INSIDE OUT

I have been trying to come to terms with my miscarriage. For those of you who have gone through one, I am so truly mourning with you. I am so truly mourning FOR you now.

I have not wanted to talk about my miscarriage on my blog, other than the simple facts. I've had one. Now, let's move on. I did not want to feel "weak". I acknowledge that mourning the loss of a baby through a miscarriage is sorrowful and traumatic for women and their families. At first I didn't feel the loss. Now, I do.

There are many justified and rational emotions, which women need to allow in themselves and those around them need to allow for them. This can be a very traumatic experience and only until I've recently gone through one myself - reconciled in myself the actualities of what I've just gone through - I have never been able to sympathize as much as I should have. Only now do I *empathize* with the friends and acquaintances who have gone through this tragic experience. It happens so often it might be easy for some to minimize the effects it truly has on women. But, I hope not after reading this.

I didn't want to post about the realities I felt with having a pregnancy, worrying about a miscarriage, only to finally lose the baby you so long for. I believe I have somewhat been in denial. I have decided to write about my experiences, if for no other reason than to continue the mourning process by "letting it out". For those who have weak stomachs, I wish for you to move along and read my other blog entries. I have decided to be somewhat graphic for the intentional purposes of creating a realistic overview of what it's like as a woman to go through a miscarriage. Every experience is different. This is my story.

The excitement of knowing you will carry a baby inside you who will, one day, become the source of all things beautiful and magical for you and your family, makes you feel like you have a superpower. The knowledge that comes with this, however, quickly turns to torment with the dawn of the first trimester. There are those who are lucky enough to go through pregnancy with barely any symptoms and create beautifully healthy babies. For the rest of us, we are nothing less than paranoid.

From the moment I found out I was pregnant, I had immediate butterflies. But, this time... this pregnancy... seemed different. I had cramps from the first couple weeks after my third pregnancy test showed I was pregnant. It took three tests for me to even believe it. I was in shock. I still didn't believe it.

After three urine tests came back positive, nothing could explain the cramps I was having. I was told by my doctor to "drink more water". That it was my uterus stretching. For someone holding on to any answer, which seemed plausible, I held on to it with every inch of my faith. "That HAS to be it", I told myself time and again. But, I knew. I knew that something else was going on. I tried to distract myself. I tried not to let it bother me. I did everything I knew to do to take care of this baby. Yet, in the back of my mind... something just didn't feel quite right.

You can't know what it's like to dread going to the bathroom every day. You can't know what it feels like to wonder, "after I wipe, will I see blood?" You walk around all day long, feeling any type of wetness and constantly think to yourself, "could that be blood"? With any story of someone else's miscarriage you question, "will that be me next"? "*I* feel that symptom" or "I *DON'T* feel THAT symptom"? Might *I* be having a miscarriage?

Every day in the first trimester is torture for those of us who've either had a miscarriage in the past or, like myself, have symptoms (or lack of symptoms), which makes you just a bit more paranoid than the next girl. I didn't feel this way with any of my other pregnancies. Did I have some intuition that something was just not right?

Then the day came. I had to go to the bathroom and I remember it so clearly I swear I will remember this moment for the rest of my life. This was the moment I dreaded since the cramping began. This bathroom rendez-vous marked the beginning of the end.

Unlike the many times in every day. Unlike every single day, seven days in every week prior, this wipe was different. There it was... I saw brown blood. For anyone who has been "around the block" and shares experiences from positive to negative, this brown blood meant anything. Was it 'old' blood? WHO'S old blood?? When I asked a question to those who were pregnant the same month as I, I was reassured that it meant nothing. I wasn't stupid. They weren't stupid. We all knew it could have went either way. But, in this particular moment, even though they may have thought it, they didn't say it. It really could have meant anything.

I braced myself.

That night I hoped for the best, yet, expected the worst. But, I hoped for the best.... and expected the worst. This went back and forth inside my heart... inside my mind. I could not sleep. Was this it? Was this truly happening to me?

I couldn't help but wonder how my baby was feeling. Was my baby swimming around in there? Was it a girl or a boy? What did he or she look like?

Was there a heart beat? Did my baby die?

The next day did not get any better. I went to the bathroom when I woke up in the morning and it was still brown. I was relieved, if only for awhile. Later that day, I dreaded going anywhere near the bathroom. Yet, I was SO scared of not knowing that I started making more frequent visits, if only just to check. Then, while being distracted and rushing to the bathroom this one time, I happened to look down and there it was. Red blood.

For the first time since this all began, I started to cry. I knew. There was no more guessing. I knew the answers to my previous questions about my baby. Or did I?

Searching the internet for stories, of course I would stumble across women who have seen red blood and didn't miscarry. Okay. Alright. Maybe it's NOT a miscarriage. I just wished I knew already!! Luckily for me, I had an ultrasound booked already for later that day, booked due to the cramping. For women who are forced to wait days, even weeks before finally getting the answer they so desperately need, I could simply not imagine the pain of waiting.

Here in Nova Scotia, they allow you to bring two members (friends or family) to watch on their own separate screen while they moniter and analyze the ultrasound. I can imagine how amazing that is for a family who has a healthy baby in there, sucking its thumb and seeing that heartbeat. For those of us who are not so fortunate, I am surprised by this ritual. In Ontario, you don't have your own screen to watch. You are also not allowed to bring anyone into the room until they have analyzed the "data" and have assessed that all is well. Then, and only then, will they allow one other person into the room... possibly two if you have a nice technician in a good mood. This, to me, always felt cold and I could never understand why they did that... until now.

I will never forget laying down, turning over to watch my own private screen, only to see an empty sac. A dark hole with no heart beat. Not even a baby. I will never get that cold, empty, black, picture out of my mind. I wish I never saw what I saw that day. For as far as I was along in my pregnancy, not only should I have seen a heart beat, I should have also been able to pick out each little limb, dancing around in that protective home I was supposed to have made in my body. "What did I do wrong", I asked myself over and over again. Where was my baby?

I decided to try not to think about it. I suspected this was probably the fate I would have come to find out. I "celebrated" not having to restrict myself from all of the things I fought so hard to save my baby from! I left there and immediately bought some wine and a nitrate-filled sub! This was my way of finding something "good" to fill my thoughts with. But, it was short-lived.

I was told by the radiologist to expect "stuff", I believe was the word he so eloquently used, to come out in the next week or so. I kind of sloughed it off and didn't really think about it. But... Oh, did I think about it in the days to come.

What I didn't expect, what I had no idea of - what was the hardest part of this whole experience combined thus far - was what I saw after every time I wiped when I went to the bathroom. Do you know what it's like, to not know whether that 'clot' you just saw come out on your toilet paper was an arm... or a head... or a piece of my baby's heart? Do you know what it's like to have the thought that you are flushing part of your precious baby, who was supposed to be a healthy, BEAUTIFUL daughter or son to B and I, a brother or sister to S, J, and N, a grandchild, cousin, or friend down the toilet!? I certainly had no idea. Not like this.

And then the grand finale. I went into labour. I didn't go into "transition" but, mark my words, this was just as painful as it was the first time I went into labour at 9 months for any of my children... and I was angry. Why should I have to go through this!? Every time I have gone through these labour pains before, I have had something to show for it! Something to make all this pain, all of this agony worthwhile. NOW what do I have to show for it? I have nothing! It just stops. It just ends without a trace. It's just not fair.

I have given B permission to move on without exactly allowing myself to. Actually, to be honest, I've been quite bitter and resentful about B's decision and ability to move on from the death of our baby. But, I didn't tell him any of this. Not until last night. Now he gets it. Now he understands. Now I do to.

ETA: Just when ya think it's over... http://insideout.tougas.net/node/93