Probable Miscarriage

Where do I start? I guess the easiest place would be to start chronologically.

On Friday, I had my hormone levels tested. I opted for the hormone test rather than an ultrasound because I personally think it's prudent to try and minimize the number of ultrasounds in a given pregnancy. I also had my bile acids level checked, to see if my liver was starting to malfunction.

On Saturday, the midwife called to say it's highly likely that I have suffered a miscarriage. My progesterone levels are half of what they should be at this point. I'm going in for a conclusive ultrasound on Monday.

I held it together for most of the conversation, but she kept talking and talking and I finally couldn't hold it together anymore. I told her I needed to go and hung up the phone.

So many different thoughts are running through my head. I think about our baby--the size of a lime or a fig--dead inside of me. I worry about the process of getting it out. I think about how perfect the timing would have been for this pregnancy and how it would not have interfered with the process of starting my school. I could have met the baby's needs for time with its mother during that first year and met my needs for growing professionally and impacting the world. And then I get frustrated with myself for thinking about logistics at a time like this. I remind myself that we can't control the most important things in life. I wonder whether it's good to break down in front of Henry so that he sees the range of emotions we all experience as humans or whether it's too frightening for a 16 month-old who smiles as he drags his rake across the carpet. I remind myself that the rate of miscarriage is remarkably high and that it's probably the body's way of producing a relatively high number of perfect, healthy babies. I am thankful for my body. I am also thankful that I already have a perfect, healthy, happy boy. It makes this loss so much easier, and I can't even begin to imagine what my friends and acquaintances must feel when they miscarry their first. I can already see how hard it is going to be for me to look at ultrasound pictures of my friends' developing babies on Facebook. It is clear that the grieving process will take a while and it is probably that I will feel this loss forever. I think about the letter I already wrote to our sweet baby. I contemplate destroying it but instead decide to preserve the history of our family's loss and talk openly with Henry (and our future child?) about it. I start brainstorming all the reasons it's good to not be pregnant right now: I can go to the dentist and get the crown I need, since there's no baby to hurt with Novacaine. We'll be able to put more money toward our house, since I won't have to go on maternity leave. Our new house will be ready by the time we do have another baby. Again, I start to get frustrated with myself for being so practical and logistics-minded. And I start to wonder if I will be able to sustain a pregnancy again. Were my hormone levels messed up because I weaned Henry right at the start of my pregnancy? I start thinking about all the things I can do to get my body in shape to try again. I get mad that I've trudged through 11 weeks of pregnancy (the first trimester is the worst!) and have nothing to show for it. And I get sad that I have such selfish thoughts. And then I tell myself to let myself feel whatever I feel, no judgment. Then I wonder who our baby might have been.

I cry and cry.

And now the process of spreading the word begins. I intentionally told people early on because I also wanted to talk openly about miscarriage if I had one. I don't regret that decision, but it will be hard to have this conversation over and over again. I'm going to use a lot of e-mail and text.

Share |