In my pervious post, I mentioned my miscarriage. I haven’t really written about it yet. But, I don’t want to really write about the miscarriage itself. I want to write about the after. But first I will write down the short story of that day.
In 2017, I went to my midwife for the first ultrasound after getting a positive pregnancy test. We had been trying for what would be our third and last baby. After 3 months, there it was. They did the ultrasound and everything looked good. I got a call the next day to come in for another ultrasound because the head obgyn saw something and wanted to have another look. I went back in and within 48 hours, the little heartbeat that was so strong before was now almost gone. My midwife sat me down and told me I was going to miscarry, it was to be expected. A week later, at 10 weeks, I woke up in a puddle of blood. We didn’t rush to the hospital though. My midwife told me not to worry unless I was bleeding through a pad an hour, and I wasn’t, even though the bleeding didn’t stop. I sat in the shower and watched the blood go down the drain. I clenched with each contraction my stomach made. I threw up from the pain. Then it finally stopped. I took a nap. A couple hours after I woke up, the bleeding and contractions started again. I looked in the bathroom mirror and saw all the color drained from my skin. I knew it was time to go to the er. I went to the kitchen to get some water before waking up my husband, and then came the pain. I had never felt a pain like this before, and I don’t really know how to describe it. It wasn’t the worst pain I’ve ever had, but it was the scariest. I held onto the kitchen counter and called for help. I woke up on the kitchen floor. An ambulance was called. I spent the next two days in the hospital, I had a d&c, and received a blood transfusion. In those short 12 hours I lost a baby, 2 liters of blood and almost my life.
I know that I should have gone to the hospital when I woke up that morning. There’s no denying that. The doctor and nurses were wonderful. The doctor that perfumed the d&c, repeatedly assured me that it wasn’t my fault.
I’m not sure when I decided that we wouldn’t try again. But at some point after I knew I couldn’t do it, that I didn’t want to. It took a couple months for my period to get back to normal. For about 2 years, I couldn’t use my menstrual cup. I used pads, there was something in my head that needed to see the blood, measure it. Scared that it was too much. Clots seemed to big, and there was always too much tissue. Cramps hurt too much. I didn’t know how to accept my period as a normal part of my body again. It’s just been a few months ago, that I bought a new cup and have been comfortable using it. Friends and family that had miscarriages or lost babies later in their pregnancies, were having babies. I felt like something was wrong with me because I didn’t want to try again like they did. I see my husband’s face light up when he sees a baby and I think I have robbed him of having that experience again, because I’m too scared or I don’t know.
In June of 2018, I saw a new doctor. I told him about my childhood traumas, my life long struggle with depression, my miscarriage and everything in between. He diagnosed me with PTSD, the miscarriage being the final break. It made sense, but there is a part of me that thinks it wasn’t that bad right?
Maybe I’m just selfish for not wanting another baby. Maybe I’m just not as strong as my friends and family that tried again. Maybe I didn’t really want another baby to begin with. Maybe I’m just heartless for being so numb to it.
But, I still have an incessant need to monitor my periods. I fake joy for friends and family that are having babies and hiding how angry it makes me feel. I am happy that they are happy, but it makes me angry, not at them, but at myself. I drink too much. I get in the shower and stare at the drain while the water runs cold. I don’t want to have sex. I don’t want to be touched. Hugs hurt. I can’t fall asleep without medicinal help. I’m angry at myself for not being able to move on, not having the strength to try again, jealous of the beautiful new babies I see on Facebook and Instagram.
And of course I’m working on it. Seeing professionals, talking about it. Doing all the things recommended for treatment. And for now, I’m stuck in the after, waiting for after the after.