Joining the Club (to which I never wanted to belong)
For a week, I didn't know what to tell people, even my closest friends. I hadn't had a miscarriage, not yet. But I was waiting for one. It was hard enough to find an appropriate moment to interject, "By the way,...", "Speaking of uterine cramping,...", "Drinks? Oh, I'll have two, since I can now!" And then, what do you say? "I had a miscarriage" isn't right. "I'm in the process of having a miscarriage" sounds like you should be doubled over in pain on the toilet. "I'm expecting a miscarriage" sounds like you are just being negative. Buck up, li'l camper!
Last Thursday I went to my OB. It had been about nine weeks since my last period. My earlier appointment had shown a gestational age of 5 weeks, 5 days. No heartbeat, but then again it was so early. The ultrasound last Thursday showed no progress. The nodule of cells still measured 5 weeks, 5 days, and there was no heartbeat. "I'm sorry," said my doctor. And she was. Griffin, strapped in his stroller next to me complained - he had been restrained for too long. After Griffin's nap that afternoon I took him out, fed him french fries and bought him toys. It seemed like the right thing to do.
Two options, she said, wait for my body to run its course, or intervene medically. Ultimately, I chose the second, but still, I prayed that my body would rush to beat the deadline I had set by making the appointment with the hospital. I just could not bear to let this in-between state drag on for how long, two weeks? Four? My body still felt pregnant, and still made corresponding irrational demands on me - naps, snacks every couple of hours. I worried that my body would choose 30,000 feet altitude as it's time to finalize the situation. We get on a plane for a little vacation next Wednesday. I could see myself sweating and crying in the 2x2 airplane bathroom, unable to exit as the plane begins its final decent. No thanks.
Yesterday, one week after seeing less than I wanted on the ultrasound screen, it was over. An outpatient procedure that, except for the lack of cutting and stitches, felt very much like surgery. OR, two nurses, anesthesiologist, doctor, and nursing student in the room with me. Twenty minutes later I wake up and it is over. Another half hour, and I am wheeled out to the car, and sent home.
Today it is almost as if it never happened. The pregnancy, the miscarriage, erased from my body. No pain, just a maxi pad waiting to catch any residual mess that might yet materialize. So many women have been here. My OB. The nurse who wheeled me to the car. The friend who dropped off dinner at our house last night. It is not an exclusive club - indeed, it makes us feel better to know we are not alone, and to offer support for our newest members.
Last Thursday I went to my OB. It had been about nine weeks since my last period. My earlier appointment had shown a gestational age of 5 weeks, 5 days. No heartbeat, but then again it was so early. The ultrasound last Thursday showed no progress. The nodule of cells still measured 5 weeks, 5 days, and there was no heartbeat. "I'm sorry," said my doctor. And she was. Griffin, strapped in his stroller next to me complained - he had been restrained for too long. After Griffin's nap that afternoon I took him out, fed him french fries and bought him toys. It seemed like the right thing to do.
Two options, she said, wait for my body to run its course, or intervene medically. Ultimately, I chose the second, but still, I prayed that my body would rush to beat the deadline I had set by making the appointment with the hospital. I just could not bear to let this in-between state drag on for how long, two weeks? Four? My body still felt pregnant, and still made corresponding irrational demands on me - naps, snacks every couple of hours. I worried that my body would choose 30,000 feet altitude as it's time to finalize the situation. We get on a plane for a little vacation next Wednesday. I could see myself sweating and crying in the 2x2 airplane bathroom, unable to exit as the plane begins its final decent. No thanks.
Yesterday, one week after seeing less than I wanted on the ultrasound screen, it was over. An outpatient procedure that, except for the lack of cutting and stitches, felt very much like surgery. OR, two nurses, anesthesiologist, doctor, and nursing student in the room with me. Twenty minutes later I wake up and it is over. Another half hour, and I am wheeled out to the car, and sent home.
Today it is almost as if it never happened. The pregnancy, the miscarriage, erased from my body. No pain, just a maxi pad waiting to catch any residual mess that might yet materialize. So many women have been here. My OB. The nurse who wheeled me to the car. The friend who dropped off dinner at our house last night. It is not an exclusive club - indeed, it makes us feel better to know we are not alone, and to offer support for our newest members.
posted by munchmom at 2:54 PM
3 Comments:
Hey Lady,
I'm so sorry :(. I am a part of that club. Lets have lunch when you come back.
Steph
Hi Kir,
I joined that club way back in college...and all the teachers I had to talk to (because of so much missed class) were in it as well, or there partners were. It was amazing to me as well, how many have gone through, what really is quite a difficult hard thing. Sending lots of Love
i, too, am part of the club..i joined earlier this year, and it was truly devastating....after it was over, i heard from many people to whom the same thing had also happened, but while it was happening, it was very alienating....i still feel its effects, even now, when i'm pregnant again, and nearly in my third trimester....the baby i miscarried would have been born last week.
my point is: it's good that you are being open about this. and you aren't alone, at all....take care.
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