I left the ultrasound clinic a couple of hours ago, where I found out that my almost 10-week-old baby had no heartbeat. I saw the little baby on the ultrasound with my own eyes; but the report tells me the truth. The truth that I was afraid of for the past almost 24 hours, as my intermittent spotting became less intermittent and this morning started getting heavier—”missed abortion”.
I first noticed the spotting yesterday afternoon and I called out to my husband (who happened to be working from home that day due to the snow) to come quickly. After putting my son down for a (very late) nap, he tried to calm me down as I started to catastrophize. “Spotting isn’t a good thing,'' I kept repeating. He tried to tell me that spotting could be normal and pulled up the American Pediatrics page (that said just that) but reading it didn’t console me. My stomach hurt a bit, nothing crazy, but we called the midwives’ office anyway and left a message.
When they returned my call, the admin suggested I head to a walk-in clinic, there they would advise me and perhaps give me a requisition for an ultrasound, if needed. The midwives on my team were gone for the day, but she recommended I check it out, even for peace of mind. I went to the nearest open walk-in clinic and waited for what seemed like a very long time. In reality, it was only about an hour, but I think it felt longer because I was by myself. I figured it would be better for my husband to stay home with my son and have supper, just in case this took awhile. If I had to go the ER, then we could go together. After that hour, I was called in to see the doctor. I explained my symptoms to her, she didn’t seem too concerned but offered some manual tests. There was more bleeding than she was expecting, and after finishing her exam, she told me that I should get dressed and she would come back in to talk to me.
I was worried, her demeanour was a bit more serious now.
When she came back, she had several requisitions, including one for an ultrasound, and lots of instructions. She spoke about the pregnancy like there was a chance that it could be over, and I understood from her tone that I may have lost/be losing the baby.
After leaving the clinic, I walked around two stores, aimlessly; I wasn’t ready to share this news at home, but I wasn’t in the mood for shopping either, so I soon found myself driving home. I shared this news with my husband, but he was still hopeful. He couldn’t understand why I was so pessimistic, the doctor had sent us for the ultrasound, she said that I could still go on to have a healthy pregnancy, he couldn’t understand why I went to the worst possible conclusion. I knew why. It was, and still is how I cope. I prepare for the worse case scenario and if anything happened that was better, I could be happy about it.
When I woke up this morning and sat up, I knew something was off.
The bleeding felt heavier, period-like, and I felt like I knew this wasn’t going to be good news. The bleeding was heavier, and my stomach had some light cramps. I cried and prayed and cried some more angry tears. Our ultrasound appointment would be at 11am, and I couldn't bring myself to “parent” a 2-year-old and run around playing happily or deal with any tantrums at the moment. I was bleeding and my cramps made me uncomfortable. I tagged my husband in to take over.
At our ultrasound appointment, we were able to see the embryo in its sac. It was almost surreal. It was in there! Why was I losing this blood? The tech soon informed us that although the embryo was there, she was not able to detect any heartbeat. We were crushed. It was like getting that glimmer of hope only for it to be snatched away. We asked for a picture and she provided one. She insisted I check in with a medical health professional (who would, I guess, officially tell me what was happening), and kept telling me to “take care”.
The next 2 hours were insane. As we were leaving, my cramps became increasingly painful. I sat in the car growing in discomfort. I was also bleeding heavier. My husband ordered a pizza for pick-up at my request, so we started to head towards the pizza place and home. As we approached the pizza spot and I was breathing through my cramps, he searched for parking and ran in. My cramps went from terrible period pain to contractions. I was confused. I didn’t expect this much pain. We swung by the library (I had a book to return and one to pick up that were due today) as I figured that this pain would disable me from doing much else for the evening. By the time we were on our way home I felt nauseous and in such pain that I could barely think straight.
Arriving home, I rushed as fast as I could to the bathroom, I knew something was off. My husband brought our son in and gave him lunch, and went back and forth to check on me. In one of those instances, he found me sitting and looking at toilet paper in a daze. I had wiped into a tissue our unborn child in its sac. I didn’t expect that. Blood—yes, clots—yes, baby?—not at all. I sat there in disbelief. And disbelief makes you do weird things. I got another tissue to transfer it on so I could turn it over. My husband took it, also in shock and disbelief. As he brought it over to the light to study it, he told me that he could see its eyes and arms and legs and tiny little ears. I didn’t believe him, I thought he might just be making things out that “could’ be. But when he showed it to me, I saw it, it was clear (I also looked it up, and it is formed by then).
I began to cry, the ugly cry. Then uncontrollably sob. My husband held me, and I kept trying to talk, to say how hard that was, how real it all is, but I couldn’t say a word. Every time I tried, I started weeping, sobbing, and I am pretty sure some wailing ensued.
I had to will myself to calm down, because I couldn’t stay in the bathroom all day. Plus, my cramps were feeling a bit better. I couldn’t believe that I birthed my child, and that it was there, intact—and dead. I informed my family of what had happened. I went downstairs to join my son and try to relax a bit while my husband took a business call. Less than an hour later, I passed the placenta, which was unexpected (as I thought it came out before), but understandable. As we were getting ready to bring my son up for a nap, the bell rang, it was a package. My husband mused about my online shopping—and I remembered what I had ordered, some maternity items and an item or two for our unborn child. I had a feeling that I would be getting looped back into my feelings a lot during the next few weeks.
Miscarriages are such a taboo topic in our society—and I feel like this is even more so in religious communities, the Black community and particularly my West Indian community. So, I won’t be silent on something that so many must have been silent about with me. 25% of pregnancies end in a miscarriage—that is a lot of women. That means that whether you know it or not, one of your friends or relatives (or several) have gone through this. Or maybe It is you. Look—I am physically and emotionally spent. This is not anything that I realistically thought could happen (although my anxious thoughts had played out this possibility several times). I didn’t think I’d be that 1 in 4. I couldn’t and haven’t been able to make sense of this.
People say things happen for a reason, but I can’t figure out the reason or purpose of this—so I’m sharing something that the deepest parts of me are begging to keep silent.
I am posting this quickly, so that I don’t sit on it and you can get all of my raw feelings before I erase this whole thing or edit it out. I am being vulnerable on the next level with friends and strangers everywhere. Not for anything else, really, but to find healing and to let someone else know that they are not alone. Sharing our stories to the right people, at the right time help us on our healing journey.
I thank you for being a part of mine.