We were going to have a quarantine pregnancy. I was already looking at onesies with cute (or nauseating, depending how you look at it) expressions like “my parents didn’t practice social distancing”. We’d “tried” for two months, and I was already tracking my cycle and taking ovulation tests. An idle mind really is dangerous- thanks Coronavirus. So, six days before my period was even due, I took the early response test, and got a positive. I took another test two days later, and another two days after that, and probably three or four more over the next few weeks. I felt fatigue and was bloated, I had headaches and sore boobs. No morning sickness, but I was checking every box that “The Bump” told me to expect. Father’s Day and my birthday fell on the same day, when we’d be just under 7 weeks pregnant. We couldn’t resist the opportunity to give the grandpa’s-to-be “Grandpa and Me” books as our pregnancy reveal. With just over a week until our first doctor’s appointment where we’d get our first ultrasound, we were excited and anxious. I was all over pregnancy boards, made a secret Pinterest album, and thought I’d read everything I could have about the first eight weeks of pregnancy, including the fact that miscarriage was a possibility in the first trimester.
This is from my journal, I wrote the day we found out we lost the pregnancy:
“Luke and I went in, and then the tech went in (if you know what I mean). I saw my uterus. I saw blobs. I waited for the tech to say “there it is!”, but she was silent. So I asked her, “looks like there’s something in there…right?” Pause. “I’m not finding a heartbeat, I’m so sorry”, was her reply. My knee jerk reaction made me say, “That’s okay!”, as if I could tell her “don’t be sad, you’re doing great! I bet its hard to find in there!”. But her eyes let me know differently. She does this every day. She knows what it looks like when something is wrong. Honestly, it feels like a blessing she could make that call relatively quickly. Crying with an ultrasound probe poking around my vagina for 20 minutes would have been much worse than the quick confirmation we got…So, for the time being, we’re going to watch some comedies on Netflix, do the bare passing minimum at work and school for a couple days, and I’m going to have a margarita tonight. This week is going to suck, hard. But now we have been given the opportunity to start again, to take more time and decide on things we felt unsure of before, like where we want to live and when I’ll finish grad school. I may write more to this throughout, or after, or I may never revisit this document again. But writing has been helpful.”
How ridiculously optimistic of me thinking I could manage grief in just a week. In addition to that, I had no idea that I’d have another month of failed medicated management, scheduling and undergoing surgery, and then continuing to experience bleeding. I felt so separated from my body for a month. I didn’t want to work out using a pad, and I let myself feel ugly and unmotivated and unwomanly. I was incredibly fortunate to be living with the most loving, supportive, and understanding partner, but even so I felt so alone- like I couldn’t even connect with myself much less anyone else. I wrote another journal entry a week after we learned we lost the pregnancy about initially choosing to pursue medicated management:
“The feeling of being unable to control my own body is psychologically so overwhelming and damaging… Initially I had no idea which of these options I preferred, they all sounded awful. I wanted get back to tracking my cycles with a normal empty uterus as soon as possible. I wanted my hormones to return to normal, I wanted to go home and not have so many eyes on me. We decided on the medicated option- the pills- and in hindsight this was the clear choice for me. Once again, bless Luke for translating my own thoughts into that choice when I was too overwhelmed. On Thursday (Friday being a holiday), I inserted them as instructed, and in the next 6 hours felt cramping and bleeding similar to a period. It was all at once awful, and relieving, and painful, and a nice change of pace to see my uterus react appropriately to something. But I feel so out of body using pads, when I’m already feeling pretty unlike myself.”
Again, I thought this would be the end of my miscarriage, but instead I went back in for two follow up ultrasounds to learn I did need the surgery after all. It was so frustrating to feel so out of control of my own body, that it betrayed me by failing to carry a pregnancy, then failing to miscarry appropriately. The surgery, while nerve-wracking, was such a relief. It meant several more days of bleeding and using pads. Throughout all of this, I’d slowly started reaching out to other women who’d shared their stories about pregnancy loss. While I’m so grateful for my loved ones’ wonderful and genuine efforts to make me feel heard and seen and loved, it was the conversations I had with these other women that made me feel like weights were being lifted off my chest. I learned just how many women have stories like mine, and that they also went through a time of feeling alone and isolated. And so I put my efforts into building this site. I used this website to channel and understand my own grief, as well as offer a platform of community and inclusivity to other women that feel this same way.
Please feel free to reach out to me with your stories, I am always here for you. This community is here for you.