Pregnancy Loss and Miscarriage...My Emotional Journey

I know this is only my second blog post, but in lieu of recent events, I guess the best way to go about writing this is to just come straight out and say it. It’s difficult to put into words, even though many people that know me, know I’m quite the talker. ;)  I thought it best to talk about something that happened to me and my family recently, something very serious. My husband, James and I aren't ones to talk about our personal lives much, least not on social media.  We tend to keep personal things between us or we just share it with family and friends.  I will try to keep it straight to the point and as clean as possible.  There’s a lot that has happened, so be prepared for some reading. >.<

Not a lot of women (or their significant others) tend to discuss this often, for fear of…whatever; fear of judgment, rejection or just fear of the uncertainty of finding the right words to discuss it.  Sometimes it is just a private matter that is kept personal within the family.  This difficult topic is: Pregnancy loss; miscarriage. 

James and I have wanted to have one more child…just one more, to help complete our little family.  We relished the idea of having a sibling for our other two children.  I’m not old, but definitely not as young as I used to be (I’ll be 37 this year.) I was on the IUD for about 4 years.  I had the IUD removed in October of 2013. We tried for a whole year and nothing happened.  We were beginning to wonder if our window of time had left us. In October of 2014, I missed my menstrual.  At first, I thought it was just from the stress of trying.  I mean, come on…we’re supposed to enjoy those precious and private moments with our significant other. ;)  Well, I decided to take a pregnancy test…or 3…or 4 (I lost count from the impending excitement).  The tests were positive…we were going to be expecting!  We didn't want to get our hopes up, but couldn't hold in some of the excitement.  I called up my doctor and set up our first appointment.  While at the appointment, they did the usual tests (weight, height and urine…just to be sure I was pregnant).  According to my calculations, I should’ve been about 1-2 weeks along (3-4 weeks, if you count from the beginning of the first day of my last menstrual).  When I received the results from my urine test, my HCG (pregnancy hormones) levels were very low.  They should’ve been significantly higher. Out of concern, they had me come back about 48 hours later to retest (my levels should double or tripled by then), instead, they dropped.  We realized at that point, the pregnancy was a loss.  A few days later, I began my miscarriage.  It was a 3 day ordeal that was not only excruciating physical, but emotionally taxing.  It was a huge let down for our family.  We were having a difficult time processing what happened.  Only a few people had known about this.   This was in November 2014.  Miscarriage is a terrible loss on not only the mother, but the father and whoever else is involved (in our case, our two children). 

Fast forward to March 2015.  James and I weren't “actively” trying to get pregnant, but we weren't dismissing the notion either.  Something told me in early March, to take a test.  My instincts were calling out to me.  I happened to have an extra pregnancy test and decided to use it.  I thought my eyes were betraying me, as I saw a VERY faint second line.  I left, came back to the bathroom a few minutes later and the line was gone.  I thought that I since I had wanted to be pregnant, that probably my eyes were playing tricks on me.  I went to the store and decided to purchase another box, just to put an end to my curiosity. I took one test the next day and to my surprise, I saw that faint second line again. I decided to take a picture (don’t want James thinking I’m going crazy on him).  I took the last test the very next morning…that one was definitely positive.  I threw that stick in James’s face and squealed with joy.  Although we had the proof in my hand, our apprehension about the whole thing was visibly noticeable.  James was unsure on how to handle the whole thing, as he was still trying to process, emotionally, what we went through in November.  We set ourselves up to accept the fact that we were indeed expecting again.  Again, I set myself up with an appointment with my doctor.  Again, I did the usual round of tests.  Again, we waited patiently to hear the news.  This time?  My HCG levels were where they were supposed to be (I was as far along as I was when I miscarried in November).  Because of what happened last time, the doctor thought it best to come back and retest just to make sure my levels were going up appropriately.  I came back, retested and blessings be…they went up!  YAY!  We decided that with this pregnancy (as it would be our last) we wanted to be as natural as possible.  We looked into a birthing center and midwife.  We found a wonderful one located less than 30 minutes from our home.  The staff at this center was not only pleasant, but very accommodating and knowledgeable.  We knew we were in the right place. Our journey started now…

On the 6^th of April, I started bleeding.  I told James that I thought it would be a good idea that we head to the ER just to be on the safe side, as I was also experiencing cramping.  We entered the ER with fear in our hearts.  This whole time, our kids had to come with us because unfortunately, we didn't have the time to find someone to care for them while this ordeal was going on.  The ER doctor and staff hooked me up to an IV and drew some blood for testing.  I had to give urine for testing as well.  I was then informed that just go be on the safe side, an inner ultrasound would be needed (as I wasn't quite far enough along for an outer scan…I should been around 9 weeks by this point).  The ultrasound was invasive, but necessary. I hurt from the cramping and pressure of the device and I knew it was only making my bleeding worse.  The poor technician was doing everything she could to be as gentle and quick as possible. Obviously, due to the seriousness of things, she was unable to tell us much of anything.  We had to find out results from the doctor after tests were revealed.  Bad news…sac was measuring only 5 weeks along.  Good news…my HCG levels were still increasing.  At this point?  We weren't sure what was going to happen and what news our future held.  I was told by the doctor that I had a possible miscarriage going on.  I just shut my eyes and held back my tears.  Again?  No…not again.  Can’t be.  I still held out hope.  After a few hours, we were released.  James and I took our kids and headed home.

I talked with my midwife the following day, about what steps were needed to be taken next.  We scheduled for another ultrasound the following Monday.  We wanted to see what was going on, as they weren't completely sure themselves.  When that Monday rolled around, James, I and Bre headed to our appointment. I had hoped that I was able to have my husband and daughter in the room with me for support, but I found out when I arrived, I was the only one who could go back with the technician.  That just made my heart heavy…being alone. As we were in the room, I tried to keep a smile on my face and keep my spirits up.  I just held on to that hope.  Again, the technician wasn't allowed to share any information with me, which only amped up my tension, stress and anticipation.  I could’ve strangled hope at that point.  After everything was said and done, the technician told me that she was going to see if the radiologist would be able to take the time to talk to me about my results…something told me this was only going to end badly, but again…there was that hope.  The technician came back (after what seemed like an hour) and told me that the radiologist was talking to my midwife about what to do and that it would probably be best to hear it from her.  Great…more waiting?  I didn't know how much more of the waiting I could take.  My hope was dwindling.  I left with my family and a somber heart.  We decided that since we were right across the street from the birthing center, I could just shoot straight over there and see if I can get answers right then.  I hate waiting. I chose to go into the birthing center myself. James and Bre waited in the car while I exited.  I slowly made my way to the front door; my feet were heavy and dragging. I entered the door and right away, I knew.  Even though the lovely receptionist was unable to tell me, I could see it in her face.  When I entered, she told me she would try to get a hold of the midwife so I can talk to her directly.  At that point, I realized my phone had buzzed. I had received a notification for something.  Uh-oh.  Realizing it was just the receptionist and myself (she already knew the answer, as she saw my information via computer), I just put the voicemail on speaker.  I heard the words as clear as day.  Everything else around me went silent.  You could've heard…what’s the expression?  A pin drop. “Brenda, I’m so sorry.  I’m sorry to hear about your loss.  I would like to talk to you, please call me at………..”  The rest of the message just sort of faded out.  I just hung up the phone and sat there.  I tried to smile, I really did.  The receptionist knew that a hug was definitely in order.  She stood up from her desk, walked around and gave me the most comforting hug.  I mean, this was the hug of all hugs.  I broke down.  Although I knew what the answer was going to be, it was harder hearing it.  We talked a few minutes about the blessings that I do have; my two amazing, incredible, beautiful and wonderful children.  I headed downstairs, tissue in hand and walked my way to the car.  James looked up and the look on his face said that he read my body language and understood.  I slowly slid in the car, buckled up and in the sad silence, we all headed home.  Later that evening, my midwife called me and we talked a long time about everything that happened and what’s expected to happen in the future.  She told me that I should show signs of miscarrying within the month and if nothing happens, I need to let my OBGYN or her know.  This way, the necessary steps can be taken to help move things along. 

At this point, I had had some nasty morning sickness for about 2 weeks.  It wasn't so bad that I couldn't somewhat function, but it was a bother.  The following week, it became so intolerable, that I couldn't consume anything without it coming back out the same way it went in.  Everything tasted bad.  We have well water in our neighborhood and I couldn't even drink that; tasted like saliva and metal, which was making me gag and throw up even more.  So, not only could I not consume food, I wasn't even able to get a good amount of fluids in my system.  Dehydration was becoming evident.  More saliva buildup from lack of fluids.  Chapped lips. Dark urine. Weak body. It was just a vicious cycle.  The first part of the week, I was bleeding some, so I had thought that perhaps, my miscarriage was beginning.  Hopefully, this was the beginning to the end of the whole morning sickness ordeal.  I was beginning to get concerned, but kept reassuring myself that I could persevere.  I WOULD persevere.  After a few days, the bleeding waned off, but the morning sickness only got worse.  Not good. I spent about 6 days dealing with this before I started to notice that something was wrong…REALLY wrong.  I was so weak from coughing, throwing up, lack of nutrients and dehydration that it was VERY evident in my appearance.  I had dark, bruise like circles around my eyes, my ribs and hips were bruised from coughing and throwing up.  My thighs were chapped from involuntarily urinating (although I already used the restroom) while coughing and throwing up.  I was an ugly mess and everyone saw it.  I felt horrible.  I couldn't take proper care of my children.  I couldn't have my tasty homemade meals ready for my hubby when he came home from work.  I couldn't wash a dish or do a load of laundry.  I barely had enough energy to walk from one room to the other.  When I started to have problems breathing from the indigestion and stomach acid, I realized I needed to admit something was wrong and I was in some serious need of medical attention.  I lost 5 lbs that whole week, my hair was falling out and I brushed my teeth and mouth washed every chance I got, but I felt like my teeth were rotting out from all the stomach acid. I felt dirty outside and in.  I knew something was wrong.  More than anything, I knew I couldn't fix myself; I needed help. 

I told James via text (I couldn't get out of bed) that I knew that I needed help and it would be a good idea for us to head to the ER tomorrow.  That man is amazing.  Did I say that already?  Yes, he’s AMAZING.  The very next day we prepared ourselves, daughter in tow, (son was in school) and headed to the local ER.  We entered there afraid of what next was going to be dished to us on a dirty plate.  We went to our room and waited.  I mentioned earlier I hated waiting…I wasn't kidding.  I HATE it. Again, that blasted IV.  Again, give some more blood and urine for testing.  My doctor came in and I have to say, it was one of my highlights to the evening.  He reminded us a bit of Doogie Howser. I had no clue doctors could look so young.  Well, he knew what he was talking about.  He laid it out very straight.  I was going to need another ultrasound, an x-ray, a battery of tests and then we’ll see where we’re at.  He assured us he would do everything he could to make our stay comfortable and that he would get to the bottom of what was going on.  It helped, not much, but nonetheless.  We needed more hope.  I was running out of that glittery stuff.

To help alleviate my extreme nausea and to try and get some fluids in me, they hooked up my IV some much needed liquid hydration.  I could FEEL the fluids entering my system. I've been on IVs before, but never while this dehydrated.  I knew I needed it, because I could feel where it was traveling.  It was an odd, yet refreshingly cool feeling at the same time.  To help ease my nausea, they gifted me with something called Zofran.  This was liquid Heaven.  Within 10 minutes, I could drink water, plain water and it tasted incredible.  James and Bre headed to McDonald’s to pick up some food.  Not the best in the world, but options were limited and hell, we needed something. During this time, the x-ray technician came and brought her thingamabob of an x-ray machine.  This thing was strange.  In about 5 minutes, sitting in my bed, she did my chest x-ray.  I was blown away at the technology this woman rolled around with her.  It’s incredible to see how far technology has come throughout the years.

By this time, James and Bre returned with the toxic McDonald’s. I tell you right now, I loathe McDs, but I had those nuggets and it was like eating a fancy meal.  The taste was INTENSE. I wince saying that, but they were so tasty.  (When you haven’t eaten in a week, you’d think they tasted good too, so don’t judge. ;)) Shortly after, the ultrasound tech brought in her machine.  She did what she could to make me comfortable.  Of course, couldn’t tell me anything, but at this point, I didn't want to know.  I was scared.  Stupid waiting. The ER doctor came in with my results.  I gripped my hands together until my knuckles were white. He told me that the tests revealed that I did have the beginning of a UTI.  Oh good I thought.  If that’s the worst, I’m still glad I came in.  But…  But?  What but?  He tells me that according to my HCG levels and the ultrasound, I have something called a complete Molar pregnancy.  I was like, “A what???”  I had heard of the term, but had no clue what he was saying.  Apparently it’s something that is rare.  Not so rare that it’s unheard of, but rare enough.  It’s where the cells that are supposed to form into a fetus, don’t.  They just stay cells and keep reproducing.  So essentially, I have a bundle of cells in my uterus that just keep reproducing more cells, getting bigger and bigger.  Nothing else is going on though.  This, in turn, causes my HCG levels to continue to slowly rise.  In a sense, it tricks my body into thinking it’s still pregnant, although there isn’t a fetus in sight. If I hadn't of come in, the morning sickness would've likely continued and this could've progressed into something worse.  The only option?  To do a D&C.  (For those that don’t know, they basically go up your woohoo, dilate your cervix and do a clean sweep of your uterus to make sure all foreign objects are disposed of properly. It is an invasive surgery.)  After he left to make the necessary phone calls, I sat in my bed, stunned at the news.  I was confused.  I was unsure on how to process the information given.  James and I looked at each other and stared blankly.  We didn't know what to say to one another.  I picked up my phone and decided to WebMD the information.  What I read further freaked me out.  According to WebMD, a Molar pregnancy, if not taken care of properly, can possible progress into a rare form of cancer.  OMG!  I saw that word and pulled my knees up to my chest.  Cancer.  I could end up with that?  I’m so glad that I trusted my instincts to come in.  What if I had continued thinking I could handle this on my own, just as I had in the past?  

OMG…OMG…OMG…

Within 15 minutes or so, the doctor returned and let us know that surgery was imminent and would be happening that day.  OMG…OH…MY...GOD!  An ambulance was already en route to pick me up and take me to the medical center where my OBGYN was waiting for me. I almost turned blue from holding my breath from the shock of it all.  There was so much information to take in at one time.  Since James and Bre had to pick up Gabe when he arrived home from school, he decided to head out early and just meet me at the hospital. 

The ambulance and EMTs arrived shortly, assisted me up on their skinny bed (fat people like me don’t fare well on the stick beds), made sure I was buckled in for safety (we don’t want my rolls getting in the way) and loaded me into their ambulance.  These guys were awesome.  They had a very caring demeanor and made sure that I was comfortable the entire trip.  (I can guarantee that many people in the medical field don’t get enough credit these days, so don’t forget to thank those that give their all to provide you with the best possible care.)

After arriving at the hospital, the staff was already waiting and ready for me.  As I was checking in at the front desk, James and the kids showed up.  They weren't even there 5 minutes and Bre piped up and said, “Daddy hit a lady on a bike in the car!”  I just asked, “What?”  I was trying to figure out what she was saying. Gabe starts to tell me what happened and James is facing the kids and trying to shush them.  Noticeably frazzled and panicked, James proceeds to tell me how on their way to the hospital while getting off the freeway, they stopped and were waiting to turn.  As they were ready to take their turn, James and a woman on her bike didn't see each other in time and BAM!  The collision occurred.  I didn't find out all the details about this until the following day.  James promised that he was going to return and pick her up so that she could be seen in the ER for any injuries that she might have acquired.  I couldn't believe our bad luck.  It was just one thing after another.  I felt horrible for the woman.  In the back of my mind during my ordeal, I kept thinking about her, James, Bre and Gabe and everything they might be going through.  I was all over the place…scatterbrained.  James and Bre headed on their way as Gabe and I were led up to the floor I would be residing on. 

Gabe seemed somewhat aloof to all that was going on.  I hugged him hard and reassured him that the surgery was a good thing and it was going to help me on my road to recovery. I missed being the mom that I was. Although the emotional part concerning the loss of the pregnancy hadn't fully hit me yet, I relished the idea of having the surgery so we could work towards a recovery.  I wanted to feel BETTER. I wanted to HEAL.

Within about 15 minutes of our arrival, they were ready for me.  Slowly, I removed all piercings and placed them cautiously into the plastic cup with lid that was provided to me.  I looked at Gabe and told him I would be okay and that James and Bre should be back soon.  They wheeled me to the stalls that allowed them to prep me for surgery.  I had the privilege to don on a beautiful (sarcastically speaking) lavender colored surgery robe.  I answered all their questions like a pro.  One of their final checks, they asked me if I removed all jewelry.  I felt my ears…check. I checked my nose…check.  I checked my hands…OH!  I looked down and realized I still had my wedding ring on.  I almost never remove it, unless I’m making meatloaf.  Don’t want any raw meat getting hooked up on this gorgeous bling. I was going to remove the ring, when the nurse asking me questions, told me not to worry about it.  She smiled and said that I could keep it on and they could just place some tape over it so it doesn't affect anything during surgery.  That brought a huge sense of comfort to me.  During the 15-20 minutes that I waited to get into surgery, I talked with the anesthesiologist and of course, my lovely OBGYN.  Their incredible dedication to making sure I was as comfortable as possible, helped to move things along.  Shortly after, they wheeled me into the surgical room.  I looked up and saw everyone moving around; seemingly like a flash.  The anesthesiologist looked down at me and smiled.  She placed the oxygen mask over my face and informed me that she would be giving my medicine.  Slowly and surely, I started to fade into sleep.

I’m not exactly sure how long I was in surgery.  I just remember waking up in one of the recovery stalls, feeling like I swallowed a large rock.  A nurse came and removed, what I believe was my breathing tube, out of my mouth.  Ahh, finally I could breathe.  I blinked in and out of a fuzzy view.  I knew I needed to wake up soon, but it was hard.  I hadn't had a decent night’s sleep for over a week.  I was sucking this up for all it was worth.  Once I started to rouse, the nurse removed my oxygen mask and asked me how I was feeling.  I was surprised at how alert I was.  Darn, I lost my chance to sleep some more. They let me know that James and the children were waiting for me in my room and that whenever I was feeling ready, they’ll take me there.  I missed those three SO bad.  I missed the children and their smiles and I miss James…man did I miss him.  I knew this was so very hard on him as it was me.

Once they wheeled me back in the room where my family was waiting, I could see their smiling faces.  I think knowing that I made it out ok, helped set some nerves to ease.  The nurses were so dedicated to making sure I felt totally comfortable and at ease.  They gave me some more of that miracle liquid…Zofran.  I felt like I could conquer the world!  It was almost an immediate and noticeable difference.   I was HUNGRY. The nurse asked me if she could get me anything and all I could think of was a sandwich.  A little searching and the nurse was able to bring me a sandwich, chocolate pudding, orange drink and a few other food items.  I was in food heaven.  I ate almost everything.  I thought I was going to burst at the seams.  After eating, James and I chatted up a bit about how I was feeling and if I was ready to head home and get some sound sleep. The kids were noticeably tired and I could tell from the dark circles under my loving husband’s eyes, he had his fill of thrills for the week.  There was only one thing that I needed to do before I was permitted to leave and that was make sure I could urinate.  Oh no…I still had to pee.  I was scared, I won’t deny it. My lower region was something to be feared these days.  Considering all that I have been through, I was petrified to do the one thing that should come to me naturally.  I bravely entered that bathroom and did my thing.  No problems.  Phew.  All was well.  With the ok from my doctor and the head nurse, I signed the necessary papers, dressed myself, put all my jewelry back in and on and gathered my things.  A woman came into the room pushing my wheelchair.  With a great sigh of relief, we all headed downstairs to the ER entrance so that I could get into the car. While the kids and I waited a few for James to bring around the car, the woman and I chatted a bit about travel.  It was nice to think of something pleasant instead of focusing on all the negative that had happened over the course of the last month.  Once everyone was in the car and buckled, we headed on our way home.  There was a sense of peace that seemed to resonate within the car that evening. 

Once we arrived home, we sat in the car for about 5 minutes, sucking up the much needed silence.  We got the kids out and got them ready for bed.  After the kids were in bed, James and I stayed up for a little bit and talked about everything that had happened.  I let James know how much I loved and appreciated all his support.  He’s amazing and sometimes he doesn't realize how wonderful he truly is.  His love, support, compassion for life, perseverance and hard work, make him more than just a valuable member of society, but a loyal husband and friend and a loving father.  He is truly a pioneer within our family.  During all this, I don’t know if I could’ve quite held it all together if it hadn't been for James’s support.  He is truly my gift from the universe.

A few days later, I have to say, I feel 10 times better than I had ever felt this past month.  I was able to get up and enjoy my first cup of coffee in 3 weeks.   It wasn't the caffeine I needed, but the comfort of something warm and sweet.  Comfort.  Home.  Family. Freedom .  Most importantly, I had my health.  This is the beginning on a hard road to recovery.  This isn't just physically, but emotionally daunting.  It will take time for our family to heal from something like this. I’m not completely out of danger yet, as I still have to get weekly testing to ensure that my HCG levels are dropping; proof that the surgery was a success.  Only time will tell. 

This has been hard on us because we've decided to forgo the idea of having another child biologically.  We wanted more than anything to have another biological child, but due to all that has happened in the last 6 months, we realized there’s a good possibility, that it isn't something within our reach.  I’ll admit that I am petrified.  I've always managed to have pretty good health, but these losses were taking their toll on me.  After much talk, we knew that even if that possibility was no longer in reach, we are going to be ok.  You know why?  We have a handsome son, Gabriel and a beautiful daughter, Breanna.  There are people out there that can’t have children.  We should feel blessed to have the two that we have.  I’m ok with counting my blessings.  These blessings are simply a beautiful creation that my body made.  I can’t forgo that knowledge that I created two babies with this body. 

I will NEVER forget the babies that I had lost through miscarriage. They will forever be in my thoughts and will always have a special place in my heart.  I just need to remind myself that there are two special children that are alive and walking around and they NEED me.  I’m good knowing that. 

I know people probably want to know what was going through my head to make me want to share my inner, most private family moments.  It’s okay, I don’t mind sharing.  James and I talked long about this before I even made the steps to actually follow through with doing this blog.  I wanted his input and value it greatly. We realized that this wasn’t just a private experience, but a chance to share something important with others.  I know as a mother, how hard it is to put yourself first when it comes to your health, especially if you are used to be on the go, like I am.  We also want the best for our kids. I’m so used to bouncing back when I get sick (getting sick is a rare occurrence for myself and my husband), that I’m afraid to admit when I do reach a point where I need to ask for help.  My husband has been there himself with his own health issues.  Its pride, but not the kind that make a person seem selfish or stuck up.  This pride is about wanting the best for the rest of your family and forgetting to respect our bodies and listen…listen to your instincts. I know that if I hadn't of listened to my instincts, I don’t think I would've known or would've been able to have early care for myself. I trusted my body and listened.  That helped me to understand that when something was wrong, I knew it and faced it head on.  What happened to me can happen to any woman.  Something like this doesn't just affect the woman, but her significant other (if there is one) and children (or child…or if there are any).  I know now, I would rather take the preventative care and there be nothing wrong, then wait, thinking it will pass on its own and then it turn into something worse (in my case, cancerous or deadly) later on.

Loss and miscarriage is never easy to talk about anyway.  Many people view it as a private matter and in many ways, so do I.  This one time, I felt the urge so strongly to talk about our experience.  Something inside pushed me to make the leap and share my story with others so they know they’re not alone.  Each person has their own experiences and deals with them in their own way.  The worst thing to do is to hold it in and act like it didn't happen.  The hurt, frustration and anger just end up sitting there and rotting.  Don’t do that to yourself.  You owe it to yourself to talk about it, whether out loud to others or privately, within your own family or in a journal.  Give yourself time to heal.  Most importantly, don’t forget to love yourself and know it isn't your fault. <3