early  miscarriages that were going unnoticed before, mistaken for a late or heavy period, are now discovered. In fact, I’ve read articles that estimate that 25% and even 1/3 of pregnancies end in miscarriage, mostly in the first trimester. Also, when you have a miscarriage you start to become acutely aware of the many of the women that you know that have also suffered this tragedy.  Another thing I heard after the miscarriages was, “Well, at least you have one healthy child.” That is also true. I am truly blessed to have a beautiful, healthy, and if I do say so myself, absolutely adorable, little boy. I appreciate him so much that sometimes I feel guilty for even wanting another child. But don’t I have a right to want another child? Does that erase the pain of losing a baby? Like I said it’s difficult because people just don’t know how to comfort someone who has suffered a miscarriage. I have to say the best thing I heard was “I’m so sorry.” Period. When someone has suffered through this sort of thing, they have lost something inside of them. They just need to hear “I’m sorry” followed by a hug.

Well, we tried again of course.  My second and third miscarriages that followed were early, at around 6 weeks. After the third loss, my doctor started to wonder what was going on. I appeared to be a healthy, 30 year old woman who had previously had a healthy child. So, what was going on? I, too, was worried that something was wrong with me. That’s the thing about miscarriage. Many times, there is no explanation. You’ll read possible explanations such chromosome abnormalities (i.e. genetic issues with the parents), poor nutrition in the mother, immune disorder in the mother, etc., but bottom line is, most of the time, miscarriages are simply mysteries. And after all the testing I went through –and trust me, I went through my fair share of specialists and testing - my miscarriages are still unexplained.

We kept trying but this time, cautiously, anxiously and without much hope. When we had another positive pregnancy test – on my husband’s birthday - we called the doctor with more fear than joy inside of our hearts.  At my first ultrasound, they said they could see a placenta with nothing in it. As always, I immediately googled this while waiting for the doctor (I still don’t know if the internet has been a good or bad thing for me throughout this. Sometimes too much information is not helpful. It just freaks you out). I again fell apart – this time even in front of our doctor and my husband. You would think I would have learned my lesson and would have remained stoic. But the same thoughts were flying through my head. I sobbed to my husband (who would want me to note here that he never missed an appointment again after that one fateful appointment mentioned above), “How could this happen to us?” I did everything I was supposed to do. I took the drugs the doctor gave me to try this pregnancy, which were no picnic. The doctor had put me a low dose of heparin so I had to inject myself in the belly twice a day. (Though we never could determine what caused the miscarriages, the doctor suspected a possible minor immune issue could be causing clotting and thus, my body was not being allowed to hold the baby. The heparin was to thin the blood and prevent the clotting).  I took extra good care of my body before getting pregnant.  I even tried acupuncture and worked at channeling positive energy to my belly, and yet, here I was again - devastated on the crunchy white paper of the doctor’s chair.  My husband tried to be positive when the doctor said maybe they just miscalculated the date and it’s just too early to see anything. I asked for a D&C, so I wouldn’t have to suffer through another physically and emotionally draining and painful miscarriage.  The doctor said to wait, and decided to order a blood test in a week that would test my hormone levels. 

Waiting to hear the results of the test was one of the longest week of our lives. My husband remained hopeful, and I told him that he was in denial, that of course, it was another doomed pregnancy. Visions of the “empty” sac floated in my head daily. My poor husband has dealt with his fair share of my retorts and mood swings during this emotional roller-coaster period of our lives. Even then, though, I knew that we had survived these losses together and that no matter what, we’d remain stronger throughout this ordeal.  

A week later, the doctor’s office called and said that my blood test showed that my hormone levels were doing exactly what they were supposed to be doing, going up. In other words, my body was acting like it’s pregnant.  I still remained cautious. It would be another week before we could go in for another ultrasound to see if there was a baby. The roller coaster continued.
 
Originally when I started writing this, I thought the moral of this story was that there aren’t always happing endings, life is rough, you make it through graciously, with strength, and with the people you love supporting you through the rough spots. Most importantly, you can’t fight the urge to have hope. As I said in the beginning – this was not going to be a story with a picture-perfect ending. The focus was going to be on the nitty-gritty, the pain of miscarriage. The thesis was going to be about strength and perseverance and a little hope.  Well, it’s been almost a year since I started writing this story and the thesis has pretty much remained the same. And since then, I would not say that the story has taken another path – but maybe a slight detour.  You see, that empty sac? That placenta that didn’t seem to develop? Well, guess what? It did. His name is Ethan. His name means “strength” in Hebrew.

The pregnancy with Ethan was rough – horrible morning sickness, and anxiety like you couldn’t believe. We were so appreciative yet could barely enjoy the pregnancy and were consumed by the hope of getting the baby to a safe age to be born.  It seems all the treatment worked as I neared my last weeks of pregnancy.  The day before Ethan was born, I was following my 3 year old up the only two stairs in our house and I fell and landed flat on my belly. Don’t ask me what caused me to fall like that because it’s beyond me. Although falls at that stage of pregnancy are common and generally don’t cause labor sincer there is plenty of cushion to protect the baby, for me it stimulated labor, and Ethan was born the next morning 5 weeks before his due date.  My doctor thinks the fall saved the baby’s life as he suspected that the placenta may have been weakening and even detaching by that point. Ethan was born healthy at 35 weeks on 8/9/10 after a very exciting birth. So, maybe everything does happen for a reason.


Though the ending has changed some since I started writing this story, my thesis is simple and remains for the most part, unchanged. Miscarriage is so positively gut-wrenching. If you haven’t been through it, you’ll never understand. But if you know someone who has suffered a miscarriage, just be there for her and her partner. When you get pregnant, even at the earliest stage, you can’t help but to get attached to that little being inside of you, and when it’s gone, you truly suffer a loss. It’s real and it’s heartbreaking. If you don’t have support from your loved ones, you absolutely must seek it out. Women are strong but no one should go through this alone.  And the partner could use some support too. Whether you are strong enough to keep trying to get pregnant or to recognize that it’s not in the cards for your body and try some other means of making a family, you have take comfort in the strength of your decision and you have to –absolutely have to - continue to have hope. That’s the kicker, to just know that no matter how the story may end for you, after miscarriage, you must always have hope.  You suffer through the pain and then you try again or you try something else. You hope it’ll stick next time, the stars will align for you, and that the pain will all be worth it in the end.  For us, that little bit of hope paid off. That is my wish for anyone who has suffered such a loss. Just don’t give up on hope.

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