Trigger warning: miscarriage
Allow me to be self-indulgent for a moment, and recount the events that led to me giving birth to a preemie. If you're not a fan of birth stories, I won't be offended if you choose not to read this; my hope is that simply by writing this down it will be cathartic.
The decision to have kids was a big but quick one. I had never really wanted kids before, but in my 30s I came down with a mild case of baby fever, and I figured that since I was with the right person, we should get on with it before the dreaded magic number 35. Soon after my husband and I got married two years ago, I got pregnant and it seemed like everything was falling into place. I skipped my period, the test was positive, I even had a bit of morning sickness and a few other symptoms (like foods tasting bitter). I made my first pregnancy appointment with my midwives - they didn't want to see me until 12 weeks in, around the end of my first trimester.
Then, the week before Christmas, when I was 11 weeks, something happened. I saw a bit of blood. Just the tiniest bit, but enough to make me panic. I called the midwives right away and they said I could come in the following morning so they could listen to the heartbeat, just for peace of mind. A bit of blood could be completely normal. I was worried anyway. (If you know me, you know this is an understatement.)
I went into the office the next morning. The midwife listened for a heartbeat (while my own sped up rapidly) - but didn't hear anything. This could still be normal, she reassured me - we were on the early end of being able to hear the heartbeat anyway. But she made me an ultrasound appointment at the hospital right away. She said that she would meet us there. We ended up getting there early and the ultrasound began without her. The technician inserted the wand and an image of my uterus came up on the screen. I had no idea what it would look like at this stage of pregnancy. Was that little blob the embryo? What about that shadow? The ultrasound technician was unnervingly silent. The midwife rushed in towards the end and looked at the screen. When the technician left, the midwife explained that while we'd have to wait for a doctor to give official results, she was pretty sure of what she saw - or what she didn't see. There was nothing there. She said I'd most likely had a blighted ovum, a type of miscarriage where there is a conception, but because of a chromosomal abnormality, the fertilized egg is aborted days or weeks afterwards. The body, however, doesn't catch on, and carries on as if it's pregnant, which explains the positive pregnancy test and other symptoms. It even formed an empty gestational sac.
Bodies are incredibly stupid. Or, incredibly hopeful.
Mine thought I was pregnant for 11 weeks, which is apparently longer than usual for a blighted ovum. My midwife explained the options - I could take a pill that would help everything come out, I could have a D&C (dilation and curettage - a minor surgery to remove the sac), or just wait for my body to take care of it on its own. I didn't trust my body at this point, so I opted for the quickest method, the D&C.
In between that day and my D&C, I had a very weepy Christmas and stayed home from work. I hadn't told many people about being pregnant, but I had told my manager and some of my co-workers (mostly for practical reasons as I had planned to quit my job in the 3rd trimester). I just couldn't face them for awhile afterwards. I needed time to process what happened, and time to recover after my D&C. The procedure itself ended up being less scary than I thought - the scariest part was being put under general anesthesia - but the hospital staff were extremely kind and comforting.
After that I wasn't allowed to try to get pregnant for a few months, so I spent the time trying to figure out my emotions. I realized that what I'd had was a miscarriage, but it's not the type of miscarriage that we all hear about. On the one hand, I can't imagine how much more horrible it could have been. I can't imagine the pain of losing a child at any age, gestational or otherwise. But...I didn't really have a child. I didn't even have an embryo. So what right did I have to be sad? The only loss I experienced was that of empty tissue.
On the other hand, I did experience a loss - the loss of the hopes and dreams for that particular pregnancy, for that never-to-be child. As an anxious person, I often can't let myself get too excited about things like that in case something goes wrong. And yet it's hard not to get a little excited and start planning for the future. I had started a pregnancy spreadsheet to plan for the baby and to record a list of possible names. My covert Pinterest board labeled "Kittens" betrayed my excitement as well. And in my head I had already told myself hundreds of stories about a little kid with whom we would share tea parties, Star Wars marathons, and hiking trips.
Needless to say, my feelings were confusing and conflicting. Even now, when I look back on it, I don't know quite what to think. If I ever mention my blighted ovum to anyone, I usually just say I had a miscarriage for simplicity's sake - but saying that feels like a lie, and it makes me feel like I'm being insensitive to those who have experienced losses farther along in their pregnancy.
The good part about this story (and there is a good part, I promise) is that my husband and I didn't let this setback deter us from trying again. Blighted ovums are pretty much an anomaly, so there was no medical reason to think that I'd have another one. It's a freak, horrible, stupid accident. As soon as I was allowed we started trying for another baby, and after four months I became pregnant again.
~To Be Continued~
Did you suffer any losses prior to the birth of your preemie? What did you hold onto during that time, and what was it that helped you to try again?
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